#this is what i was working on before my body reminded me caffeine and naps are note equal. it was a good nap though. so no complaints. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sukirichi · 3 years

Text

overtime

You let your boyfriend release stress from working overtime.

REQUEST. med! student au / doctor! au + forbidden relationship + praising kink + dacryphilia

CONTENT/WARNINGS. praising kink, dacryphilia, face fucking, huge age gap (Nanami is like 20 years older), mentions of gloomy atmospheres expected of medical centres, gagging, mentions of previous lovemaking sessions

NOTES. ah thank you for this request anon, i’m really in love with the whole med student / doctor au ingredient cuz well...it’s sorta self-indulgent. i hope you liked this as much as i did!

The familiar stingy aroma of disinfectant looms at every corner of the wall, pressing down beneath your scrubs and deep into your scrubs. You find it ironic that the walls are always so white, barely any colour to surround the entire building. Growing up, you believe that white represents tranquillity, silence, and serenity – which is the exact opposite of what university hospitals really are.

You’re no stranger to the pained moans echoing at the ends of the hall, the sight of children with sunken cheeks playing with a cannula almost too painful to look at.

The clock above the front desks reads that it’s a little past four in the morning, and you’re beyond weary. You’ve grown used to just being high off caffeine and being satisfied with quick ten minute naps before you’re summoned again. People always ask you, why choose this profession? You could make as much money without having to be this tired, to which you always respond with a frown, claiming that it’s never about the money and actual working professionals are a lot more exhausted than you are, yet not once have they complained.

They do have their days though, and it just so happens that it’s one of your superior’s days as he tugs at your wrist, dragging you inside the nearest empty room before soft lips dive down to capture yours.

You don’t have to open your eyes to know it’s him.

You’ve fooled around long enough with your superior to know it’s his scent washing over yours, that all too familiar tent growing in his pants pressing between your legs and bumping your core as a silent promise of what’s to come next. A stuttered, breathy moan immediately greets his ears when he pins your arms overhead, his lips falling into the sweet column of your neck.

It’s clear that this is wrong – both of you know this – but the pleasure and need to relieve stress in such an overwhelming environment clouds both your consciousness that neither parties pull away.

Your relationship with him started off with just curiosity.

Doctor Nanami is a well accomplished man, earning beyond money and titles in his twenty years of service in the field. He knows he looks good, knows he’s irresistible every time he comes in front of the class, looking equally dashing in either a nude suit or in white coats. Someone of his age and experience definitely is no fool to the way his bright eyed student’s gaze lingers over his lips as she stays behind in class to ask about something she doesn’t get far longer than should be necessary.

He’s an expert at the human body more than anything else – Nanami knows lust when he sees one.

And he’s always been such a kind, concerned doctor who only wants everyone to feel better that how could he say no to you, especially when you’re only so eager to suck him off under the table, getting off to the fact your pretty lips are wrapped around his thick and veiny cock?

What once starts off as a mutual agreement to use each other for pleasure while still keeping the faux professionalism to not lose face, something shifts during the stolen kisses during break times and heated touches as promises of I’ll see you later after overtimes. Private tutoring sessions turns into moments of reminiscing childhoods, hands splayed all over his chest while he tucks you in his arms, mumbling something about always have wanting to be his own version of a hero.

Things move faster than both of you realize, the titles dropped and replaced with sweethearts and good morning sir topped with a sweet, intimate smile that only he could ever know the meaning of.

It’s simple, longing, and definitely unprofessional, even more so when Nanami pushes you down on the floor, eager hands unbuckling his belt to spring his cock free. Your mouth salivates at the red pulsing tip already leaking with pre-cum, your tiny hands on its way to wrap itself around his base when Nanami takes matters into his own hands and slips his cock through your lips in one thrust.

Your back hits the wall and your eyes spring with tears, gurgled sounds of Nanami fucking down your throat lewd and dirty in the empty room. He sighs, chest panting and hands cradling your head. “You feel so good, sweetheart,” he praises, bucking his hips further inside. “Don’t know what I’d do without you here, always so ready to make me feel good.”

The moan you let out vibrates around his cock, fuelling his desire intensely.

Nanami has always been gentle with you; as a man who values time over anything else, he likes to savour each second he has with you, slow, rough hands running up and down the curve of your spine before he flicks his tongue deep within your pussy, wanting to make you cum countless times before he makes love to you. Had you both been home, he’d cradle your face and stare deep into your eyes as he fucks you, sweat tinged from the slight burrow of his brows as he commands, “Look at me. Look at me when I’m fucking you, angel.”

And you being you, you’ll remain submissive to the pleasure he’s more than glad to give you, leg wrapping around his waist all to feel the way he’s hitting deep inside your sopping cunt.

He’s impatient this time around, and you can’t blame him. You’ve barely seen each other from hours of working overtime, with you staying up late to study for finals and him barely leaving the operating rooms. You gladly let him use you like this just as he’s allowed you to cum multiple times before despite his clear order to hold back, but Nanami is a soft man at heart, unable to resist his precious lover when you’re trembling around him like that.

Nanami places a palm at the back of your head to prevent you getting fucked into the wall, his pace not slowing down a bit. He gazes at you under his lashes, cheeks hollowed and drool dribbling from the edges of your lips.

He finds you utterly filthy, a complete contrast to the well-put med-student who’s always admired and looked up to by their peers. Nanami groans as his tip hits the back of your throat, your nose pressing down on the neatly trimmed blond hairs brushed on his base. You gag around him, the tears crystallizing your cheeks. Filthy, yet still so pretty his little angel is, and for a moment, Nanami pauses, captivated by your beauty.

His cock is still pulsing inside your mouth, a thumb running across your tears to wipe them away. Nanami grabs your chin to tilt your head up, and he swears he could cum right then and there. You’re kneeling on the bleached floors, eyes wide with a tinge of innocence, tears collected in your lashes and cheeks sucked to take him in deep.

“Always so pretty for me, angel,” he coos, sliding his drenched cock out your mouth gruesomely slow, stopping only with the tip in. “Is my cock making you cry? You’ve taken me before, angel, this isn’t difficult for you now, is it?”

You hum around his cock as a response, and Nanami bucks into your mouth by accident, causing his length to slip past your walls until he’s right at your throat.

He’s big and long, his dick always having been a blessing to the both of you, but at this time, it feels more like a curse. Drips of cum paints the back of your mouth but you only grip your thigh harder, ignoring the painful throbbing of your cunt that’s so needy for him already. You remind yourself not to be selfish and focus on him instead, to your precious superior who needs you to help get his mind off things.

Eager to be of service as always, you swipe your tongue all over the ridges of his cock, making sure to press the wet muscle harder on the prominent veins. Nanami throws his head back to moan, his nails gently scraping your scalp with each thrust.

It’s hard to tell who’s setting the pace, but it becomes clear as you kneel there motionlessly, squeezing his ass instead while he relentlessly fucks your mouth. His groans are growing louder, breaths falling out of rhythm with each passing seconds. Your eyes are shut tight as you let him abuse your throat, hitting deep inside you with each precise thrust in addition to his balls slapping your chin.

Your face is sopping wet, both from drool, tears, and his cum. You stay there like a good girl, doing your best to breathe through your nose as he throbs inside you. Nanami’s words are garbled and incomprehensible, enticed to only snap his harder when he sees your tears streaming down your face and wetting your scrubs.

His length slips past inside your mouth into an impossibly deeper angle as he tugs your hair up, his knees bent just to continuously pummel against your tonsils as if it was his own winning goal. Your cries increase in volume at the way he’s losing himself in you, forgetting to watch the back of your head before he thrusts all the way, keeping you flat and frozen gagging on his cock, nose nudged against his hairs.

Nanami’s groan is accompanied by the twitching of his cock, and he cums, thick spurts of white shooting down your throat. You try to pull yourself away from him after that, thinking that he’s satisfied, but he only grips your hair harder as a warning.

Still struggling to breathe, you swallow around his thick saliva-drenched length, the mere motion of you gulping making your walls close down on him.

Nanami grunts at the oversensitivity and he pulls out, his dick growing boneless and soft.

He’s utterly spent, your drool and his cum dripping down to the floors in audible plaps. Nanami sighs as he takes sanitary wipes from the unused desk to wipe his dick clean, while you stay on the ground, palms flat beneath you as you pant for air.

You can tell you’ll have a sore throat by tomorrow because you utterly fucked, voice growing hoarse with each failed cough. Falling back onto the wall, you close your eyes, only to snap them open again when you feel something wet and warm rubbing your skin.

Nanami is in front of you, his touch gentle and eyes soft as he cleans your face, thumb absentmindedly cradling your bottom lip.

You don’t fight back the smile that matches his. Even after everything, Nanami is still your boyfriend, someone who isn’t just a good fuck to you anymore. This is only one of the reasons you’ve fallen so madly in love with him; his effortless ability to take care of others truly meritorious of him.

He dunks them into nearest bin and kisses you flat on the lips, his large hand cupping your cheeks. You sigh into the slow kiss, enjoying what little – and fleeting – time you have with him.

Nanami pulls away with a popping sound, a lovesick smile on his usually stoic expression. It makes you feel giddy and even a little shy, forgetting the fact he just fucked your skull seconds ago, but it’s rare that he lets his guard down anywhere that isn’t the comfort and safety of his home. You’re his home though, and he kisses you one last time, the gesture telling a thousand more words than he’s ever able to.

“Thank you,” he whispers, “I promise I’ll make it up to you when we’re both home.”

You don’t stop him once he finally leaves the room, his rushed footsteps to make it back to the operating room a signal for you to get back to work too. It’s already five am when you’ve made it back to your post, but instead of feeling tired, you’re a lot more energized compared to when you first got here.

Perhaps working overtime isn’t so bad after all, not when there’s always a promise you and Nanami are never leaving the bed for the free weekend.

You’ll just have to be patient.

#nanami kento x reader #nanami kento smut #nanami kento x reader smut #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader smut #nanami kento #nanami x reader #nanami x reader smut #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen x reader imagines #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk x reader smut #nanami imagines #nanami kento imagines #suki: 500 milestone event

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firewoodfigs · 3 years

Note

for the only one bed prompts......... "and only one pillow so a used b's chest or stomach" 🥺

EMMA, MY LOVE. FOR YOU I WOULD GIVE THE WORLD AND MORE <3 I hope you enjoy, friend!!! <3

also on ao3 - i like it when you sleep (for you are so beautiful yet so unaware of it)

++++++

She falls asleep on the car ride back.

It’s unusual, such behaviour. Ordinarily, she’d be keeping watch or the one driving, but throwing herself at wolves and flirting with married men (and tolerating her commanding officer’s unwarranted jealousy) is indescribably wearying. It’s even worse than military training, having to put up all these fake niceties and pretenses. She wonders how Roy does this every day. Maybe that’s why he’s so tired all the time, Riza thinks. Now she knows why.

She startles awake briefly when the car jerks. Riza mutters, unintelligibly, something about safety and watching the road. She dimly registers the sound of a murmured apology from the driver’s seat.

Riza nods, and drifts back uneasily to sleep.

(In her sleep, Riza dreams of a dimly-lit courtroom and of Lady Justice, so white and pure and glorious even in the shadows. It is a recurring dream of hers, but it still leaves her palms clammy and her heart racing, like she’s just pulled the trigger on someone for the very first time.)

—

“We’re here,” Roy announces.

Riza groans as she rouses from her nap. There’s an ache that’s starting to crawl into her head, and she wonders if she’s just had too much to drink earlier (she thinks she’s done a pretty good job of turning down the offers of free, expensive wine though). She rubs at her temples wearily, blinking hard in an attempt to dispel some of the lingering fatigue.

“Are you alright, Lieutenant?”

“Yes,” she answers, without hesitation. Riza straightens in her seat, smoothing out the creases in her outfit. It’s a fitting, champagne-coloured number that is as meddlesome as it is pretty. (Riza hasn’t worn something like this in a while, simply because there hadn’t been any occasion to. She thinks she’ll probably have a hard time getting out of it later.) She opens the door and stretches her legs out. “Let’s go, sir.”

“Alright.”

The motel is just like any other motel, Riza thinks. It’s old and musty and right in the middle of nowhere, managed by a receptionist who’s clearly half-asleep at their workstation. They check in under the guise of a civilian, childless couple, as usual. Elizabeth and Andrew Ditlev, yes, a room for two. We won’t be needing anything else, thank you. There’s the sound of keys jangling and paper notes rustling, and then she’s dragging her feet up the creaking stairs towards their room on the second floor, Roy’s hand hovering uncertainly over her back.

Riza nudges it away and reassures him that she’s just fine. (He continues fretting, anyway.)

—

It’s only after she’s taken a shower that Riza notes the irregularity in their room.

“Sorry,” Roy says. There’s a sheepish edge to his voice, but the way he’s grinning tells her that he’s not altogether unhappy about their current predicament. “I tried asking for another pillow, but reception said they’ve none left.”

Riza frowns. She moves to sit on the edge of the queen-sized bed, drying her hair with a thin towel. It’s not uncommon for them to share a bed; going on these undercover operations as a loving, married couple meant that it was only logical for them to do so. It’s not like she has anything against it, either, but she’s always maintained a distance from him, even while on the same bed. They usually sleep with their backs turned (although Roy has a peculiar habit of snaking his arm around her waist just before daybreak).

“Sorry,” Roy repeats, stifling a yawn. He’s already taken the liberty of going shirtless, while she was bathing. “You can take the pillow, if you’d like. I can go without.”

Riza shakes her head and gestures towards the shower.

“No, it’s fine. I’ll figure something out.”

He yawns again, dragging himself to the shower.

“Really, Lieutenant. It’s no hassle at all.”

Water starts running again, from the shower. Riza shifts towards the nightstand and picks up the phone. There’s a little note beside — press ‘0’ for reception and/or room service.

She does exactly that.

“What?”

“Hello,” Riza greets in response. “I’m calling from Room 204. We were wondering if you happened to have a spare pillow —”

“I already told you we have no more pillows,” the receptionist interrupts, groggily. Riza picks up on the poorly-concealed hint of annoyance and, somewhat annoyed herself, apologises insincerely for the apparent inconvenience caused. “Goodnight.”

The phone line goes dead.

Riza huffs. She puts the phone down and mutters something to herself about cheap motels and their stinginess. Resignedly, she fluffs the lone pillow and moves to lie down once her hair’s dry. (She thinks she’ll continue to keep her hair in a manageable bob like this, just for convenience’s sake — even if Roy prefers it otherwise.)

“Lieutenant,” he calls, sounding scandalised. Riza cracks an eyelid open and stares at him, as if to say, what? (She still has no idea how men do this so quickly, even after all these years in the military. It barely takes more than a minute for them to finish their ablutions, even though their bodies are nearly twice the size of hers. Thrice, if she’s including people like Major Armstrong in the count.) “What are you doing?”

“Sleeping. Or trying to.”

Roy makes a sound of disapproval as he dries himself (Riza turns away respectfully at this) and puts on his pajamas. She feels his weight on the mattress once he’s done, and when she refuses to budge from a spot he starts poking her from behind, like a needy child badgering their parents for an impossible gift (she doesn’t even remember behaving like this as a young girl).

Riza groans and rolls her shoulders. “What?”

“I told you to take the pillow, Lieutenant.”

“I told you it was fine.”

He clucks his tongue. Roy rolls her around to face him, and she bites her lips to stifle another groan.

“Stubborn as always, aren’t you?”

“Pot, kettle,” Riza murmurs wearily. She can barely keep her eyes open at this point, much less keep up with his nonsensical, baseless arguments. “Go to sleep, sir.”

Roy tries, vainly, to slip the pillow under her head a few minutes later, but Riza elbows him in the ribs and pulls the blanket over them, effectively ceasing the argument. He huffs petulantly and closes his eyes.

—

“Trouble sleeping?”

“No,” Riza mumbles, but it’s a lie. She knows that he knows it’s one. (It’s no secret that both of them have had trouble sleeping since the war.)

“You’re lying,” he says, though not accusingly.

Riza ignores him and clutches a handful of the motel’s standard-issue white blanket. She covers her eyes with them and tries to sleep, again, but she fails spectacularly at this otherwise simple task. There’s just something about motels and their pastel walls and background music that tends to set her on edge. Maybe it’s because it’s so unlike what she’s used to. (She’s fallen asleep to the sound of gunshots and explosions, more times than she has to Debussy.) Or maybe it’s the fact that she’s no longer sleeping on a single-sized bed, by herself.

“Are you sure you don’t want the pillow?”

“No.”

“Stubborn as ever,” he mutters. She thinks he’s given up on fighting a losing battle, when she feels his arms pulling her close.

“With all due respect —”

“Nothing inappropriate, Lieutenant. I promise you.” She struggles to free herself from his grip, but clearly, all the work he’s been putting at the gym lately has paid off. Riza glares at him, murderously. He simply grins. “Since they ran out of pillows, we’ll simply have to make one.”

“What, with alchemy?”

“Actually, that doesn’t sound entirely implausible.” Riza is about to push herself off his chest, when he tightens his grip around her. “But it’s late, and I’m tired, and besides, we’re supposed to be an ordinary couple, nothing else.”

The word rolls off his tongue infuriatingly. Riza gets the peculiar feeling that he’s enjoying this far more than he should be. She frowns, glancing at him from beneath her lashes.

“I do tend to move around a lot in my sleep, sir.”

“I know.” He shrugs against her, positioning her head so that it’s resting comfortably on his chest. Then Roy wraps his arms around her again, almost gleefully, uncaringly, as if there’s nothing inappropriate about their shared embrace. Riza huffs. “But it’s fine. Anything to help my favourite subordinate sleep.”

“How very kind of you, sir,” Riza mutters drily. She attempts, somewhat furtively, to tickle him - she knows all his weak spots by now - but Roy dodges it with surprising agility, like he would a bullet.

“Of course. Please make sure to give me a good performance review when the time comes,” he says, smirking in a way she can only describe as insufferable.

“Only if you stop drooling all over your desk.”

“For the record, I do not,” he says, with an injured sniff.

Riza rolls her eyes, but she doesn’t protest further. She won’t admit it aloud, but it’s nice, being held like this. Roy is unusually sweet in a way that he isn’t anywhere else. He hasn’t been this way since they were kids.

“Yes, you do,” Riza retorts softly, ignoring the lump in her throat.

(This scene is achingly familiar, like a vignetted memory, like an excerpt of a film she already knows the ending to. The ending is always the same in her dreams.)

Laughter rumbles from his chest. It is a lovely sound to hear, after a long day of work, but it rubs against her cheek ingratiatingly, and Riza makes a mental note to write a letter to the hotel when they’re back in the city — a not-too-gentle reminder to stock up on pillows and other necessities.

“We can save this argument for another time, Lieutenant. It’s two in the morning.”

Riza relents, because it is two in the morning. She thinks sleep should claim her now, rather than later; she’s been trying to cut down on her caffeine intake lately. But Roy starts stroking her hair, and then her back, like he’s trying to lull a child to sleep, and Riza has to swallow the satisfied hum lurking in her throat (she refuses to give him any satisfaction of knowing that she is, in fact, enjoying this, far more than she has any right to).

Riza clears her throat. She pushes his arm away.

“I’m not a cat, you know.”

Laughter, again. The caressing stops. She feels him pressing a kiss to the top of her head, and then he’s hugging her again, one arm resting languidly on her side like she’s some sort of a replacement bolster.

“I know. Goodnight, Riza,” he says, softly.

She doesn’t have the heart to remind him that they’re still on a mission.

“Goodnight,” Riza whispers. There’s a part of her that aches, yearns for this moment to be something more than a(nother) fleeting, stippled memory, but her bliss is abruptly broken by the commotion coming from upstairs — something about an adulterous affair and impecuniosity.

Riza shifts uneasily and tries to drown it all out by focusing on his heartbeat instead. It’s audible beneath her cheek — not quite like a lullaby, but close enough — just a gentle hum of life, enough to quell her frazzled nerves and lull her back into peace.

When she falls asleep at last, Riza dreams of something different, something that stems from her deepest desires.

(In her dreams, she’s in a white dress, and Roy is radiantly alive in a sunlit attic.)

#royai #royai fic #royai fanfic #I am once again posting a fic on company time LMAO #Emma my love I hope this brightens up your week a little <3 I tried my best to keep things fluffy and soft for u heheHEHE MWAH #ilysm friend!!! hang in there *hugs* <3 #reblogs and comments are always appreciated :")

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kairos-polaris · 3 years

Text

A schism of magic

Chapte 1

Marinette finds a golden watch. Opening it changed a lot in her life.

***

She remembers being eight and looking at the Untempered Schism. She was prepared to see everything but not magic and gods the size of her hand. The image left a lingering need to run in her bones but she was very good at resisting the urge.

***

Marinette was tired. Exhausted. Worn out. Bone-tired.

Why? Well, studying, working on commissions, and saving Paris from Hawkmoth at the same time wasn't easy. Her schedule was packed so tightly, she hadn't slept more than four hours for almost three months.

Maybe, I should close commissions. This will give me more free time. I can also work more on finding Hawkmoth. And focus on my education,' Marinette thought. She looked around her room. Everything was calm. She narrowed her eyes in suspicion. Kwamis were similar to kids in one aspect: if they're quiet, they're making a mess somewhere. Marinette sighed and rubbed her forehead. She really was too tired to clean up anything.

Marinette sighed again and got up. Apparently, being awake for 64 hours straight wasn't good for her health because Marinette felt her head spin and everything went dark for a moment. "I need to take a nap," she muttered to herself while swaying softly. "Maybe consuming so much caffeine isn't good for me".

Finding kwamis turned out to be relatively easy. They were all sitting on her bed, next to a golden fob watch with engraved circular designs. It was a beautiful watch, Marinette had to admit.

"Where did you find it? I don't remember having anything similar," Marinette frowned. "Did you steal it?"

Judging by kwamis' guilty looks they did steal it. The next questions were how, when, why, and from whom? Marinette sighed inwardly. It wasn't going to be easy.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" Marinette asked after several minutes of silence. Wayzz flew forward as the most responsible one.

"We wanted to explore a little bit," they've started, "and we accidentally flew into your parents room. Immediately after I realized where we were I made them leave. But in my hurry I didn't notice that Fluff did not go with us. And I think Fluff can tell more now."

The kwami of evolution had the decency to look guilty under Wayzz's glare. Fluff flew closer to her, trying to appear innocent. "I'm not sorry, Guardian. I had to do this for the stability of timelines. You will understand it later. This watch contains your consciousness. It is you, Guardian."

"What do you mean, Fluff?" she asked, a small frown forming between her eyebrows. "How can a fob watch be me?"

"You're a Time Lady. This watch is a part of the mechanism called the Chameleon Arc. From what I know your people use it as a perfect disguise. Chameleon Arc changes your biology and creates false memories. You have to open it," Fluff didn't wait for her answer and just dropped it on her knees.

Fluff's words seemed to be too unlikely to be true. Why would she want to change her species or create false memories? Why didn't Tikki say anything if it were true?

"Are you trying to pull a prank on me, Fluff?" she asked tiredly. She wasn't in the mood for games.

"Just open it, Guardian. I used the Burrow to make sure this is the right time. It's very important for you to open this watch."

It didn't seem real. More like from a tv show with aliens. But she was the Guardian of multiple gods. She knew that aliens existed (hard not to, considering how everybody talks about Superman, Martian Manhunter, Green Lanterns and others). So there was a chance that Fluff was telling the truth. The only way to find out was to open the watch. If she wasn't a Time Lord, nothing would change. And if she was … well, they would deal with it later.

A small click of the opened clasp and a bright golden light blinded her. Several seconds later the room was filled with her pained screams. And then she blacked out.

Tikki wasn't panicking. She wasn't! Nothing Plagg says can be trusted. So don't believe him when he says that Tikki was flying around her Chosen and babbling 100 words per minute.

But what if Marinette didn't wake up? What if she forgot about Tikki and the time they've spent together? What if she didn't want to see them anymore?

"Urgh, it shouldn't have hurt so much. I shouldn't have blacked out," Marinette's voice interrupted Tikki's inner monologue. Kwami immediately flew to her face to assure herself that Marinette was alright.

"How are you feeling? What has gone wrong?" Tikki asked worriedly while flying around Marinette's head.

"I'm okay, Tikki. I just didn't expect it to hurt so much. I didn't completely believe this watch could do anything to me." She breathed out to regulate her heartbeats. "I'm just happy… my parents aren't home. I don't know how to explain this to them."

Fluff flew closer and nuzzled into her cheek. "I'm sorry, Guardian. I didn't think something like that would happen," Fluff said, their eyes shining with regret. "What is your name, Guardian?"

"My name is Morana," she answered slowly, her head still pounding from the pain. Using her full name felt somewhat wrong. Her entire family was dead. Her home planet was most likely destroyed in the War, because the Universe was standing and Rassilon wasn't the type to change plans.

"Why did you use this thing in the first place? Was it because of the Time War?" Fluff asked before every kwami flew to them in an attempt to close their mouths.

Morana stayed silent. She trusted kwamii, she even loved them. But the Time War changed her so much that she couldn't recognise herself. Seeing death every day and being aware that your people sacrificed civilisations to win just one battle wasn't easy for her. And she didn't want to relieve everything she had seen or done.

Kwamis seemed to understand this, giving her time to collect her thoughts. She opened her mouth to start talking, but… she couldn't say anything. Every word felt too weak to describe why she had used the Chameleon Arc and what had led to this.

"It's not so easy," she started again. "I.. A lot of things featured in my decision to use it. I wasn't technically running away from the war. I was ordered to leave. You can call me a backup plan. But I was attacked while leaving. My Time Capsule is still young so she was heavily injured. And because of it I was injured, too.

Then I finally was in this Universe. Heavily bleeding, I decided that regeneration was my best choice. Something went wrong, again, and I looked like a six years old. Using the Chameleon Arc was part of Lord Rassilon's plan so that's what I did."

Kwamis stayed silent. It was clear that Morana didn't want to talk about it and they would respect her wishes. Some wounds should be left alone so they heal properly.

"You should go to sleep. You were running on sheer spite, and becoming a Time Lady again was hard for your body," Wayzz said. He was always the most responsible and caring kwami. Morana smiled at him and silently went to her bed. She had a lot of work cut out for her. She could only hope she wouldn't wake up from a nightmare.

***

Waking up a Time Lord again felt strange. Utterly strange. It must be because she had used the Chameleon Arc immediately after regeneration. Not everything was set and she should have waited a little bit. Well, what's done is done. She couldn't change anything.

What she could do was moan to kwamis about aches in seemingly all her body parts. Her head felt close to exploding from all the pressure. She could feel neurons snapping into place. It would go much easier if she were on Gallifrey. Or at least in the Zero Room. Regenerating anywhere else was awfully painful.

Due to her newly discovered heightened hearing she heard Sabine's steps. The woman most likely wanted to wake up Marinette so she wouldn't be late for school. Morana didn't want to move, less go to a public place before she could actually control her body.

"Marinette, you are going to be late if you don't get up right now," Sabine said from somewhere in the room. Morana was too overwhelmed with the amount of new smells that came with Sabine.

"I'm sorry, Maman. I have a really bad headache. Everything hurts," she said, desperately trying to tall like Marinette would. Her usual speech patterns were too proper for a teenager. However, it was a problem for later. At the very moment Mora just wanted her head to stop pounding. A very tiny part of her wanted that pain to last, this way she would not have to be confronted with silence. No telepathic specie deserved to be completely alone in their heads.

"Do you need something, sweetie?" the woman was clearly concerned, more than her actual mother ever was. Morana felt a small pang in her chest, but brushed it off immediately as an aftereffect of regeneration going wrong. "I'm going to be in the bakery, just call me when you need anything, okay?"

Kwamis flew out immediately after Sabine had left. They looked very concerned for her health, and it warmed her heart a lot. Time Lords were too proper to care for anyone other than themselves. Morana sighed inwardly, because doing so outwardly would be too painful. She was so used to resenting her own people that she forgot that they are dead. Properly dead. No crossing time streams would let her see even her most annoying cousins. And it pained her more than she wanted to admit.

"Can we help somehow, Master?" Wayzz asked softly, adjusting his voise tone so it wouldn't hurt her head. Marinette appreciated the effort. She really did. She did not appreciate being called Master.

"Plese, never call me Master, Wayzz," she said weakly. "I know a Time Lord who call himself that. He's one of the biggest annoyances Gallifrey had ever known. He had also destroyed my lab once so I don't like being reminded of him," she explained, seeing kwamis' wondering gazes. She didn't mention that reminder of the home she had lost hurt her a lot, but judging by Tikki's and Wayzz's reactions, they understood her without any words needed

"What can we do to help you, Morana? You never answered," Tikki said, carefully gouging her reaction. Morana sighed, outwardly this time. She hoped they moved on from the subject.

"Nothing, unless you can get me Gallifrey," she let out a bitter laugh. "Or my Time Capsule. Even just being there would help me greatly. But, alas, I don't know where she is. I can't move to get there anyway."

"I can try to search for it, Guardian," Barkk offered. Morana stayed silent for a moment. It would seem like a great idea if she didn't know that her Time Capsule couldn't be detected if she herself didn't approve. And Morana couldn't possibly do it from her bedroom in Paris. That's what she explained to the dog kwami. It, apparently, insulted the god a lot, because they started loudly explaining how nothing could hinder their search and that they were the best in it before remembering about Morana's headache. It seemed to shut them up pretty fast, but Morana just appreciated the silence.

"Let's tall about this later, when my brain won't try to explode and my body will be more used to… a lot of things, actually," she offered, because she really didn't want to argue with anyone. Especially with kwamis. "I'm going to sleep. Hope it will help me."

***

Sleep didn't help. Painkillers didn't help. Which was obvious, because human medicine could never help a Time Lord. Especially after regeneration.

But Marinette did feel better. Tea, apparently, helped, because after only one cup her head stopped hurting so much and she could do anything without being overwhelmed. Marinette appreciated it, but was too baffled by the realisation. She even regretted that they never had it on Gallifrey. It would help a lot of Time Lords. Especially during the Time War, because everyone was burning through their regeneration like… like Doctor!

"What are we going to do now?" she asked kwamis. Morana knew they considered her too weak to do anything and it irritated her a lot. Time Lords were a superior species, regeneration was their strength, not a weakness.

"You have to understand one thing, Guardian," Wayzz started, always the peacemaker. "We don't think you are weak or anything like that. But I personally believe that you need more rest. And you won't get it while fixing your Time Capsule. It would take a lot of time and effort to get her into proper shape, considering that you had to regenerate from all the damage," Wayzz explained slowly, like one would to a child.

Morana knew his words had logic. If she saw her Time Capsule, she wouldn't rest until everything was fixed. And it would cause major problems in the long run for her health. It could even force her to regenerate and she wasn't keen on changing her bodies like gloves. She still hated it.

"Okay, we will wait," she said after a long moment of silence and kwamis started cheering immediately. "For now we have to think how I am supposed to act." She was met with bland and confused looks. "My speech patterns, my behaviour and even the way I hold myself is drastically different from Marinette. Some things have stayed, like my intellect, curiosity and need to learn more, but a lot of Marinette was influenced by growing up as a human. I was raised completely differently."

"I can take you wherever you want, Guardian," Kaalki courteously offered. "You can change their memories a little bit, take some money and leave. I believe that you know how to hack computers."

Kaalki's offer made a lot of sense and in any other situation Morana would agree immediately. But it wasn't any other situation. "I can't leave because of Hawkmoth," she said quietly.

Mora was also ashamed of the fact that she still hadn't caught the man. It was embarrassing for a Time Lady of her status. At least she had another reason to not leave immediately to find her Time Capsule. She would be too tempted to leave and never return. Time Lords aren't meant to meddle with humans and history in general. "But the Doctor did so," a traitorous voice, the most rebellious part of her, whispered. You envy his freedom but yet you are unable to let go of Time Lords's ideals. You have to choose one day.". And that was a conversation for another day.

The next hour was spent discussing Marinette's behaviour and how Morana could start slowly changing, so her classmates (she had graduated from the Academy years ago and she still had to go to a human school and she hated that) wouldn't notice. It wouldn't be very hard, considering they could only see Lila and her pretty tales.

There was also an issue of Marinette's crush on one Adrien Agreste. It was borderline creepy and hurt Marinette's mental health. Thank Rassilon, her Time Lord consciousness was woken up just in time. In the back of her mind Morana could feel possible outcomes of the situation with Adrien and Lila and she liked none of them

Lila and her lies were another reason for Morana to burn bright red from shame. Marinette losing her composure and completely not being to defend herself was unbecoming for a Time Lady. Her parents and Academy teachers had taught her better than that.

That liar was a completely different issue. On one hand, she would keep attention diverted from Morana. On the other, she wasn't sure the liar wouldn't try to discredit her even further. Morana preferred staying hidden rather than attracting unnecessary attention. And the repeat of her infamous expulsion would do exactly that.

There was also a matter of pride. Her Time Lord part was enraged that a human girl thought herself better than her. Morana wanted to destroy the liar, make her reap what she had sowed. But deep down she knew that destroying a minor would not help her feel better.

"I want to deal with Lila without exposing her myself," she said out loud. Voicing out her thoughts sometimes helped. "I have to make someone else do it, but who?"

"You can subtly help your classmates find the truth," Tikki offered. "You are more eloquent and confident than Marinette. You wouldn't lose your head if someone started doubting you."

"It would work if I didn't change so much. I don't want to attract attention but talking to them will make them notice me. No, it won't work," Marinette shook her head. She stayed silent before a small spark ignited in her eyes. "I can make teachers expose her! I will get rid of Bustier and Damocles. This way not only will the Lila situation be resolved, but it will prevent something similar happening in the future!"

"That's an amazing idea!" Tikki exclaimed. "How do you want to do this?" But Marinette was already deep in work, cursing human technology every now and then.

Not even two hours later Morana got up with a triumphant grin. "We have to wait and see the results for ourselves now," she said.

"What did you do, Guardian?" Wayzz asked, tilting his head slightly.

"Wait and see! It will be much more interesting!" Morana didn't wait to see kwamis's reaction and just bolted out of her room. Buying computer parts was high in her priority because there was no way she would ever work with human technology without adjusting it to her needs. She also wanted to change her bedroom. Pink was a lovely colour but a completely pink bedroom was too much for Morana.

***

Morana skipped two more school days, because of fatigue and random headaches. Every time she shut her eyes from pain she was reminded of Gallifrey and Zero Room. It wouldn't hurt so much if she were there.

On the third day Morana decided it was time to go and assess the situation. She also needed proof of Bustier's unprofessionalism and her enabling bullies. She also wanted to know if anyone saw through Lila's lies. It was highly unlikely but a Time Lady could hope.

Dressing up was a major problem. Morana and Marinette had as different tastes in clothes as it could be. One preferred soft lines and pastel colours, another favoured strict forms and traditional colours. Marinette's style was too casual for Morana, who was used to stuff robes and gigantic headpieces.

"I guess I have to work with what I have for now, and then buy more when I can," Morana thought.

"You look very different from Marinette, Mora," Tikki said after Morana finished getting dressed. "But it suits you. I bet you are used to completely different clothes."

Morana decided to change Marinette's style a little bit, forgoing pigtails and usual clothes. Instead, she chose a white shirt and dress pants. She put her hair up in a bun. It was just the perfect combination of casual and formal. Morana would still do anything to wear robes from Gallifreywhich she didn't even have because her home planet was destroyed.

"I am ready. Who is going to go to school with me today?" It was a tradition at that point for Marinette to take kwamis with her to school and Morana didn't want to change it. It was decided that Trixx and Wayzz would come with her.

Morana already felt a growing headache. Unfortunately, it wasn't because of her less than stellar regeneration, but knowing what kinds of troubles Trixx could trick Wayzz and Tikki into. Hopefully Tikki would reign them in.

"Do you think Chat Noir will be suspicious when he sees me?" she asked, causing Tikki to nervously gulp. Kwami of creation wasn't a good liar. Just like Marinette.

"No! You were always very serious and strict as Marinette! I am sure he wouldn't notice the difference!" Tikki ranted, nervousness obvious in her small movements. Did she get that from Marinette too?

Morana sighed and smiled as softly as she could. "I wasn't sure that Chat was in my class but your poor lying skills just admitted it," Tikki just looked away, embarrassment and shame of exposing Chat's identity were noticeable in her eyes. Morana bit her lip, contemplating whether she should stay silent or cheer up kwami. She didn't think long. "Hey, it's okay, Tikki. It's not your fault that I know that Adrien is Chat. Human and Time Lord brains work differently, so I could imagine how Chat's face looked without the mask. I'm sure magic would help protect his identity if you always knew that I'm a Time Lady."

Tikki wasn't convinced, guilt still lingering in her little body. The previous guardian being so against Ladybug and Chat Noir knowing each other's identity has influenced kwami more than Morana thought previously. Tikki more than Plagg, obviously. "The previous guardian was a coward and not the smartest man," Morana stopped, trying to pick words that wouldn't offend the old man too much. "We don't know what would happen if Ladybug or Chat Noir were akumatized. Knowing who the other is would help us a lot. We could work together as civilians."

"Yes, you are right, Morana," Tikki said, stifling a sob. She nuzzled into Morana's cheek with a content sigh. They stood like that for several long moments. Luckily, there was still time as Morana had got up earlier to not be late.

"We have to go now, Tikki. We don't want to be late." It pained her to refuse Tikki so obviously needed comfort. But Morana couldn't allow herself to be late. Unless

"You know what? We can stay for a little bit longer. I planned everything so I would be the first in the class. We have full ten minutes for ourselves," she said with more confidence than she felt. Changing plans to make someone feel better wasn't something Time Lords would respect. But Tikki was important for her and Morana would be damned if she left her dear friend sad and hurt.

Tikki squealed happily before taking Morana's finger and leading her to the chaise. Over the course of the next several minutes every kwami flew to her. Morana thanked them mentally as being with her friends made Tikki feel much better.

Morana was ashamed to admit that she, a Time Lady with very precise time senses, had lost track of time. Instead of ten minutes they've spent almost twenty cuddling and listening to everyone's stories. And because of her tardiness she was running late. But what was unusual for Morana was normal for Marinette.

"Well, at least nobody will be surprised. Everyone expects Marinette to be late. Never expected that being late will have good sides," she thought while running to school. Fortunately, the building wasn't too far from the bakery and her physique allowed her to run faster and longer.

Morana stopped running just mere meters before her class' doors. She had two choices: enter like a mess aka Marinette's usual way, or go in calmly and confidently. She would attract less attention if she chose the second option, but it can possibly attract more attention later. But it would work if she ran away immediately after dismantling Lila's empire. Yes, that was her best choice.

Morana took a deep breath and entered her class. Everything was just the way she had expected: everyone sitting around Lila and listening to her tales, Alix and Kim were arguing about something. What she hadn't expected were Rose and Juleka. They were sitting away from everyone else, talking in hushed voices. They were also looking at Lila and her court every few seconds, which was even more suspicious. Morana sighed, knowing that she hadn't predicted everything. Again. Great.

***

Everything was too calm. Lila continued entertaining class with her stories but never mentioned anyone famous. Juleka and Rose spent the whole day whispering about something, but they were talking too soft for Morana to hear anything. And, in the name of Rassilon, did that frustrate her

Judging by Bustier's calm demeanor, Morana's plan hasn't reached her yet. The same must have been true for Damocles, because the man was acting as usual. He was also too much of an awful actor to pretend everything is fine enough to fool Morana. No, she just had to be more patient. She had more than enough time for that.

The day turned out to be utterly boring considering Lila didn't try to start a drama, or force Adrien sit with her. Juleka and Rose weren't confronted despite acting suspicious the whole time. Nobody approached "Marinette". The worst part was trying to pretend that she didn't know everything better than teachers. Her eyes twitched every time Mendeleev said something proved wrong years ago. "Patience, humans still have to disprove that and you know it. You can't compare the Academy with even the best human university. Even ones in the 51st century weren't as good,". Being the smartest person in the whole school wasn't easy, as you can see.

"Marinette, we wanted to talk to you," Rose said timidly, Juleka holding her hand. Well, apparently she had been wrong about nobody approaching her. "Can we talk in private, please? I… We have something to tell you. It's very important."

Morana contemplated refusing them. They had believed Lila but something she really wanted why they had been acting so suspiciously the whole day.

"Yes, I don't mind," she said cautiously and immediately saw tension leave Rose's body. It was so easy to read her. "We can go to the bakery. I promise that my parents won't intrude."

Juleka and Rose started nodding frantically, obviously not wanting her to change her mind. It was proving to be very interesting.

Fortunately, the walk to the bakery was short because Rose looked like she would blow up from the need to spill all the information.

Morana led them to her room, stopping briefly to greet her parents. They were so busy they didn't even notice her. Hm, not surprising.

"Well, what did you want to tell me?" she asked when they were finally sitting in her room. Rose bit her lip and started fidgeting with her fingers. She looked at Juleka with a silent plea to start talking.

"We know that Lila is a liar," Juleka said so softly Morana wouldn't hear if not for her enhanced hearing. "Rose mentioned her while talking with Prince Ali and he explained that he had never met anyone named "Lila Rossi" or that his charity work is directed to children, not pollution. He also mentioned that Lila could be sued for using his family name in her own gain.

Rose then immediately ran to our class and told everyone just that. But that liar somehow managed to save herself by saying that she had mistaken Prince Ali for her another celebrity friend. Rose then got so angry she told everyone about a possible lawsuit and that shut up Lie-la pretty quickly. After that she stopped mentioning celebrities and started focusing on herself."

That explained everyone's behaviour pretty nicely. And she didn't even have to think for herself, everything was given on a silver plate. Just use the information however you want to.

"I am so sorry, Marinette! Forgive me for not believing you!" Rose exclaimed, tears welling up in her eyes. Morana hugged her, pressing Rose's face into her chest, allowing her to cry and let out all of her emotions. She could be colder than ice sometimes, but she would never let a child cry. Especially one her human self considered a friend.

"It's okay, it's okay. I forgive you," she whispered into Rose's head, while drawing soothing circles on her back. "You know the truth and that's all I wanted."

That wasn't a lie per se but not completely a truth. Marinette only wanted her friends to believe her over Lila, but Morana wanted them all to pay for their foolishness. Fortunately, her maturity and those parts of her that still were Marinette won out and it was pretty easy to forgive Juleka and Rose.

"You are so nice, Marinette! I don't deserve your kindness!" Rose sobbed into her shoulder. "I was worried when you didn't come to school and wanted to visit you but Lila said that you wouldn't want to see me. And I listened to her! And I left you! Instead of me begging your forgiveness you are comforting me! I'm so so so sorry!"

Morana knew that Rose was a soft and nice person. She even expected her to be the first who apologized to her. She did not expect her to be so upset about it. She took a deep breath and took Rose's face in her hands. Tears were running down her red cheeks and she let out an ugly sob with every breath.

"It really is okay, Rose. I understand you and why you wouldn't believe me. I have not the best track record when it concerns Adrien," she said with a self-ironic smile, hoping it would make her feel better. And Rose did have a small smile. "I actually am happy that you have found the truth by yourself and went immediately to tell everyone. It shows how much you care about them."

"But… but you did the same!" Rose protested. "You knew that she was a liar and immediately decided to tell everyone! You knew how harmful her false promises were and acted to protect everyone! But they just thought you were jealous and it's so unfair!"

Morana smiled softly and wiped away remnants of Rose's tears. "You were very brave, Rose. You had seen them not believing me and still acted to protect them. Some part of you knew they wouldn't believe but you trusted them enough to ignore that voice. It's not your fault Lila knows how to change your words to fit her narrative."

"I'm also very sorry, Marinette. Luka likes you and I doubt he would if you actually stole necklaces and pushed people down the stairs," Juleka chuckled before realisation dawned on her. It looked like a lightbulb in her head was turned on. "If you actually pushed Lila down the stairs, she would be seriously injured. And she would require medical attention anyway."

Juleka continued listing Lila's most obvious lies but Morana didn't listen. She just grinned. Apparently, some of her classmates did have more than one brain cell. And it was the most fascinating thing seeing one of them use it properly. Was it why the Doctor spent so much time with humans? Was it the reason he took them to see the Universe? To see them grow and change? To make them see the world in a different light? If so, then Morana could finally understand why the Doctor had so many human companions. Maybe, after getting her Time Capsule back she would invite someone to go with her. It would be fun.

"... Marinette? Marinette? Are you listening?" Juleka's worried voice drew her out of her thoughts.

"I'm sorry. Could you repeat the last bit again?" she asked, trying to look as sheepish as possible. Juleka and Rose exchanged a look that could be translated to "Marinette being Marinette and getting lost in thoughts as usual". Morana tried her hardest to not be offended, considering they weren't wrong but she did huff causing both girls to start laughing. At least Rose wasn't crying anymore.

"I asked what we could do to expose Lila. We could ask Jagged Stone to come. Or Clara. Or call Prince Ali," Juleka said after she stopped laughing.

"I don't think it's a good idea," she started. "Media would twist everything to fit their narrative. Why would a famous rockstar or a pop singer or an actual prince come to disprove lies of a teenager? A lot of people lie about knowing celebrities but nobody pays attention to them. Media would ask "what's so special about that girl?" and I'm sure Lila would use it to her own benefit," she said with a small sigh. They were Marinette's thoughts, her trying to not call Jagged to solve the Lila problem.

"You are right," Juleka said after thinking for a minute. "But how do we expose her?"

"It's simple. We won't," Morana simply stated. Juleka and Rose shared a confused look before looking at her expecting an explanation. "New teachers will. I want Damocles and Bustier fired. I believe new teachers won't be so lenient in their responsibilities and would look into Lila's medical history. They would also contact Lila's mother every time skips school or doesn't hand in her assignments."

"That's smart," Juleka admitted. She then frowned. "We are putting a lot of faith on those possible new teachers. How can we know they won't be the same as Damocles and Bustier?"

Morana slowly blinked. She hadn't considered that before. Now, she had no choice but to ensure new teachers would be chosen correctly. More work for her. Great

"Don't worry about it. It will be my problem anyway," she said with a small shrug. The girls didn't look convinced but they didn't argue further and Morana appreciated it. They didn't stay longer, there was homework and band practice for them so they couldn't lose more time. Another thing Morana appreciated because she wasn't sure how to make them leave. She needed some time alone. There was a lot of planning to do.

#ml x doctor who #mlb #angst #mari and tikki bond #bustier salt #damocles salt #lila is smarter than in cannon #marinette dupain cheng #mlb tikki #mlb wayzz #mlb fluff #rose lavillant #juleka couffaine

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hsmtmts-justsomewriting · 3 years

Text

Not to be your stereotypical second semester senior but EJ Caswell is a bit too busy to be thinking about sports metaphors...

(Alternative title- overcommitted..sounds like a Caswell)

Senior year was insanely busy. Being so overwhelmed EJ had been slowing down over the last couple weeks, but he was brushing it off just fine.

EJ has arrived late that day, which was unusual in itself, as he prides himself on being on time. Holding a half eaten packet of Oreos he shuffled into the rehearsal room slumping on the bleachers away from his chattering cast mates.

“EJ honey great you could join us, you’d think a senior couldn’t get lost in the halls!” Miss Jenn giggled at her own joke as the cast were suddenly alerted to the older boys presence. EJ absentmindedly nodded and grabbed out his script.

“Yeah...sorry..um...where are we at?”

“Page 63” “Cool... thanks”

Flipping to that part in the script, he looks up to take in the scene. Kourtney, Gina, Seb and Carlos are clearly half way through blocking a castle scene- Carlos complaining his arms are tired from ‘staying in character’, Kourtney and Seb working out where they are going to come in from and how to negotiate Sebs big box costume (although it’s proving very difficult considering the rehearsal room is about a quarter of the size of the stage) and Gina is animatedly discussing the scene choices with Miss Jenn.

Within an instant, EJ is startled from the scene as Natalie is beside him rambling something about ‘needing a fill in for cogworth’ ‘went home sick’. Sauntering up with his script, EJ’s vision goes spotted as he gets up from the bleachers. But as soon as it comes it’s gone.

He just needs to get through this rehearsal, then he can; go home, finish his debate speech, go over the plays for Friday’s waterpolo match, study for tomorrow’s maths assessment, start his exam notes, memorise his lines, work on his college applications, and maybe even get some sleep.

Joining the cast he tries to hide in the back corner. Following the basic blocking directions seemed harder than usual, his head had began to pound and fatigue hit him like a wave.

However he continued on, sluggish but present helping them to finish blocking the scene.

Walking back to his place on the bleachers EJ trips over his own feet. Catching himself before a big splat on the floor he is able to avoid the attention of his cast mates. Well mostly.

“EJ are you ok?”

EJ didn’t need to look up to know that his cousin had definitely seen his little trip.

“Yep fine”

“Ok try again but this time make it the truth”

Ashlyn was caring but firm, she definitely wasn’t going to brush it off. EJ could feel his facade fading under her concerned gaze. His voice drops low.

“I-i just don’t know... Ash, I’m trying-“

“ON TO THE NEXT SCENE Gaston and Le Fou, I need you boys to start down stage right”

EJ got up slowly, subtly steadying himself against a chair not to lose balance.

“Nevermind it’ll be fine”

EJ walks off, with that any vulnerablity on face vanishing, leaving Ashlyn’s stomach to churn in a pool of worry.

Being an after school rehearsal, most of the cast heads off after they start rehearsing the next scene as it only has Gaston and Le Fou. Leaving the rehearsal room with just Miss Jenn, Big Red, EJ, Ashlyn and Gina (the latter two who were waiting on the senior for a ride home).

EJ and Big Red slowly work through the dialogue, the scene is about as smooth as a clunky old railway track. After running it twice EJ feels like his words are melding into one. But pushing through, based off his poor entrenched habits, EJ made it through another run through of the scene.

“Um can we take a five?”

Miss Jenn looks at the senior perplexed, he’s never asked for a five. Ever.

“EJ honey is everything ok?”

“Hm, yeah just need a sec”

EJ’s exhausation catches up with him, the light seems to highlight the bags under his eyes. He drops onto the bleachers, resting his head in his hands he closes his eyes for a second.

“Miss Jenn, EJ doesn’t look so good maybe you guys should wrap this up for today-”

“Ash I’m-“

“No. You look exhausted! You barely have the energy to stand up for 10 minutes”

Ashlyn moves to grab him his drink bottle but runs into his iced coffee and Oreo packet first. She flinches. Her cousin never drinks coffee unless he purely needs the caffeine.

EJ freezes she moment he realises she’s seen it.

“When was the last time you slept?!”

All eyes are on him.

“James” His head snapped up. But he couldn’t look his cousin in the eye. Because then she’d see his eyes are glassy with unshed tears. His overwhelmed thoughts race through his mind.

“Ok I think we’ll pick this up next rehearsal, please be safe getting home and get some rest”

The four students start to pack up their bags, Ashlyn asking her boyfriend to give them all a lift. Turning to her cousin, helps him finish packing his stuff.

“You can stay in the guest room, we’re having lasagna tonight”

EJ too tired to protest, walks past his Jeep in the parking lot to get in a smaller orange bug car. He’ll have to come back for it tomorrow because there’s no way he could drive safely in his tired state.

The car ride home was eerily quiet, Ashlyn day in the passenger seat next to Big Red. He drove to Ashlyn’s house like a routine he knew by heart. Gina keep flicking worried glances at EJ but the senior didn’t even notice, having closed his eyes and resting against the window the moment he entered the car.

“Thanks for the ride Biggie”

Gina gentley nudged EJ and his eyes were open in an instant.

“Thanks Red” He mumbled as he got out of the car.

“No worries, take care guys”

As the orange car was disappearing into the distance, Ashlyn unlocked the front door. Gina and EJ follow her into the house.

“James lets go the living room”

EJ follows Ashlyn to the couch, and Gina continues past to grab a drink of water from the kitchen.

“What’s going on?”

Ashlyn puts a hand on his shoulder and gently squeezes it, grounding him and reminding him that she’s here to listen. He looks at the faded colourful rug and his words begin to vomit out softly.

“I’m just trying to get it all done ...and um.. for weeks I just never seem to have enough time, and I still have to do my study notes and finish my assessment and college apps tonight... but I’m just so tired...”

His voice cracks and the wall behind his eyes begin to break.

“I have to stay up so late, to get everything I have to all done...and then polo practice at the crack of dawn... i don’t know.. I just can’t... let anyone down..”

Ashlyn pulls EJ in tightly. His body wracked with sobs, her heart breaks as she hasn’t seen him like this in a long time. Gina initially freezes entering the room just as the senior had begun to cry but soon shifts over beside them engulfing them both in a hug.

Grabbing some tissues and a sip of water he’s able to stop his crying but his tense shoulders give away his overwhelmed mind.

“it will be ok, we’ll work this out. Everyone else will understand if everything is not done right now. You’ve got to take better care of yourself, what matters is if you are ok”

Gina nods in agreeance with Ashlyn as she comforts EJ.

“But for now you need to take a break, just have a quick nap before dinner in the guest room-“

“But I have to-“

“No James you need a rest, all this stuff can come later”

He sluggishly gets up heading for the guest room mumbling a “thanks Ash” as he retreats to his long awaited rest.

After he closes the door, Ashlyn lets out the breath she had been holding. She was convinced they would have to put up more of a fight to get him to go to sleep, but the fact that they didn’t was almost more concerning.

“He did seem a little bit off earlier in the week but yeah I had no idea that this was under the surface”

Gina says to break the silence created by her and Ashlyn’s shocked worry.

“Yeah he’s always been pretty good at bottling this stuff up, definitely a Caswell skill”

Ashlyn starts to pick up the tissues heading to the bin in the kitchen. Both the girls enter the kitchen to finish heating up the leftover lasagna they made yesterday.

While cooking the veggies the girls trade stories of earlier in the day and discuss the spotting of Miss Jenn and Mr Mazzarra at Sliced on Valentine’s. Just as they’re plating up, EJ reappears. He looks somewhat disheveled, wearing sweats and his usually spiked hair is messy like a 2012 Bieber hairstyle. His contacts are long gone being traded for his wide framed glasses.

“Feeling any better?”

Bringing the plates to the table they all sit in their usual seats.

“Yeah a little...thanks guys this looks amazing”

As if on cue his stomach grumbles with excitement and they dig into the food. The three teens continue to tell stories of their day. Although exhausted, a goofy smile makes its way onto EJ’s face while telling the girls about his classmate in English that tried justify his argument quoting spark notes, instead of the actual book.

Once they’re finished, EJ stacks and clears away the plates. Grabbing her laptop, Ashlyn creates a new copy of one of her old timetables modified with all EJ’s stuff. After cleaning the dishes, EJ plops down beside her and together they start to work out.

Half an hour and a warm hot chocolate later, they manage to finish a schedule that looks like it fit a bit of time for everything while keeping a heathy amount of rest time.

“Thank you so much Ash... I really appreciate it”

Ashlyn smiles back at her cousin.

“Just promise me you’ll take care of yourself, or at least you’ll let me know if you need help”

EJ engulfs her in a hug.

“Yeah I will, thanks”

As they both move to join Gina in the lounge room, EJ grabs his laptop to start completing his speech. Flopping down onto the couch, the tv is turned onto a Brooklyn Nine Nine halloween heist episode.

Taking EJs laptop at 9:30, the older boy fell asleep within an instant. Keeping to his promise, he followed the schedule he made with Ashlyn (most of the time at least) and finally learnt how to ask for help when he realised he couldn’t do it alone. And when he asked for help, Ashlyn and Gina were always there with an extra mug of hot chocolate.

Thanks for reading! I’m open to write prompts or suggestions

(...Also if anyone can think of any better names for this please comment because all my thoughts were low key trash😂)

#high school musical the musical the series #hsmtmts #hsmtmts season 2 #hsm the series #ej caswell #ashlyn caswell #gina porter

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cinnaminsvga · 4 years

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🌸 social media au where y/n posts a fake boyfriend application on twitter as a dare but ends up seeking something real in the long run (aka how to fall in love the zillennial way) 🌸

A/N: Well, this update kicked me in the proverbial nuts! All I gotta say is... good luck to my Yoongi stans out there... You’re kinda gonna need it ;-; || W.C. 2.2K

prev // part 31 of ? // next masterlist here.

[updates every 6PM PST]

August 22, 2020 — 9:39PM

When you exit the taxi, the cold night air causes goosebumps to form across your arms. You pay the driver without looking behind you, shutting the door with the back of your foot as you take in the familiar surroundings. You’ve been to this apartment complex more times than you can count; you’ve crashed on your friends’ couch so many times that it’s become a second bed to you at this point, especially with how often all five of you love to drink the night away. In many ways, this place has become a safe haven for you.

Normally, you would let yourself into their apartment without needing to knock or text in advance. After many years of coming over, you even have your own set of keys, graciously gifted to you by Park Jimin after you found yourself locked out of your own home for the fifth time in one week after Jungkook kept taking your keys by accident. They don’t even answer the door when you knock anymore; they always assume you’ll just barrel in whenever you please, usually with takeout bags and caffeine-laden drinks in hand for impromptu study sessions or video game nights.

But tonight is not one of those nights. This time, Min Yoongi stands waiting for you by the entrance, sitting on the concrete steps in his worn gray hoodie and sweatpants. He looks cold, judging from his pink nose and shivering body, like he’s been waiting outside for at least a few minutes. His dark, inky hair is standing up in all directions, a sign that he must have just woken up from a nap before coming down to meet you. He notices your arrival mid-yawn, his eyebrows shooting up comically as he scrambles to his feet. He rushes towards you, stopping just before the gate that separates the two of you.

“Yoongi,” you breathe out, puffs of white air leaving your lips and dissipating into the night sky. The sight of him alone makes your eyes burn with unshed tears, just aching to fall. He notices immediately, judging by the way his brow crumples with worry.

In an instant, he rips the gate open, giving you no opportunity to say anything else before he pulls you into a bear hug. You gasp in surprise, inhaling sharply and getting a whiff of a scent that you can only describe as wholly Yoongi. It’s comforting, clean, and cozy: everything that encapsulates Yoongi’s whole being.

“I’m sorry,” you say. You don’t know what you’re apologizing for exactly—for interrupting his evening? For making him wait in the cold? For shedding tears on his clothes? For asking for comfort when you didn’t deserve it? Your mind is too tired to wonder which of these things weighs the heaviest amongst your mistakes.

Yoongi hushes you softly, his hand carding through your hair as he rocks you slowly. He presses your face closer to his chest, not chastising you for crying like you thought he would. He only whispers gentle nothings into your ears, the words meaning nothing and everything all at once. “It’s okay,” he repeats over and over again. He says them until the words start to blur, until they make a home inside your heart. Until you almost believe them.

Almost.

You do not know how long it takes for you to run out of tears, how long you stand in silence. All you know is that your frozen hands have grown numb around the straps of your overnight bag, so much so that it takes a second for Yoongi to unfurl your fingers and take the bag away from you. He reaches for your hand with his free one, gently leading up to the apartment without another word.

The world feels cold and still, your muffled footsteps on the carpeted floor the only sounds that keep you grounded to reality. The doors of neighboring apartments start to shift and blur, causing the shadows on the wall to morph like ghosts from the corner of your eye. Yoongi’s apartment is dark when you both enter, no signs of his other two roommates being home even this late at night.

“Jimin left to go to a PC bang. Taehyung hasn’t returned home since I kicked him out this afternoon,” Yoongi says, answering your unspoken question. You turn your head towards him in surprise, not expecting the latter part of his statement.

“You kicked him out? Why?”

“It’s… complicated,” he sighs, aggravated. He gazes at you wearily, and it’s only then that you notice the deep bags lining his eyes like purple moons. The moonlight streaming from their open window casts shadows upon his face, emphasizing the sunkenness of his cheeks. The guilt in your throat builds up, tenfold. You’re disturbing him with your silly little love problems, aren’t you? He already has so much work to do and you’re here, crying over something that you should have known ages ago. You’re acting childish. Coming here was a mistake.

“Don’t give me that look,” Yoongi interrupts your thoughts, squeezing your hand. You had almost forgotten he was still holding you, but the reminder tethers you. His touch lets you know that you are not alone, that he is there because he wants to be. “I know you’re worrying again. You’re not a nuisance. You’re not a bother. I’m your friend, and I care about you. Will you let me care for you? Just this once?”

Your heart, which has felt heavy in your chest ever since this afternoon, lightens ever so slightly. It allows you to force a little smile on your face, but you doubt its of any use, not with the tear tracks evident on your skin. But it’s a start.

“You can use my bathroom to get changed. Do you need some clothes?” he asks, but you shake your head at his offer. As much as you enjoyed wearing his comfortable sweaters, you did still have some clothes that you hadn’t worn in Ilsan. It almost pains you to see them still unworn in your bag, but that’s just you being ridiculous, isn’t it? You chose to leave, after all. He had told you it was the right thing to do, and at the time, you thought he was right.

You shuffle into Yoongi’s bathroom, staring at your reflection with red eyes and teeth-worn lips. Your reflection stares back, undeterred. You find no answers to your misery, so you stop looking and let all your thoughts flow down the drain. Being empty, after all, is better.

You go about your nightly routine with robotic grace, scrubbing and brushing with numbness. No amount of water can wash away the tiredness on your face, and so you give up. You quietly make your way out of the bathroom, peeking inside his bedroom to check if Yoongi had gone back to bed.

Instead, you find him sitting in front of his desk, his laptop closed and phone locked beside him. Trancelike, he stares listlessly at the wall with his fingernails in his mouth, an old habit that he has yet to break, but it only means that he’s deep in thought.

You clear your throat, breaking him from his stupor. “Can I borrow a pillow for the couch?” you ask timidly, the question you really want to ask just barely dangling from the tip of your tongue. Yoongi regards you for a moment, unmoving save for the slow rise and fall of his chest.

“Do you want to be alone?” He answers your question with his own, gaze heavy upon your skin. He asks you that, but you know what he’s truly asking: Do you want to stay with me?

Like always, Yoongi always did have a penchant for knowing the true color of your heart, a skill you sometimes wished he didn’t have. You felt vulnerable around him, but rarely in a bad way. It never felt like he was intruding or meddling; it was always good and warm. To be known without the need to defend yourself.

“No, I don’t want to be alone,” you say, a simple truth. He nods in understanding, standing up from his chair and heads towards his bed, slipping under the rumpled blankets. He stares at you from underneath his covers, his hand patting the empty space beside him with a small smile.

“Then you don’t have to be alone,” he responds, another simple truth. You take the few short steps to reach his bed, climbing onto his bed and placing yourself as close to the edge as possible. Yoongi rolls his eyes, waving his hand haphazardly as he gestures for you to come closer.

“Are you really going to start getting shy with me? After you literally confessed you had a crush on me just an hour ago?” he teases, but his tone is tender. He grins his gummy smile when you cover your face in embarrassment, distracting you long enough to pull you gently towards him.

“I hate you,” you say. You don’t.

“I know,” he replies. He wraps an arm around your waist, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. “Do you want to talk?”

Your breathing grows shaky, your hands automatically grabbing fistfuls of his hoodie as you force yourself not to cry again. The simple truth is this: you don’t want to talk about it. You don’t want to think, you don’t want to be in pain right now. But you are, and there’s nothing you can do about it. You feel like crawling inside yourself and never coming out again.

So instead, you tell him, “I had a good weekend. I really did.”

Yoongi hums sadly. “I know.”

“It was really good. I had so much fun with Namjoon,” you say. You sniffle a bit, but the tears don’t fall.

“I know.”

“Meeting his parents, going around town, eating everything I could ever want… It felt so good to just be with someone without wondering if they liked me back or not, without second-guessing every little thing. Because just being together was… enough. It didn’t matter that it was fake because it still felt real in a weird way. I didn’t have to pretend or hide my emotions around him.”

“I know.”

“But even then, I couldn’t help but think,” your breath hitches, and you clench your eyes shut until you see stars behind your eyelids. “I couldn’t help but think… that this weekend would end badly, one way or another. And maybe I was just destined to have every good thing in my life snatched away.”

“I know you think that, even though it’s not true,” Yoongi says. He holds you tighter, tucking your hair behind your ears.

“Even then, why is it every time I’m just beginning to think that I can be happy, something always comes along the way to mess it all up? I was perfectly fine before all of this happened. Everything just went to shit the moment I started wanting more, when I started becoming selfish,” you say. You tilt your head upwards, forcing yourself to look at Yoongi and his sad eyes. “Everyone keeps telling me that I deserve to be happy, that I deserve to love myself. But is it bad that I want someone to love me too? Is it bad that my happiness lies with that desire?”

But for once, Yoongi doesn’t have a straight answer. He carefully loosens your grip around his hoodie, clasping your hands in his own just like before. He rubs circles into the back of your hand, before placing them over his heart. “Do you feel that?” he asks.

You nod your head, not fully understanding.

“This is a heart that loves you,” he explains, voice low but honest.

“But that’s… that’s not the same as…” you trail off. It’s not the same as Jungkook. Or Namjoon. Or…

He continues, “In the PC bang across the street, there is a heart that loves you. Somewhere else in Seoul, there are two hearts that love you. In Ilsan, there is another heart that loves you. But even then, I know it’s not quite the way you want it.”

“It’s because I’m selfish,” you say, ashamed.

“It’s because you know you’re allowed to want more,” he corrects kindly, wiping away a stray tear. “It’s not always a bad thing, you know.”

You laugh, the sound warbled even to your own ears. “I know,” you say. You watch as Yoongi’s eyes begin to droop, the fatigue from today weighing heavily on him. You feel as though you should be the same, but sleep evades you that night. “You know, if I wasn’t already emotionally fucked up right now, you could’ve made me fall in love with you again tonight.”

Yoongi closes his eyes, a small smile on his lips. “Is it working?” he mutters, words slurring slightly as he begins to drift off.

You answer him, but it falls on deaf ears. He falls asleep with you still in his arms, keeping you safe. It’s his presence that gives you the courage to respond to the texts you receive later that night, filled with one last burst of hope that maybe, just maybe, you could find happiness elsewhere.

#btsghostie #bts social media au #bts scenarios #bts texts #bts fake texts #bts imagines #bts x reader #bts #jungkook scenarios #namjoon scenarios #jungkook fake texts #namjoon fake texts #jungkook fanfiction #namjoon fanfiction #jungkook x reader #namjoon x reader #jeon jungkook #kim namjoon #bangtan

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spectrumed · 3 years

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5. sleep

It hardly gets dark in the Swedish summers. Between dusk to dawn, you’ve got about an hour to fall asleep before the sun rises again. If you struggle to fall asleep that fast, you can invest in some good window blinds. Or you can do as I do and place one big pillow over your face. Then the birds start singing around three o’clock in the morning. You can practically hear the sounds of Edvard Grieg’s Morning Mood playing at around four o’clock in the morning. Around five o’clock in the morning, it is as bright as midday. Did you have a good time sleeping? Or did you pace around in a circle having one hell of a panic attack? I thought you took some of those sleeping pills you got prescribed, they should have helped you fall asleep… wait, you did take them? They didn’t work? Oh, they did work, you just felt your body falling asleep while your mind stayed awake? That sounds terrible, real terrible. Very well. It’s morning now. Want some coffee?

You could form a religion out of sleeping. Let’s have sermons where we fill a whole auditorium full of beds and have our congregates take a big collective nap. Sleep for the sleep god! Pillows for the pillow throne! Sleep is a billion-dollar industry, there’s a plethora of handy products you can buy that promise to send you on a luxury liner to dreamland. Pills, mattresses, dreamcatchers, whatever your snoozy heart desires. You can go to a proper doctor and they might help you, or you can settle for the placebo effect and go to some fraudulent quack, instead. He might make you swallow some pills that contain arsenic, but hey, arsenic is a naturally occurring element. It can’t be all that bad for you if it is natural. And you do want to sleep, don’t you? If you take this pill in your mouth and swallow it with a glass of water, I promise you, you will sleep for a very long time.

The esteemed former president of the United States of America, Donald Trump, claims that he only needs four to five hours of sleep every night. While Mr. Trump is well-known to be a paragon of honesty, I do doubt he’s telling the truth. No, I actually do believe him when says that he only gets about four or five hours of sleep each night, I just don’t believe him when he says that is all he needs. He doesn’t look very well-rested, does he? And Margaret Thatcher, the similarly adored former prime minister of the United Kingdom, claimed that she also only needed about four hours of sleep every night. Yes, while researching the sleeping habits of famous monsters, I’ve come to the conclusion that amongst powerful individuals, not getting enough sleep has become a proper badge of honour. The belief is that if you don’t get enough sleep, that must be because you are living such a vibrantly successful life, and are so career-driven, that you simply haven’t got enough time to sleep for the full eight hours. People who sleep for more than four hours are lazy liberals. Go-getters like Trump has got to be out there, working, making decisions, raping women, and showing daddy what a good boy he is. Sleep is for the weak. But maybe I am weak. I sure like sleeping.

It’s the cultural hangover our society has had since the 80’s. Back when the yuppies wearing jackets with obscenely padded shoulders would happily chuck down eight to ten espressos in one go while A Flock of Seagulls was playing on the radio encouraging everyone to go running. And to be fair to them, with the constant fear of the doomsday clock hitting midnight, they really had no reason to think that they’d survive the decade. The new millennia, it seemed, would have no cities, no nature, no humans, only radiated mutants scouring the rubble that remains of civilization for cans of preserved something edible. Self-destructive behaviour was in. It was fashionable. Doubt people got enough sleep back then, between snorting coke and wondering if the next pandemic that hits the night clubs would start killing as many straight folks as gay folks. Well, here we are in the new 20’s, and we’ve got a pandemic that does appear to kill people regardless of sexual orientation. Sure, the looming threat of nuclear obliteration has been lessened dramatically, but we’ve largely come to exchange that anxiety for the fear of total environmental collapse, instead. No wonder 80’s nostalgia is a big thing right now. History doesn't repeat itself, but It often rhymes, said Mark Twain (supposedly.) I wonder how much coke Mark Twain would snort if he lived in the 80’s.

I notice a palpable difference in my mood and mental state when I’ve been getting good amounts of sleep. Lack of sleep results in lack of clear thinking. Caffeine, though it is something I am chronically addicted to, does not help fix a sleep-deprived mind. There are no tricks of revolutionary “life hacks” one can employ to get out of sleeping. To recover from depression, one has to sleep. Sleep often and sleep well. I cannot understate the importance of being well-rested. You cannot process information if you are tired. I am reminded of my teenage years seeing friends of mine who’d stay up all night, then come into school shuffling like agonised zombies. They got so frustrated when the teachers reprimanded them for snoozing in class. Well, dummies, it is your fault for drinking several dozen cans of Red Bull every day! I know that sleep does not always come easy. I know the terror of insomnia. But, c’mon! At some point, you’ve got to realise that sleep is essential. Maybe most of your problems stem from the fact that you refuse to get enough of it? Here’s where the tough love comes in. If you wanna get better, kiddo, then listen to me. It’s bedtime. Yes, I know you’d rather stay up late playing monopoly with your friends, but I’m confiscating your dice and I’ll only give it back to you when you’ve gotten some good sleep. Okay? You hear me, missy? You listen to your daddy now, and go to bed. No ifs or buts about it, princess, I’ve made myself clear. I know what is best for you, and you know that I am right. I’m your daddy.

But what if I can’t seem to fall asleep? Normally, it takes a long time for me to fall asleep. It is not uncommon for me to stay awake for two hours, maybe more, before I finally begin to sleep. Fearing that I won’t fall asleep gives me anxiety. That anxiety keeps me awake. I turn my body. I try lying on my side. First my left side, then my right side. I then try to lie on my back. I’ve got a song stuck playing in my head. Not even the whole song, just a ten-second segment of it. It’s playing over and over. I’m worried about the future, will I ever find security, will I ever find a wife, will I get to grow old? I worry about death. I keep hearing the music playing, it’s grating. I rearrange the pillows, in hopes that will make me feel more comfortable. But no, I keep tossing and turning like a fish caught on land. I’m getting frustrated. If only I could shut off my brain. I’m constantly thinking. I turn to my side again, but now I notice I’ve moved arounds so much that now the bed has shifted away from its position next to the wall. There’s now a gap between the bed and the wall. I almost fall down that gap. I get up and I push the bed back against the wall. I lay down in bed. The song is still playing.

How am I ever going to become a successful businessman if I am wasting so many hours just trying to get to sleep? This is the time I should be spending on the phone, yelling at people and making inappropriate sexual comments to my female employees. That is what good executives do. I need to get my life in order. I need to exercise more. I should practice mindfulness. I should get a life coach, a personal trainer, a stylist, an accountant, an assistant, a trophy wife, and a mistress. I need people in my life to take care of me. It’s funny how rich people create the sort of environment around them where people will take care of all their needs, effectively infantilising them. These people don’t even get to decide how to dress themselves. They’ve got fancy apartments, but they don’t choose any of the furniture. They’ve got art on the walls that they don’t like, but the art looks expensive, and that is all that matters. They’ve got kids, but they don’t raise them. Their spouses are cheating on them, but in fairness, they are cheating on their spouses. They don’t really even know what their jobs entails, as they’ve gotten promoted so many times that they’ve ended up in a position that is totally outside their realm of expertise. But they’re so powerful that no-one is able to fire them over their pretty blatant incompetence. They’re successful. They’ve made it. But they still can’t sleep at night. They only manage to successfully fall asleep at night after swallowing a fistful of pills along with a swig of vodka.

It must be easy being a self-help guru. Well, what I mean to say is that all you really need is charisma, which is something you need to be born with. But you don’t need to do any actual studying, any real research, or any kind of soul-searching or deliberation. All you need is to state what is obvious. You go on stage in front of an anxious audience, mostly composed of middle-class salesmen and miscellaneous white collar ghosts. You smile, show off your eerily bright teeth, and they clap. You tell them to go take care of themselves, to eat more healthily, to take walks, or go swimming, and love their partners. You tell them to drink less, or maybe, if they feel like it, they could drink more. I am sure you could spin alcohol as a positive or a negative, depending on what crowd you’re talking to. Tell them to appreciate family. Tell them to appreciate others. Live, laugh, but most of all, love. Tell them to go clean their rooms. Tell them to remember that if they’re on an airplane that is about to crash land, they need to put their own oxygen mask on before they can help others put theirs on. If you don’t love yourself, how in the hell you gonna love somebody else? Now, go to bed!

You know all this stuff. Me telling you that you should sleep more doesn’t really help you. You know that you should sleep more. It’s not like as if you’re too dumb to realise that. And it’s not like as if you’re too dumb to realise that it is better to drink in moderation, and that you should smoke less weed. There are many small little things you can do to improve your life, to stop being a terminally unemployed slacker. It’s like your grandpa who tells you stories about life after the war when you could walk into the biggest building in town, slam your fist against the table and demand to be given a job and a house and a wife and a couple of kids, and that was all you needed to do. He can’t comprehend the fact that society doesn’t work like that, any more. Most people my generation have given up hope of ever owning a home, at least if they happen to live in the vicinity of a larger city. It seems that, no matter where you live, the cost of homes has risen to an impenetrable degree. It seems just as likely that you will be able to afford your very own genetically-engineered pet dragon before you will get to be a house-owner. It’s the fault of those damn boomers, why bother changing your ways, when the boomers are still in charge? Others may accuse you of wallowing in your own depression, but you are perfectly aware that this is exactly what you are doing. You are self-aware. But self-awareness on its own is not enough to motivate anyone. You still can’t see the point in doing anything constructive with your life. Life just feels so aimless. It’s easier to sit, smoke weed, and watch cartoons.

Pop psychology is problematic. To say the least. Take all those self-help gurus suffering from their messiah complexes and put them through the shredder. Don’t buy books thinking that they’ll offer you the kind of treatment you would get from an actual psychiatrist. I know that, depending on where you are in the world, treatment can get very expensive, but you’re not going to get better reading the book of some self-aggrandising narcissist’s collection of wishy-washy platitudes. Dr. Phil has done great evil pretending to be a therapist on the TV, and Jordan Peterson (despite having once been an esteemed scholar) has turned a generation of young internet-savvy zoomers into proto-fascists obsessed with the monogamy of lobsters. Pop psychology has become a guise for cult leaders to reap new followers. Getting treatment should not feel like joining a new religious movement. Maybe I’m just one of those annoying atheists, but I dare say, psychiatry works at its best when it's secular. You should not look at your psychiatrist as a prophet speaking to God. They’re just a doctor, and you need treatment.

I do not aspire to create a self-help blog. I do not promise that reading this blog will help you in any way. I would be overjoyed if someone came up to me and told me that I had inspired them to seek help. You may tell me that reading my words have made you feel less alone, knowing that others have gone through all these things that you are going through. When I felt at my worst, I remember reading the memoirs of people I admired who had similarly struggled in their lives, and I felt less alone. But none of those books pretended to exist principally to help others. Those books did help me, through the candid descriptions of struggles that I thought I was alone in experiencing. Knowing that some people had pulled through, managed to find a light at the end of the tunnel, it made me think I could one day be like them. The books didn’t seek to fix me, but they offered me a perspective that came to be very valuable later on, when I started going to therapy, and when I later started taking medication. Sometimes that is all you need. Not someone standing over you and telling you to go to bed, or to clean your room, or to stop drinking. You know all that, already. What you really need is the reassurance that things can indeed get better. Sleep will come.

#neurodiversity #neurodivergent #autism spectrum disorder #autism #aspergers #mental health

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scribble-blog · 5 years

Text

Soulmate AU part 3!!

First • Previous • Here • Next

Side note, I’m a grandma in a 22 year old body who doesn’t understand technology. If somebody can teach me how to get readmores to work on tumblr mobile, and possibly how to start linking the posts together, I’d appreciate it!

Also, the taglist is now full! Though if people want, I could try doing a supplemental taglist? Either in a reblogged or in a separate post to notify you? Let me know in the replies!

Damian Wayne, as it turns out, is almost very certainly the son of Bruce Wayne, who sponsored their entire trip to Gotham. There are only two official pictures of him that are clear enough to truly check against, but Marinette sees the eyes and she nods. “That’s him.”

Trixx, Pollen, Kaalki, and Plagg are scattered about the bed, napping and lounging. Adrien also lounges, catlike and crosswise with the bed, entirely over the pillows at their back. Chloé holds the laptop that Marinette is hovering over, even from her seated position with her much smaller stature.

“It would be you,” Chloé snorts. “Oh, let’s just traipse over to America for a quick class visit! Oops, my soulmate is the incredibly handsome son of the incredibly wealthy man who invited us here!”

“Still more believable than you, Miss ‘My soulmate and I have literally been standing two feet from each other for weeks because not only do we have the exact same friends, but we’re part of the same superhero group and never realized until Ladybug allowed us to learn each other’s secret identities.’” Adrien doesn’t move as he calls her out, lazily curled into the warmth of his two friends and the pillows cocooning him.

“I don’t think any of us can speak,” Marinette groans. “I’m living a cheap rom com, Chloé’s got all the plot elements of a high budget Shakespearian drama, and Mr. ‘Didn’t know I wasn’t straight until my soulmate mark was a guys name” is straight out of a b movie comedy.”

“At least I got my act together pretty quickly once it occurred to me that I could like guys too,” Adrien points out. “And now Jon and I talk all the time, and he even comes to Paris sometimes to see me, or we’ll meet up for my occasional business trips in America. Which reminds me,” he pulled out his phone, sending off a quick text, “he wants to come meet you guys. Next week, while we’re all actually on the same continent.”

“Kudos to you for shaking off whatever Gabe tried to stuff your head full of,” Chloé says. “Took me ages to admit that I was gay, and that was even WITH my soulmark and both Marinette and Ladybug constantly in front of me.”

“Feeling pretty objectified,” Marinette protests.

“Oh shut it, I know for a fact that you’ve basically been the gay awakening crush of every not straight girl in our class. And several outside of it. And that’s not even counting all the dudes that fall in love with you.”

“I still object,” Marinette pouts at Chloé.

“Objection overruled.” Adrien sits up. “Marinette. You’re like, the perfect crush. They have a warning about you in the introductory packet for Mme. Bustier’s class.”

“They do not,” Marinette gasps, outraged. “I wrote that packet!”

“And then the class unanimously decided you were too dangerous to be walking around without a warning sign,” Chloé pinched her cheek. “If it makes you feel any better, it’s still in the packet despite Lila’s best efforts to get it thrown out.”

That does make Marinette feel better.

“Damian Wayne resurfaces after year of being believed dead,” Adrien reads from his phone. “Gotham’s Newest Wayne: The True Son! These all read like tabloids but as far as I can tell the Wayne’s don’t tolerate stuff like that. So I guess it’s true?”

“I’m tired of looking him up,” Marinette groans. “Can we just leave it be?”

“Nope,” Chloé pops the P. “Congrats, Dupain-Cheng, this is what friends are for.”

“I wish I could talk to Tikki about it,” Marinette sighs. “Especially because I have literally never heard anyone talk about that- electric feeling when we touched. Is it a Ladybug thing?”

Plagg opens one big green eye. “Cool it, Spots. It’s definitely a Ladybug thing. You’re literally the reason these marks exist.”

Marinette sticks her tongue out at the mini god. “I just miss her.”

“Join the club,” he grumbles, closing his eye and going back to napping.

“Good news,” Chloé says, bringing her attention back to the laptop. “Searching your name very easily leads to you, and our class, and the fact that we won the contest. So, unless he decides he’s not ready to meet you, you’ll have the chance to find him at the gala. Or at Wayne Enterprises. Or at any of the places the Wayne’s own, which is two-thirds of our trip destinations.”

“Oh god,” Marinette says. “What if he didn’t want to find me?”

Adrien, Chloé, and four Kwamis hit her at the same time, shoving her back into the bed.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Mari,” Adrien scolds her from his position atop the newly formed cuddle pile. “I saw his face too. If the boy isn’t already in love with you, he’ll be hunting you down just for the chance to fall.”

Trixx nuzzled into her side. “I may not be Tikki but all of us Kwamis know how incredible you are, Marinette.”

She sighed. “Alright guys, get off.”

———

Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Tim already knew who the girl was, because he’d been curious when his favorite artist had started talking about the source of his newest looks.

But having Damian demand his help in searching for everything he could find on her, and then only asking for the bare minimum of information about her trip itinerary- Tim wasn’t an idiot.

“So. She’s your soulmate.” Tim takes a sip of the coffee he’d been working on, making a face and instantly setting it back down when he realized it had gone cold.

Damian carefully did not change his expression, but it wasn’t fooling anyone. “And so what if she is?”

Tim looked back at the monitor. “So nothing. Congrats, Demon Spawn. I’m happy for you.”

He barely caught the edge of the scowl the younger Wayne tried to hide.

“Hey, no.” Tim spun his chair to face Damian. “Look, we’ve had our differences and disagreements-“

“You had me on the superhero equivalent of a terrorism watch list,” Damian interrupted.

“And you literally tried to kill me within the first day of meeting me.”

“A byproduct of my indoctrination from birth into a murder cult,” His brother kept his face still but the tone was wry.

“You kept trying to kill me.”

“I wasn’t trying to kill you!” Damian finally exclaimed, losing his collected demeanor. “Just-“

“Point being,” Tim stressed, “even if we haven’t always gotten along- haven’t ever, really- I’m still happy for you. Soulmates are a special thing. We all kind of thought you might not have one, with the way you always acted when Dick tried to ask.”

Damian forced down the immediate retort and looked at Tim. “I thought that maybe my dying would have prevented my name from showing up for them. And my teachings-“ he said the word with the inflection that meant he was discussing Assassin Upbringing rather than here- “were as such that most connections, be they familial, friendly, or romantic, were- unnecessary and even dangerous.” It felt tantamount to a betrayal of his younger self to confide anything in Drake like this, but... Damian really was, in many ways, a better and more mature person than the spoiled, aggressive, near sociopathic brat he’d arrived as seven years ago. He still kept the veneer of it up, but he was no longer the boy who needed to fight Drake to prove his worth as Bruce’s son.

Now he just waited for Drake to embarrass himself by passing out after staying up for far too long surviving on caffeine and energy drinks. Much easier.

And Drake didn’t ever seem as eager to blackmail and fight as Damian ever had, so he figured a small amount of vulnerability was a proper thank you for his discretion in finding Marinette.

Tim just took another grimacing sip of the cold coffee. “Man. In that case, even happier for you that you’re shrugging off yet another of the Child Assassin School’s upsetting and frankly terrible rules. Though as for the dying thing, I’m pretty sure it doesn’t matter as long as you don’t actively die now that you have the mark.”

Damian shrugged. “Irrelevant now, as I will not be dying anytime soon, and neither will she. And she clearly knows that we’re soulmates.”

“Still confused about that,” Tim frowned, looking back at him. “You said there was an electric current between you? Or it felt like that?”

Damian couldn’t stop his hand from twitching, the memory of it clear enough to feel. “Yes. I don’t understand it myself either.”

“I’ll search around. See if anything comes up.” Tim handed him a pile of papers. “Here, the info you wanted on her itinerary, plus things I thought would be pertinent without going over whatever line you seem to have drawn.”

Damian took them, and very begrudgingly said, “Thank you,” before ducking out of the room.

He waited until he was back in his own room before flicking through them, finding the trip schedule and the hotel rooms listed, the names of her class and teachers, and finally a list of her accomplishments and a copy of the paper that had won her class the trip, authored by her.

He read through it, noting the names of her classmates and their own community efforts, and the way her own section in the paper was minuscule compared to both each other persons section and the list of accomplishments Drake had drafted.

One classmate had, if no less written than than any other person, a distinctly different tone to what Marinette had written, and most of her community building and service events were merely echoes or assisting what another person had done. Damian shrugged it off, as there were sometimes people who simply tagged along, and never put their own effort out there. Followers, and not leaders.

All in all, he found himself more intrigued than ever about her.

TAGLIST:

@the-fusionist @rebecarojas07 @lowandco @kotaleartzu @resignedcatservant @alenee13 @mystery-5-5 @ladybug-182 @actual-disaster-human @loysydark @rumbelle18 @magic-miraculous @vixen-uchiha @athena452 @mochegato @ash-amg @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @thestressmademedoit @sassakitty @doriebell @jessigurl-design @emotionalsupportginger @kceedraws @kuroko26 @moonystars14 @toodaloo-kangaroo @myazael @theatreandcomicfreak @mer-mel @dahjokester @northernbluetongue @area51qt @renscorpio @redscarlet95 @razzledazzle247 @rosep16 @tired-butterfly @catthhay @shamefullove @imanerddealwith @chaosace @captainmac6 @bigpicklebananatree @abrx2002 @cici-schnee @multplelifes @shreky-boi @purple-people-eaters-productions @crazylittlemunchkin @weird-pale-blonde-person

#maribat #daminette #daminette soulmates #soulmate au #fanfic

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sanktaleksander · 4 years

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I didn’t know you did Rick/Shane oh my god can I get an 18 please?

I am sorry this took fucking forever (gotta love when the mean ol’ mental illness factory in my head doesn’t want to do one thing correctly and help me get things done). But I adore you and I hope this isn’t too mushy or OOC for your taste😅 I have precisely one Sharick fic on ao3 and I haven’t written for TWD in quite a while but I sure as hell gave it my best shot. I really hope you like it❤️

Side note: if you see this and sent in a prompt that hasn’t been filled, don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten you, I am going to do my best to get yours done❤️

Enjoy❤️

Rick/Shane + 18. Playing with hair

“You look like shit, cowboy.”

The glare Shane got in return would have made most people shrink back but Shane Walsh was definitely not most people and Shane knew it was pretty half hearted. He also wasn’t one to mince words and Rick did in fact look like shit. Warmed over shit maybe, but still shit. It had been above ninety for at least the fourth day in a row and the King County sheriff’s office was not known for having the most top of the line cruisers. It may have been late but the heat and humidity in this part of the country did not abate all that much after the sun went down. Rick had also just pulled a twelve hour shift in exchange for a bit more vacation time, which they both were stockpiling for their honeymoon after they got married, so Shane supposed his fiance had a good excuse for looking like a husky that wasn’t adjusting well to life in rural Georgia.

It was approximately midnight and Rick had been gone since noon twelve hours earlier and Shane knew he didn’t have to stay up to wait for Rick to return, they were both used to not always being able to see each other as much as they would have liked, but Shane didn’t mind the odd hours. He was pretty adept at catching cat naps when the need arose.

He came up to offer Rick some iced tea, kept cold until Rick got home. Normally he would’ve gone out and gotten him some iced coffee but it was late and Shane knew the other man wouldn’t want to be hyped up from the caffeine and unable to get some decent sleep. Rick took off his hat and hung it up on the hook by the door, exhaling deeply as he took the glass from Shane and brought it to his lips, drinking a good bit before giving the glass back so he could get out of his boots and unbuckle his duty belt. He was already beginning to feel a bit better, the cool feeling of the air conditioned apartment and the iced tea settling in his belly helping to at least begin to cool off his tired body. Rick didn’t mind taking the longer shift but every time he did he came home reminded that he wasn’t the youngest anymore, though he didn’t exactly consider himself an old man either. But he had one failed marriage and two kids to his name, so he definitely had some milage behind him.

It certainly didn’t seem to bother Shane. His fiance had once just been his best friend, someone he’d known practically since they were born. When you grew up in a small town, you pretty much knew everyone around your age in one way or another, usually going to school with each other, but he’d actually spent most of his childhood and teenage years with Shane by his side. They were practically attached at the hip most of the time. If you found one of them, it was a pretty safe bet that you’d find the other sooner or later. It had been an odd sort of relationship honestly, since both of them differed in several ways. But it worked somehow and Rick trusted Shane more than he trusted a good portion of the people he knew.

But, as they got older and graduated high school, things started to change. Even as they both decided to enroll in the police academy, Rick found himself falling in love with a woman from a neighboring town and starting a family, whereas Shane never really got around to the whole family thing, instead choosing to bed whatever woman he chose, keeping them around for as long as he liked before he felt the need for someone new.

Despite this, they remained close, working together and spending time off together when they could even though his wife had never really liked Shane or even approved of Rick being friends with him. That was the first in a long list of things that his now ex would come to dislike and disagree with.

By the time he had two children and the nice house that he’d always dreamed of having, his relationship with his wife wasn’t something he could easily deal with anymore. He also could not simply act like there was nothing wrong between them, something he had tried to do in favor of starting some sort of disagreement that inevitably turned into an argument. It didn’t help that he was becoming increasingly aware of a part of himself he’d been denying since he was young, practically since he’d been old enough to understand what it meant to care for someone else beyond friendship.

The night Lori left, taking both of the kids with her, Rick had felt like his world, which had already been hanging by a thread, had now well and truly fallen apart right before his eyes and no matter what he’d done to try and keep things together, it just hadn’t been enough.

He couldn’t remember what exactly had brought Shane to his door, if he’d texted him or maybe called him and what he said if he did, but he could recall how Shane had dropped everything to come to his house that felt so empty without his family.

Shane really didn’t have much experience with this type of heartbreak and he tended to not let feelings interfere with his relationships with the women he dated, but that didn’t stop him from trying to do everything he could for his best friend. He ordered them Rick’s favorite takeout and got them some beer, not the cheap shit they usually drank either, springing for a nicer brand. Rick hadn’t felt like drinking all that much and it was hard to enjoy the food, even though it was indeed his favorite, but he could see that Shane was trying. So he sat with him on the living room couch and did his best to at least take a few sips of beer and some bites of food. Shane did most of the talking, which wasn’t unusual in any circumstance, but it did help Rick focus on something else besides how terrible he felt as Shane told him whatever bullshit story he could think of. It was soon getting late, their food now cold. That was fine with Rick, he had lost what little appetite he had and he didn’t much want any more beer either, though he hadn’t really drunk much. As the tv played some movie he didn’t know, he couldn’t help noticing how close Shane was, the scent of his cologne, the warmth of his thigh where it was pressed against Rick’s own. He was surprised by how much these simple observations made him ache on the inside and not just because he was missing Lori even though he was sure she wasn’t missing him.

He ignored it as best he could, just like he always did anytime he felt feelings like this rising up inside him. He said something to Shane about it being late, that he was grateful he had come over but he should head home and Rick would try to get some sleep, though he doubted he would do much but toss and turn. It had been quite a long time since he’d slept in a bed alone and he wasn’t looking forward to it.

Recalling it afterward, Rick didn’t know if it had been the look on his face or if Shane had planned to say something before that moment. But suddenly there was a warm hand on his thigh and Rick found his heart had started to pound. The hand that was on his thigh moved to trail down the side of his neck before carefully getting him to turn his head so their eyes met. His skin was still tingling when Shane kissed him.

Shane asked him over and over if he wanted to do this, if he was sure that he wanted it for the right reasons because he knew Rick would hate himself afterward for saying yes simply because he was lonely and hurting. But Rick knew it was more than that, that he had wanted this for so long, denying it over and over, even as it became clear that Shane was the one person in his life who had always been there, who never judged him or found things to dislike about him. Shane was his one constant through practically his entire life. He’d been more devoted to Rick than his own wife. He’d been right there the whole time, just like he’d always been, just like he was right then and it had taken Rick this long to finally allow himself to acknowledge what he’d wanted for years.

So much of that night, Rick would never forget, not as long as he lived. He’d never been with someone where every touch felt so good, so perfect and his lack of experience did not deter Shane in the least. If anything, the other man seemed to like it, got off on the fact that he was Rick’s first experience with another guy, that he was getting the opportunity to teach Rick some of his many tricks.

Even years later, Rick could still hear Shane’s deep, rumbling voice in his ear, begging to be fucked, telling him he knew how badly Rick wanted this, could see it so clearly on his face. Rick hadn’t ever expected Shane to ask for that, to trust him enough to do that, but it ended up being better than anything he could’ve imagined. Seeing the look of utter bliss on Shane’s face when he came, hearing him moan like that and call Rick’s name was definitely something he thought about for weeks after and still did on occasion even now.

When he woke up the next morning with his head tucked under Shane’s chin, the other man sleeping soundly, his arms wrapped almost protectively around Rick as they lay cocooned under the blankets, Rick knew that this was how things were supposed to be, how they should’ve been all along. He’d spent years with his wife and not once had he felt this good after they’d slept together, so relaxed and simply happy. And she had never looked so pleased to see him when she woke up, not the way Shane had. Those brown eyes lit up as soon as he’d woken enough to remember what they’d done and realize Rick was still in the same place he had been when they’d fallen asleep. They spent the morning sharing quiet kisses, though considering who he was in bed with, Rick wasn’t surprised when the kisses soon became a lot more.

They’d spent a lot of mornings like that since then and a lot of nights like that too. Shane was definitely somebody who, no matter how old he got, was always interested in anything to do with sex. He also looked ten years younger than he actually was though, so Rick supposed it made some sort of sense. After they’d gotten together that first time, Rick had wondered on more than one occasion if Shane would get tired of him eventually, just like he had with basically every woman Rick had ever known him to be with. They would be around for so long and then Shane would grow bored and break up with her, ending up with another girl sooner or later. They were still here though and Shane hadn’t strayed, always coming home to Rick every day and more than happy about it.

Rick hadn’t known that Shane often slept with guys back then, though he made sure each was more a one night stand sort of thing or sometimes friends with benefits. He’d never been able to allow himself to been seen in their small town with another man on his arm, no matter if he’d found a guy he actually was into for more than just sex. He’d also hoped Rick would want him one day, though it had seemed less and less likely. He’d felt like that night Lori left had been his last chance at showing Rick he wanted him, that he could be what the other man needed and he wasn’t about to throw that away. Maybe that was why Shane never got tired, why someone who had been known for his promiscuous ways for so long was genuinely happy about getting married. He got to have the man he’d always wanted every day and of course he wanted that for the rest of his life. Marrying Rick just made sense.

Rick was pulled from his thoughts by Shane coming back up to him, slipping his strong arms around Rick’s waist and bringing him close, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Did you miss me, sweetheart? Or did you miss the air conditioning more?” He teased, a small smile playing on his lips.

Rick chuckled softly, “I’m definitely happy to be home, but not just because of the A/C.” He relaxed just a bit more when Shane leaned to kiss him, allowing him to shed a bit more of the day’s troubles and just focus on the fact that he was home and Shane was home with him and he didn’t have to think too hard about much else for a while.

“How about you go and take a shower? Maybe we can have a little midnight snack after, yeah?” The younger man asked when they parted, Shane’s hand combing up to smooth Rick’s curls back.

“That sounds nice, but I think I’d be happier if you joined me.” Rick offered, pressing another kiss to Shane’s mouth.

Shane openly grinned at that. “Yeah? Are we thinking about a little more than just getting clean, sheriff?”

Rick chuckled, “Maybe. Why don’t we find out?”

Shane more than happily pulled Rick through the house and into the bathroom off their bedroom. They traded kisses as clothes came off and the water was turned on so it could heat up. Shane made sure it was warm but not too warm, knowing Rick was probably still a little overheated from his long shift.

Rick exhaled deeply once they were finally under the warm spray, grateful when the water began to help loosen some of the knots and tension he was carrying in his tired muscles. He practically melted when Shane pressed up against his back, sliding his arms around his waist. The other man’s lips kissed over his shoulder and along his neck. Rick hummed softly when Shane nipped at his ear, “Does this mean you missed me too then, huh?”

“I always miss you, sweetheart. There’s nothing better than getting to be around you, to feel your body against mine, to feel you inside me…” Shane chuckled, kissing the back of Rick’s neck. “And as much as you play the well mannered, straight laced southern boy around everyone else, you and I both know that you’re just as dirty as I am.” He was not subtle as he ground his hips into Rick’s ass, letting his partner know exactly what was on his mind if his words hadn’t been enough of an indication.

As tired as Rick was, he was still very much interested in what Shane was offering. Just hearing the other man talk like that and feeling his growing erection grinding against his ass had Rick’s own body becoming excited. He may have had a long and rather exhausting day, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t find the energy to take care of his fiance. It wasn’t as though he didn’t want to either, not when Shane was involved. He was always in the mood when it came to Shane.

Rick quickly turned, catching Shane’s mouth with his own. He couldn’t help noting the pleased expression on Shane’s face when he was manhandled into place. The other man exhaled softly when Rick slipped his arms around him, soon followed by a deep moan as Rick pressed inside him.

There was nothing better than hearing Shane like this, hearing how much he enjoyed every time they were together. He was definitely the more vocal of the two of them, not at all afraid of letting Rick know he was feeling good and that his lover knew how to turn him on and get him off. Not that Shane himself didn’t deserve some of the credit, he always knew how to get Rick in the mood and make sure they both enjoyed themselves. Soon Rick had switched their positions so he could kiss Shane properly while they fucked, holding him as close as possible as they rested against the wall, not wanting an inch of space between them. It wasn’t long before Shane fell apart, nails digging into Rick’s back as he begged his partner to cum inside him. Rick was more than happy to give Shane what he wanted, kissing him hard as he rode out his orgasm.

Rick’s brain was pleasantly quiet and fuzzy afterward and he leaned into Shane as they cleaned up, letting his fingertips trace over the tattoo on the other man’s chest until they were running out of hot water and reasons to stay in the shower. Shane had been nice enough to pull out some clothes for the both of them to change into once they were out and dry. The softness of his favorite pair of sweats and one of Shane’s old shirts that still smelled like him made Rick feel cozy, especially when Shane tugged him into their bedroom and invited him onto the bed.

The lights were dimmed down to a soft glow and Rick soon found himself laid out against the pillows, Shane pressed to his side, the other man’s head resting on his chest. Rick reached up to let his fingers card through Shane’s hair. He’d let it grow out recently and it was beginning to curl. Rick let his eyes close, getting lost in the feeling of Shane’s curls slipping through his fingers and the comforting weight of the other man’s body resting against his own. He’d spent so much of his life trying his best to make everyone around him happy, trying to be what everyone else expected when this is all he really wanted, quiet moments like this with someone he knew really loved him. He still felt a little guilty that he hadn’t realized Shane’s feelings sooner, that he’d spent so much time denying himself when he could’ve been happy with the person he should’ve been with all along. But he was grateful for what he had now, that things were finally falling into place and he had found some modicum of peace within himself.

Shane shifted, worming his way in closer, tucking his head under Rick’s chin. He hummed softly, tipping his head up to kiss Rick’s jaw. “You know I can’t wait to marry you, sweetheart? I can’t wait for you to make a proper woman outta me.” He chuckled, leaning into Rick’s touch. Before Rick, moments like this with the people he’d been with had never felt quite right, never made him truly happy. But this, something as simple as holding Rick close and enjoying the affection the other man gave him, this felt right in a way he couldn’t quite describe. It definitely felt like he was meant to be here, that this was where he’d always belonged.

Rick let out a soft laugh and Shane noticed the warm smile on his tired features as he reached over the other man to turn out the lights. When Shane laid back down, Rick turned and kissed his head, fingers still playing with those soft curls. “Promise me you won’t kick me to the curb when I’m old and gray while you still look half your age?”

Shane couldn’t resist lifting his head to kiss Rick properly. “Never. You’re stuck with me for good, old man. I’ll still be bitching about those cowboy boots of yours when we’re both in the grave.”

Rick returned the kiss, allowing it to linger. “As long as I’m with the love of my life for the rest of my life, I’ll be content.”

It was Shane’s turn to smile. “You’re turning soft on me. That’s okay though, I love you, no matter how soft you are on the inside. My big tough sheriff husband with the heart of gold.”

Rick rolled his eyes a bit, as much as he could manage with sleep rapidly pulling him closer. He turned on his side, wiggling his way into Shane’s warm embrace. The other man was practically a space heater no matter the season. Combined with the feeling of the blankets Shane pulled over them contrasting with the cool air in the room around them thanks to the A/C, Rick couldn’t have felt more at ease.

“Goodnight, love.” Rick murmured, already drifting off.

Shane hummed softly, slipping an arm to wrap around Rick’s waist to keep him close. “Sleep tight, cowboy.”

#i seriously hope you like this #its 1 am but at least its done and i dont totally hate it #sharick #rick grimes x shane walsh #twd #the walking dead #rick grimes #shane walsh #my writing

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liamloveslarry · 4 years

Text

Baker! Harry & Primary School Teacher! Louis

so, a couple of weeks ago i made a little post about how i’d love for people to send me prompts/writing ideas and the lovely @louistsbravery sent me one based off her moodboard she so kindly made, here!

my brain kind of ran away with me and so i hope you like this, i tried to stick to the theme as best i could, enjoy! :)

Harry eyes the man from behind the counter.

He watches him as his eyes scan the board above from where he’s standing, sleepy blue orbs blinking tiredly behind the square glasses perched upon his nose.

His heart thumps something fierce when he notices the tufts of brown hair sticking out slightly from behind his ear, a noticeable trait he assumes from lack of sleep and too many early mornings.

It’s 6 o’clock in the morning and the sun is barely edging over cobbled streets and tall buildings, its shimmering waves casting a pale glow over puddles on the pavement and bouncing off lampposts.

‘Babs Bakery’ is nestled between a small row of shops along the Northern Quarter. Its quaint, rustic exterior leads itself into a small tea room and peaceful eating area. Potted plants line the windowsill outside while the smell of fresh baked scones and coffee beans pulse and weave through the air, an atmosphere Harry’s prone to taking naps in.

He’s been here for about a year now, taking over from his Nana when she’d gotten too old to carry on the business, but he hadn’t changed a thing. It might be slightly old fashioned but it reminds him of his grandparents and how he used to sit at the table in the corner by the window with his colouring book and jumbo crayons, while being served hot vimto and iced fingers.

A small cough nudges Harry from his stupor and he blinks, realising he’s been staring. The man is smiling slightly, the last traces of sleep pull at his lips as he lifts his hand to cover his mouth while he lets out a yawn.

“Morning.” He says, his Northern twang is raspy and gentle, a higher pitched lilt whispering through words.

Harry wipes his clammy hands on his apron and steps forward, fingertips drumming along the counters edge. He can see the man’s wearing a light blue button up underneath a soft, grey jumper. Pale pink tie burrowed in between. A shoulder bag is situated over his left arm and there are textbooks, papers and pens bursting through the zip.

“Hey. G’morning.” He replies, fingers aching to touch him. “Find anything you like?”

The man squints one more time at the blackboard, eyes moving over loopy words and today’s specials.

“I think,” he says, dragging out the ‘I’. Harry finds it that endearing he has to grip the countertop and remind himself to keep breathing. “I think I’m gonna go for a latte and a cheese and ham toastie, please. Is that alright?”

Harry nods and reaches for a paper cup. “Is that to go or stay in?” He asks.

“To go, please. Need to make sure I get to work before the little monsters. If I time it right, the caffeine rush lasts all day.” The man responds, smirking a little. “I swear I love my job, but sometimes they can be a handful.”

Harry nods and spins on the spot, turning the face the coffee machine and placing the cup underneath the metal nozzle. There’s a spurt and a groan before hot milk starts to pour into the cup.

“Am I right in assuming you’re talking about children, not animals, right?”

The man laughs and Harry blinks up towards the ceiling, whispering a quiet ‘fuck’ as his knees buckle.

“Yep! Early years. I work at the Primary School just down the road. The only animal I have is Eden here, and she’s still asleep the lucky buggar.”

“Eden?” Harry asks, as he places the cheese and meat on top of the bread baked only this morning, crumbing bits of pepper on top and drizzling balsamic vinegar over the sharp cheddar.

He places it into the small oven and turns the timer on.

“Yeah, heh. Sorry. She’s my pet rabbit and the kids go crazy when I bring her in. I hope you don’t mind me bringing her in here? She’s in her carrier so she can’t escape.” Louis looks sheepish, and he rubs the back of his neck while he flicks his eyes up to meet Harry’s; but the look is quickly dissolved when Harry dashes around the counter and asks if he can see her.

Louis nods and steps aside, giving view to the medium sized carrier sat next to his feet.

Harry crouches and sees through the bars, a small golden rabbit, tufts of white fur peeking through the strands. Her nose twitches in sleep and her soft whiskers brush Harry’s fingertips lightly where he’s resting against the metal bars.

“Oh my, she’s so cute.” He whispers, not wanting to wake the sleeping animal.

He peers up at the man from where he’s situated on the floor and realises he’s eye level with the fly of his work pants. He flushes and bends his knees, standing up.

This only makes things worse as he’s now directly facing him, no counter in between their bodies. If Harry were to inch his fingers out, he’d feel just how soft his jumper is. He flexes his knuckles and reminds himself not to think about if his skin is as soft as his voice.

He coughs into his fist and steps back.

“Sorry – uh. I just love animals. And I don’t mind them in the shop,” he nods his head to where a small tank rests next to the till. “I have one of my own to keep me company, too.”

A plump goldfish swims happily from rock to rock, bobbing his tiny mouth as he scoops up the remaining pieces of fish food Harry had sprinkled in earlier.

Louis spins to face the tiny morsel, but only after his eyes drop down to where Harry’s biting his lip, a small bridge of pink scattered over his nose and cheeks.

“Nice.” He says, smiling at Harry once more. “What’s its name?”

Harry walks back around the counter and scoops the cup from underneath the machine and presses the button on the timer, stopping the chirps that are signalling the food is ready.

He places the items down in front of the man and bends to rest his elbows on the counter, reaching one finger out to follow the fish through the glass.

“Phillip.” He huffs, the sound sculpting into an embarrassed laugh.

Louis looks at him with his eyebrows raised, a small grin quirking his lips.

Harry groans quietly and rolls his eyes.

“Please don’t ask – my niece named him and I couldn’t say no.”

Louis laughs and reaches a hand into his pants pocket, pulling out his wallet and sliding his card out of the slot.

“Mate, you don’t need to explain anything to me.” He says. “I deal with 15 of them on a daily basis, why d’ya think I bought a bloody bunny?”

He smirks as he places the card into the reader and enters his pin, and Harry stares at the way the sun is peeking its way in through the windows, causing the man’s hair to shine, highlighting his cheekbones and lightly freckled skin.

He stands there for another couple of seconds before the reader beeps and he pulls his card out.

“Cool, well - I think that’s me.” The man says, slipping his wallet back into his pocket and gathering the items in his hands. “I guess I’ll see you around, uh?” he looks a little expectantly at Harry and smiles, a tiny quirk of his top lip.

“Harry.”

“Louis,” he replies. “Well, I guess I’ll see you around then, Harry.”

Harry manages a wave before the man is out the door, smiling at him through the window one last time before he disappears down the street.

It isn’t until Harry’s shutting up shop and wiping down the counters that he spots a small folded piece of paper, wedged in underneath the till.

He frowns and drops the cloth, peeling open the sharp edges until scrawled black writing looks back at him, reading:

“Nice Buns!”

Harry stares at the letters and the scribbly, rushed image of two iced buns smiling and feels a flush work its way from the top of his head to the bottom of his toes.

The thing is, is that Harry doesn’t know who could’ve done this.

The bakery’s been busy non-stop all day and plenty of customers have been in and out over the last eight or so hours, and so he’s confused as to who left him the note.

He pockets the piece of paper and picks up his cloth, continuing to clean.

This time with a small smile etched onto his face.

The notes keep appearing after that.

Once a day, in the same spot as before.

Usually, Harry only notices them at the end of his shift, treating them as little surprises after his busy schedule.

Some days there are short sentences, wishing him a good day, and other days there are lyrics from songs that make him smile, every now and then there’s a cheeky one liner that makes him blush.

There’s a small glass jar that sits beside the toaster where he keeps them, day in, day out, the glass gets fuller. Sometimes Harry, after a bad day, will twist the top off and read through them one by one, curling up on the chair by the window and instantly feeling the stress of the day melt from his shoulders, sated happiness washing over him.

He hasn’t yet managed to find the person on the other end of the notes, always too busy to stop and look. And anyway, what would he say if he found out? Yes? Maybe? ‘No Jonathan, if this is you, I’m not into threesomes so stop asking me?’

He kind of likes there being an air of mysteriousness to them.

But he guesses, it wouldn’t be so bad if it turned out to be a certain someone, now would it?

It’s after an unusually busy day that has Harry rushing around on his feet and trying to serve a long line of customers that seems never ending, flour dusted through his hair and balancing both dishing out food and cleaning up after people, that come 5 o’clock, he’s exhausted and practically dead on his feet.

He slumps against the counter and rests his head down between his shoulder blades, having a minute to himself and heaving a big sigh, when he hears the telltale sign of footsteps approaching him, shuffling he thinks, a little slowly.

“Hey.”

He whips his head up and sees Louis.

His hair is a mess and there’s a line of purple felt tip staining his cheek. His tie is skewed and the top button of his shirt is undone, Adam’s apple bobbing slightly as he swallows, lightly dusted with midnight scruff.

“Sorry, I know you’re uh-technically closing soon,” he says, “I just wanted to pop in really quick for one of those chocolate chip muffins? My sister’s coming up for a few days and I need something sweet to get me through, long day ‘n all. Which I’m sure you can relate to.”

Harry huffs a laugh and nods his head, turning to face the cabinet full of pastries and frowns when he realises there aren’t any in there. He closes his eyes and sighs.

“Ah, sorry. It looks like we’re out, I have a fresh batch of blueberry in the back if that’s okay?”

Louis nods and smiles and Harry wanders into the back, letting the smell of bread and cookies sprinkle over him as he pulls out one of the trays and picks a particularly plump muffin, bouncy slightly in texture.

He finds Louis in the same spot as he was before, only this time he’s rubbing his eye with his fist, looking even more tired than when he first padded in.

He waves the muffin at Louis who grins in response, arm falling back to his side and walking closer to the counter.

“Let me just wrap this up for you.” Harry says, and places the muffin in a small decorative box, closing the lid and taping it with a sticker.

When Louis’ walking towards the door a couple of minutes later, he looks over his shoulder and says,

“You might wanna check something over there,” nodding his head to a small counter display full of flapjacks, where a piece of paper looks to be slotted in between, sticking up as if waiting to be plucked, “looks like you missed something.”

And then with one last smile that’s bordering on slightly nervous, he’s gone.

Ten seconds later when Harry unpicks the paper, the words ‘you bake me crazy, wanna grab a drink sometime?’ look back at him.

He thinks back to the other day and presses his lips together, suppressing a smile and biting his lip.

He knows just what to say.

And then, three years later when he stares down at the ring and card with two pieces of bread on the front and reads, ‘I loaf you very much, shall we grow mould together?’

And he looks into teary blue eyes.

He knows just what to say then too.

#this was pure fluff #tooth rotting #wow #i hope this was ok!!#i honestly didn't mean to write over 2k words on this #but here we we are #if you like little prompts like this #please let me know and i'll be happy to write them!#send them to me anytime and i'll post when i have the chance #:)#larry fic #hlcreators #i don't know how else to tag this #fic rec

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imjusthereforbatfam · 4 years

Text

Never-Ending Encore, ch 7.

Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

Chapter Summary: Very Drinks Café. That’s the name of the café. I’m literally not even joking. Anyway, would you like a slice of unresolved childhood trauma with that stalker mix-up?

Warnings: minor swearing, extremely minor mention of su*cide (like, you might even miss it), panic attack

Note: Ede is pronounced “EE-d”, like “need” or “greed”, and Edie is pronounced “EE-Dee”, like “needy” or “greedy.”

---

Being a professional actor was a more tiring and time-consuming line of work than Eden had originally thought. She was so accustomed to her old community theater’s three hours of practice three times a week that she’d expected something similar when she arrived in Gotham. Landing her first “real” gig was a wake-up call. Six 8-hour days in a row taught her just how much time and energy professionals put into their craft.

In Gotham’s theater world, Monday was considered the weekend. There were no performances for audiences to view and no practices for cast members to attend, so Sundays were often filled with tired actors excited to go for drinks or eager to sleep in.

This particular Sunday, Eden was brimming with energy. So much so she actually volunteered to take someone’s place on the daily mid-afternoon caffeine run. The director, Daphne, gave Eden a half-amused smile as she put in the usual order on her phone then sent the small group on their way.

“Somebody’s chipper today,” Aaron grumbled, still sour about not being able to convince anyone to take his turn.

Eden ignored his mood. “Yep! A sort-of friend of mine might be coming over tonight and I’m excited to see him.”

Veronica glanced over her huge sunglasses with an approving smirk. “Oooo, yeah?”

Even when it wasn’t her turn on the caffeine run, Veronica, one of the show’s leads, almost always joined the group. She had a very particular drink from a very particular café in the area she adored, and she would always lead the group there before grabbing everyone else’s drinks at Stardunks. She always bought the other runners something for their trouble too, which was probably the politest thing Eden had seen in Gotham.

“Good for you, Edie,” Veronica went on. “I didn’t take you for the friends-with-benefits type.”

“Friends with—?” Her brain froze. It lumbered over itself, trying to comprehend the idea of Red Hood – big, strong, muscles-for-days Red Hood –, the infamous vigilante, being friends with benefits… With her.

Her face exploded with color.

“Ohnononono! I mean, I meant like, meaning we aren’t exactly friends yet, is what I meant! Like we’re almost friends but not exactly, like— I mean— You know— Not— Not that there’s anything wrong with being friends with benefits, of course! Of course not! Who doesn’t like a good benefit— friend— thing?”

Aaron let out a low, dry “Woooow” and Veronica made an unimpressed face, the girl not caring at all for Eden’s fumbling. Knowing this, Eden’s face grew hotter and her words came out higher and faster.

“It’s just that I, you know, I personally— I mean, the guy’s sweet-as-pie and funny-as-heck but I don’t really know him that well and, you know, it just seems like a bit of a personal thing to jump into, and I’m really not all that—”

“Oh my god, it’s fine, Eden!” Veronica finally shouted with a roll of her eyes. “You’re not in Alabama or Indiana or whatever backwater state you’re from—”

Eden nearly lost her footing, her body stumbling as her brain stumbled over the insult. Veronica, now tuned into her phone, didn’t notice.

“—I was just trying to be supportive. No need to be a spaz about it.”

Eden gaped at Veronica, still not quite believing her ears. But disbelief didn’t stop her blood from boiling.

“Excuse—”

“Anyway!” Aaron said quickly, grabbing Veronica’s attention. “Have you seen pictures of the dress they’re putting you in for the ball scenes yet?”

“Have you? Ugh, it looks atrocious. Can you believe they want me to wear that shade of yellow? Like, seriously? I’m supposed to be the most beautiful sister, not the one who looks like she’s covered in mustard!”

Eden glared at Aaron from behind Veronica’s ranting head. He caught it and threw a warning look back, shaking his head minutely. Fuming, Eden sharpened her gaze then turned away, ignoring the both of them as best she could.

Veronica was a bit spoiled. The way she spoke about the vacations across Europe and the galas she and her father attended up and down the Northeastern coastline made it impossible to miss. Even so, Eden usually thought she was nice enough.

She was incredibly friendly for a Gothamite – especially a wealthy one – but she often tossed out carelessly ignorant comments that left Eden balking. It didn’t help that no one in the cast ever really corrected her, either. Even the director, though firm, was careful when critiquing Veronica.

Eden didn’t understand why they did it, but she didn’t care for it at all. It left a burning itch under her skin in desperate need of a scratch. But every time she went to, someone else interrupted her or stole Veronica’s attention away and gave her a warning look. It was infuriating.

As they approached the fancy café, Café Très Boissons written in thin white print across the window, someone’s phone started to buzz.

“I have to take this,” Veronica announced, shoving her purse into Eden’s hands.

Eden, not paying attention, nearly dropped it. “Whoa! Wha—”

“Go in and ask for my usual drink and whatever you two want. Use the pink card, yeah?”

“Huh?”

She put the phone to her ear. “Hi, Daddy, how was your flight?” She made a shooing motion at Eden then turned to focus on her phone call. Eden gaped at her, but she didn’t notice.

Aaron, who didn’t seem offended at all, nudged Eden and headed toward the door. She looked between him, the purse, and the infuriatingly oblivious young woman who’d handed it to her, before shaking her head and following him in.

She’d been to Café Très Boissons once before, about a week ago with Veronica and another cast member when it had officially been her turn on the caffeine run. Letting the door close behind her, she found the place just as unpleasant as the last time.

Everything was too… crisp. Too light and bright and minimalist. It was like stepping out of real-life and into a far-too-expensive décor magazine. The air was stiff, too. Suffocating, even. How anybody was supposed to relax in a place like this, Eden didn’t know.

The other patrons weren’t very welcoming either. They all dressed in smart, sleek clothing and held themselves like incredibly important people, all too busy with incredibly important things to pay anyone else any mind. Those who did happen to notice Eden and Aaron – who looked distinctly “artsy” amongst the ironed slacks and sleek skirts – quickly dismissed them.

The only ones who didn’t match the rest of the crowd – in both attire and actions – was a group of young men tucked into one of the corner booths. Eden could immediately guess which of them had suggested the spot, as he was the only one who roughly fit the dress code and seemed to be enjoying himself. (The pre-teen next to him fit it perfectly, wearing the same fitted attire as everyone else, but he had a distinctly unimpressed frown fixed to his face.)

The other two with him were easily Eden’s favorite people in the place. Amongst all the prim and pomp of everyone and everything else around them, those two were wearing hoodies.

The tired-looking teen in the black Superman hoodie still sat up nicely and gave some regard to where he was, but the one in red did not give into the café’s demands of refinement in the slightest. In fact, the way he was lounging in his seat with his arms crossed and hood drawn up, he almost looked ready to take a nap. His resolve to not give a damn was nothing if not admirable.

“Hi, Veronica!” the barista chirped, startling Eden both with the name and how happy he sounded to see her in this unfriendly place. “I already started your usual but what else can I…” He blinked at her. “Oh, whoops,” his tone, though still professional, dropped. “Sorry, miss, I thought you were somebody else.”

“Uh, that’s alright. I’m actually ordering for a Veronica who comes in here every day, so…”

“Veronica Bradford?”

Eden nodded slowly, then turned to Aaron to be sure.

“Yeah, that’s her,” he confirmed. “And I’ll have the same, but with the blueberry whip and no caramel.”

The barista nodded, writing that down, then turned to Eden, who was awkwardly fishing through Veronica’s big white purse to find the girl’s wallet.

“And you, miss?” he prompted.

“Oh, uh, do you have sweet tea?”

“We have tea and sweeteners we can add? Sugar and sugar-free options.”

“No, that’s— I’m good actually, thank you.”

“Are you sure? We have plenty to choose from.”

“No, that’s alright. Thank you.”

“Just get what we’re getting,” Aaron pressed. “It’s not bad, and you’re not paying for it anyway.”

“Neither are you,” she reminded him.

He shrugged.

“They are really good, miss,” the barista added. “It’s not tea but it is a sweet latte. It’s one of my favorites to recommend.”

“Oh, alright,” she sighed a little. “I guess I’ll take one, too.”

She went back to digging through the purse. When she finally found Veronica’s wallet, she almost blanched at the luxury brand name printed clearly across the front. Carefully, she opened it and delicately handed the barista the pink credit card. Aaron took over from there and left a huge tip that almost made Eden faint.

She stared at the receipt, blindly following him to a table. The three-digit number stared back.

“You’re giving her this,” she said suddenly, shoving the thin paper at him. “I don’t want nothing to do with that.”

“Oh, calm down, Eden. Her daddy dearest is so rich she won’t even bat an eyelash.”

Eden carefully set the purse onto their table, noticed the same brand name in rose gold on its front, and gently pushed it away from her. “I feel like a thief.”

Aaron scoffed, pulling out his phone. “With that bag? You look the part.”

“Ha ha, very funny.”

After a moment, she straightened and lifted herself up to see out the front window. From their high table near the corner, she could just catch the top of Veronica’s head. It moved in such a way that clearly meant she was still on the phone.

“Do I really look like her?” she asked in a small voice, sitting back down. “Like Veronica?”

Even if she wasn’t currently happy with the woman, Eden couldn’t deny she was a little flattered to have been mistaken for her. Veronica was undeniably pretty; beautiful in the way rich folks could easily afford to be. Like every inch of her was perfectly tailored to meet the highest of society’s standards.

“Hmm.” Aaron briefly glanced up from his phone. “I guess I can see it. You could easily be her double for some, like, security reason.”

Eden snorted. “Well if I was, I might just call out sick with the way she was talking to me earlier.”

“Oh, don’t let her get to you,” he said waving a hand. “That wasn’t too bad. She orders everyone around like that every once and a while.”

“That’s not what I was talking about, but that’s definitely rude, too.”

He raised a brow.

“Whatever backwater state I’m from?”

It took him a moment, then, “Oh. Yeah.” He went back to his phone. “Don’t take it personally. She’s just a spoiled little heiress.”

“She basically called me a moron from a state full of morons. How am I not supposed to take that personally? And then she just threw out different states like everyone south of New Jersey is a moron.”

Aaron shrugged, not really caring. “Veronica says things without thinking all the time. She’s nice enough most of the time, right? She’s still buying you a drink.”

“I really don’t give a damn that she’s buying me a drink,” Eden threw back. “She upset me, and she should know it and apologize. Nobody says anything when she does something wrong, and I’m sick of it. I hate how everybody walks on eggshells with her just ‘cause she’s rich.”

“Listen, Eden.” He sounded tired. “You can do whatever the hell you want but I’m trying to give you a heads-up. You’re not from around here and this is, what, your first show with Veronica?”

She nodded.

“Well, the reason nobody says anything,” he said copying her accent (and earning a glare), “isn’t because she’s rich. It’s because if you get on her bad side, you get on her dad’s bad side. And William Bradford pours a lot of money into Gotham’s theater scene. Understand?”

Eden blinked at him. There were a few old, well-to-do families that lived near her hometown who liked to have their fingers in a lot of pies – the Henriksens especially so – so she understood what he was saying perfectly. But still, she couldn’t quite believe her ears.

Pulling that kind of nonsense in theater? And in Gotham City of all places? Wasn’t there something a little more… underworld-y that Mr. Bradford could focus on?

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Nope,” Aaron said popping the p. “Happened to one of Veronica’s best friends— ex-best friends, Christina. They had a huge falling out and Christina couldn’t get a single call-back for over a year. She ended up moving to New York to try finding work there, and I’m sure I don’t have to tell you how cut-throat their theater scene is.”

Eden frowned at the table, then looked up at him again. “Well, that’s a best friend she got in a fight with. I’m nobody to her. If I’m polite about what’s bothering me, she won’t have any reason to ask her daddy to do something like that to me.”

“That’s just it though!” he said leaning over the table, lowering his voice. “Veronica didn’t ask her dad to do it. She didn’t have a clue what was happening with Christina! Just like she doesn’t have a clue why she keeps getting a lead role in every show she auditions for!”

“It’s… not because she’s a good actress?”

Aaron gave her an annoyed, unbelieving look. “Would you have cast her as Jane?”

“Well—” Eden sat up straight. “Well, I mean… Maybe not me personally, but— I mean, she is very pretty, and Jane is canonically the prettiest girl in town, and— and she’s certainly not a bad actress, I mean…”

“No, she’s not,” he agreed. “But she’s definitely not lead-role material. Daphne’s lucky she wanted to play Jane and not Elizabeth. Can you imagine her playing Elizabeth?” Aaron made a scandalized face and obnoxiously rolled his eyes at the thought.

Eden, unable to deny how awful Veronica would likely be in the role but also unwilling to say such a thing aloud, stumbled over a response until a barista called out Veronica’s name.

Eager to take the escape, she hopped out of her chair. “I’ll get that and you guard the purse.”

Aaron just hummed and picked up his phone again.

On her way to the counter, Eden spared a glance at the nearby corner booth, the one with the boys in the hoodies. The four of them were having a lively conversation and she enjoyed the small snippets of back and forth she could catch.

The one in the red hoodie no longer looked ready to take a nap but was instead hunched over the table, his jaw resting in his hand as he made small jabs at the people around him. The younger two snapped back quickly, and the smiling, eldest-looking one laughed while still trying to keep the peace.

The way they were digging at each other reminded Eden of her own “brothers”. She couldn’t help but smile. She sighed, unintentionally loud, missing her loveable idiots.

The one in the red hoodie lifted his head toward the sound but, thanks to the hood covering half his face, Eden was able to turn away before he caught her eavesdropping.

The barista waiting with the drinks gave her a wide smile. “Hi, Veronica! We’re still making your last drink but—” She cocked her head suddenly and squinted. “Wait…”

“No, I’m not Veronica,” Eden said with an amused smile. “But I am here for her drinks.”

“Oh.” The girl laughed at herself. “Sorry about that. The last one’s just going to be another minute.”

Eden nodded, picking up the two that were ready. “Thank you.”

As she returned to her and Aaron’s table, she glanced toward the boys again. This time, the smiling eldest was grinning and whispering something towards red hoodie boy, who was looking in the opposite direction and not-so-subtly flipping him off. The teen in the Superman hoodie accidentally locked eyes with her and the both of them quickly looked away.

Eden then noticed a man in the opposite corner of the café watching her. When she looked at him, he jerked his head away and quickly took a sip from his cup. Eden slowed her walk and furrowed her brows, a tightness forming in her gut.

“Yaaasss,” Aaron called, stealing her attention as he reached for his drink. “Give me that Rich Bitch Latte.”

“Is that what you call it?”

He shrugged, taking a sip. “Mine has blueberry whip cream. If that doesn’t scream rich bitch, what does?”

Eden made a slight face. Blueberry whip cream didn't seem all that luxurious to her – it certainly wasn’t hard to make – but even if it was, she couldn't imagine it tasted good with a latte.

“That barista mixed me up for Veronica too,” she said after a moment.

Aaron snorted. “Maybe you should be her double. You’d get paid good money for it, I’m sure.”

Eden hummed. She turned her attention back to the curious man in the opposite corner.

At first glance, he fit the establishment fine. He wore a simple grey suit and a hat and was now totally engrossed with his phone. But the suit was a little too non-descript and untidy, and the hat a bit beat-up. Not to mention, slouching in his seat like he was, he didn’t match the prim, properness of most of the other patrons.

Though… maybe she was being unfair to him. After all, she’d praised the guy in the red hoodie for the same thing, hadn’t she?

She glanced to the booth of boys again. The one in the red hoodie must have been looking at her because his head moved the second hers did. Eden didn’t get a tight, sinking sensation in her stomach when he did, though. Nor had she when she locked eyes with the teenager.

She turned back to the older man, still fidgeting with his phone. What was the difference between them? Maybe it was weirder because he was older. The other guys were closer to her age and therefore… what, safer?

Eden huffed at herself. Age wasn’t an indication of danger, she knew that. The people who came to the farm looking for safety were hiding from men of all ages. (They were almost always hiding from men.) From young men full of piss and vinegar and a sense of superiority; old men with strings to pull and favors they could call in; men of any age with a brutal mean streak that came from years of privilege, or hardship…

So it wasn’t their age. And none of them were dressed “appropriately” for the cafe – though the hoodie boys even less so – so it wasn’t that either. Maybe it was how stiffly and forcibly the man had reacted when Eden noticed him staring. Though that, too, didn’t necessarily mean any—

“Veronica Bradford!” the barista called again, breaking Eden’s thoughts.

On her second trip back to the table, Eden watched the man from the corner of her eye. It seemed like he was looking at her again too, adding to her concern. He moved his hands a bit and then—

Eden stopped. She turned to stare directly at the man, who hurried to shift his torso so his phone was no longer pointing at her. She scowled. She knew exactly what he was now. But what in the world was a scout doing here of all places?

A scout – as Mama always called them – could be anybody. A private investigator or a random person off the street; it didn’t matter. Their job was simple: find their mark and get proof of where and when they were and who they were with.

But… who was this guy’s mark? It couldn’t be Eden. He was taking her picture, sure, but… The only people who might be looking for her were her parents, and neither of them would have recruited someone so… obvious.

Still, she reported it to Aaron as she sat down. “There’s a man taking pictures,” she told him gravely.

He glanced up at her, giving her a weird look. “O…kay? Everyone takes pictures here. It’s a wannabe Snapstagram influencer’s wet dream.”

“I meant,” she said frowning, “he’s taking pictures of me.”

“Huh? Who?” He looked around without a hint of subtlety.

Eden smacked her head with her hand. She could’ve kicked him. Of course, it was her own fault for thinking he would understand. Aaron wasn’t one of her “cousins” or semi-siblings. He was just some guy from Gotham who knew nothing about life on Paradise Farm.

“Would you stop!?” she hissed, trying to hide her face from the scout. “He’s behind you, in the corner booth by the windows. Grey suit, brown hat— Don’t be obvious.”

Aaron, bless him, finally caught on. He turned his head slowly from one end of the café to the other. He stared at the man a few beats too long then turned back to her.

“Are you sure? He just looks like his phone’s giving him trouble.”

Eden shook her head. “I caught him doing it, so now he’s nervous. He was just staring at me the first time I got up, but the second time he had his phone pointed at me and everything.”

He looked over his shoulder at the scout, then back again. “Maybe he’s paparazzi,” he offered. “The baristas all thought you were Veronica. Maybe he does, too.”

Eden blinked at him. She hadn’t thought of that. Despite not being anywhere near the farm, the idea the man could be anything but a scout hadn’t even crossed her mind. But it made some sense… After all, who would he even be scouting? Nobody here was in hiding.

“She has paparazzi?”

“Local heiress constantly landing lead roles who models on the side?” Aaron shrugged. “She’s not headline news or anything, but she pops up in local shit every once and a while.”

Eden frowned at her drink. She glanced over at the man again, taking a sip of her latte. “And are paparazzi people always so nervous when they get caught?”

“Do I look like I know the answer to that?”

“You’ve been around Veronica longer than I have,” she insisted. “You’d know better than I would.”

“I guess,” he huffed, rolling his eyes. He thought about it a moment. “I don’t know. She doesn’t usually notice them, but I guess some of them get a little embarrassed when other people do. But, like, it’s their job. They can’t exactly be bashful about it or they won’t get paid.”

She nodded thoughtfully and took another sip, reluctant to admit it tasted extremely good.

Her eyes slid over to the man once more. Then she stopped and glared. Loudly, she slammed her cup onto the table — startling Aaron and catching other patrons’ attention as well. Including the man, who’d been pointing his phone at her again.

He scrambled to put it away, stood, and started grabbing his things.

“I think you scared him, Veronica,” Aaron muttered sarcastically.

“Good.” She leaned back in her chair and took a celebratory drink, not taking her eyes off the man. “Paparazzi, huh?”

“Well, what else would he be?” Aaron asked, rolling his eyes again. “A stalker? The guy doesn't exactly scream danger. Anyway, he’s leaving now so it doesn’t—”

Eden jerked up in her seat. “Uh-oh.”

The real Veronica stepped through the door. Looking around, she spotted Aaron and Eden near the back corner, smiled, and started walking toward them. A flabbergasted expression crossed the man’s face when she passed him by.

“Uh-oh.”

The oblivious heiress didn’t notice him stop walking or the way he was watching her. But Eden did. And she knew that look in his eye.

“Oh, no.”

The scout had found his mark.

Eden didn’t think about it. One second she was sitting in her chair – buzzing with wild, nervous energy – the next she was grabbing Veronica’s drink and taking long strides across the café’s shining floors. She grinned playfully at the unsuspecting girl.

Veronica’s smile didn’t fall, but her brows furrowed slightly as Eden approached. “Hey, sorry about that. Daddy always calls me when he gets to a new hotel.”

“Oh, no problem, Eden!” Eden said handing Veronica her drink.

Veronica took it, went to speak, then seemed to short-circuit — suddenly blinking and staring at her in a baffled way. Eden took the moment to link their arms and move her away from the scout, who seemed stuck in place.

“Actually, my daddy does the same,” she said in the same, polished Rich-Girl-Gothamite accent she’d used before. “We’re super close. Oh, and tell me if you like the drink, yeah? It’s my favorite. I get it every day.”

Veronica glanced down at her drink, then up at Eden, totally lost.

As they approached the table, Eden did a quick sweep of their surroundings and was glad they were sitting where they were. Their table was near the side exit and all the nearby tables were empty, save the now silent booth of boys.

Though none of them were looking in her direction, Eden couldn’t help quirking a brow in theirs, wondering what had dulled their lively spirits.

“So… what’s going on exactly?” Veronica asked in a nervous pitch as they reached Aaron.

“Eden thinks she has a stalker,” he explained.

“No,” Eden corrected in her own voice. “I think Veronica has a scout— stalker— whatever thing. And they think Veronica is me.”

“They…” Veronica looked between the two of them, then laughed nervously. “Oh, Edie, that’s… I seriously doubt anyone would think you were me.”

“Two of the baristas thought I was you.”

“Brayden thought she was you,” Aaron confirmed.

Veronica’s mouth fell open. She stared at the guy behind the register in disbelief before turning it on Eden. Eden just grinned and moved her head to the side like she’d heard something funny.

There, in the corner of her eyes, she could see the man inching back to his corner booth. Watching them.

“Oh my god, Edie!” she said loud and clear in her Veronica voice, setting the real Veronica into a seat facing away from the man. “You are just too cute!”

“Wait.” Veronica leaned over, talking low. “Why are you talking like a normal person now?”

A flash of anger broke Eden’s character. “Excuse me?”

“Why are you talking like a normal person now?” she repeated, apparently unaware of her offense. “And why are you calling me Eden?”

Eden took a deep breath, trying to regain her cool. “I’m not talking like a ‘normal person’,” she explained slowly, being sure to sit up straight and hold her head in the proud, haughty way the rest of the patrons did. “I’m talking like you. And I’m calling you Eden so that scout-stalker guy leaves you alone.”

“She’s being your double,” Aaron said with a grin. Eden glared at him. “Am I wrong?”

She looked away. “No,” she grumbled.

He nodded, satisfied.

Veronica looked between the two of them, not getting it, then turned back to Eden. “Why are you doing this exactly? Are you expecting me to pay you for it?”

“What? No! I’m helping you because you're in trouble, obviously.”

The other two stared at her. Somehow that simple concept seemed foreign to them.

“Oh, please,” she scoffed. “Don’t you two act like you’ve never helped anybody out before just to be nice. I know this is Gotham but come on now. Not everybody in this city can be that heartless.”

“Oh, you sweet summer child,” Aaron cooed, resting a hand over his heart. Eden glared at him.

Veronica tried to say something, stopped, then tried again. “But… why? It’s not your problem, so…”

“So what? That guy’s trouble.” Eden tilted her head. “Do you… want some scout-stalker taking your picture? Knowing where you’ve been and when you go?”

“No, but… Are you sure he’s trouble?” she asked. “Maybe he’s just, I don’t know, some weirdo who likes taking pictures of pretty girls.”

“Could be.” Eden shrugged. “But I seriously doubt it, the way he’s been acting. It’s just sorta… obvious he’s here for you.”

“Obvious?” She made a face and started looking around the café – thankfully never over her shoulder – trying to find the trouble herself. “I don’t see anyone making it obvious.”

“You’re just not used to it.”

“And you are?”

Eden opened her mouth and shut it. She shuffled in her seat, not really sure how to explain it. Back home, she’d never had to explain it. Everybody just knew. And not just her small town. The whole county knew.

They knew Paradise Farm and its famous little bakery. They knew Mama and Eden and her mismatched group of semi-siblings (or of them, at least). They knew if you needed a place to go, Paradise Farm had its doors open, and “cousins” were always welcome.

Some who came, came for simple reasons. Wandering free spirits who enjoyed earning their stay and living more-or-less off the land, people who needed a little space after an argument, a partygoer looking for a safe place to sober up before heading home; simple things like that.

But sometimes it was more. Sometimes the reasons were complicated. Kids who’d been kicked out of their homes, kids trying to escape their homes, abused spouses who just wanted to disappear, people who couldn’t go to the law because an officer or a judge was a part of the problem; the kinds of folks who had nowhere else to go, no one left to turn to. The kind who needed help.

“Wait, wait, wait.” Aaron lowered his voice and moved closer, his eyes sparkling. “Are you, like… some kind of small-time hero? Is that why you moved to Gotham? To like, meet Batman and become a vigilante?”

Eden recoiled at the notion. “No! No, no, I’m—!” She chomped down on the words trying to fly out of her mouth, trying to control herself. “I’m not— I don’t— Don’t get me wrong, I like helping people and stuff,” she said fiddling with the table’s edge, very aware of Aaron’s eager, penetrating expression. “But I’m not like— I’m not a, a—” she couldn’t even say the word. Not when it was being tied to her.

Still, Aaron just nodded along. Looking for all the world like an unmasked hero was sitting in front of him and begging him to keep their secret. Eden’s hands started to shake. It was like talking to her father all over again.

“Really, Aaron. I’m… I’m not,” she said, trying to be firm. “I couldn’t do the things they do.”

“You could try,” he insisted, sounding just like him.

Eden went numb.

She couldn’t. She really, really couldn’t. She knew because she had tried. She’d tried, and tried, and tried so many times. But no matter how many times she tried, no matter how many times Frank had told her it was her purpose, her destiny, her responsibility, she just plain couldn’t.

When Mama found out, she was furious. Not with Eden. But with Frank. It was too much for a kid to handle, especially one like Eden, she’d said. She never wanted her daughter to endure that kind of sacrifice and pain—

Oh, the pain! Every time – every goddamn time – there was always so much pain!

Not that she had any right to complain, as Frank would remind her. She was a metahuman; her body always healed.

And it did.

It healed, and healed, and healed. Erasing every bullet, every blade, every hand that ever left its mark on her; stealing away every scar she might’ve earned, every wound she might’ve carried. It healed, and healed, and healed. So perfectly, so flawlessly, so unnaturally — and it never stopped.

Even when she died, it didn’t stop. It didn’t matter if someone killed her themselves or if she took on someone else’s death. Even if it was by her own hand, it didn’t stop. She always came back. Her body always healed. The universe always demanded an encore.

It never, ever, ever stopped.

“Are you okay, Ed— I mean, Veronica?” Veronica said obviously, garnering some of Eden’s attention. “You look a little sick.”

“She’s just freaking out ‘cause I figured out she’s not the everyday normal person she pretends to be,” Aaron said smugly.

Eden still couldn’t speak.

Veronica smacked him. “Don’t be an idiot, Aaron. You’re freaking her out because you’re insisting there’s something remarkable about her when there isn’t at all! E— Veronica is completely normal and average in every possible way.”

Eden winced at the unintended insult. Aaron made a slight face too, but, of course, Veronica didn’t notice.

“Anyway, Veronica,” she continued, turning back to her. “You’ve done this sort of thing before, yeah? What do we do now?”

Eden blinked a few times, still pulling herself out of her spiral, then glanced over at the scout. “Well… Normally I’d try to get a picture of the person, but…”

“But?” Aaron asked eagerly.

She froze again. She took a long, deep breath. “Well… since I made such a fuss catching him in the act earlier, I don’t think we’ll see him again.”

He pouted. “Really? You think a stalker’s going to give up just like that?”

“No, he—” Eden huffed and shook her head. “He’s not the real problem. He’s just some guy who’s supposed to be taking Veronica’s pictures. Maybe figuring out her routine or whatever. But he got caught twice, so whoever sent him probably won’t send him again unless they’re desperate. Or stupid, I suppose. Either way, I doubt taking his picture would really help much. Though I guess it could help us figure out who hired him in the first place, but I don’t really know who I’d send it to here—”

She stopped her rambling, noticing the open-mouthed, wide-eyed way her companions were staring at her.

“Oh— I— Uh—" She quickly took a sip of her nearly forgotten latte, trying to hide behind the cup. “Sorry,” she murmured.

Aaron shook himself, almost violently, out of his stupor. “Oh, okay, yeah, you just know all this crap and you’re not a vigilante or something?”

“I’m not,” she grumbled. “My mama taught me what to watch out for, so I do.”

“So your mom’s the vigilante?”

“My—" Eden blinked and shook her head fervently, trying to follow his logic. "What?”

Not that she’d admit it to a pair of acquaintances, but anyone who her mama – like, really knew her, not the role she played – knew Louanne Smith was more likely to be on a most-wanted list than be considered a vigilante. Though Red Hood was probably on a few wanted lists himself, now that she thought about it, and her mama certainly broke the law not turning over certain people to the sheriff, so maybe she would be considered a vigilante?

“Ugh, ignore him, Edi— Veronica,” Veronica said rolling her eyes. “Aaron has a total hard-on for Gotham’s bats. He loves the way they break the law and—"

“What is wrong with breaking the law if it means helping people?” he burst in.

“We have laws for a reason, Aaron,” Veronica insisted. “I can admit Gotham’s vigilantes help the little people here and there—” Eden bristled at her tone “—but in the grand scheme of things—”

“In the grand scheme of things, they help people. End of story.” Veronica shot him a dirty look, but he made no move to try and placate her. This, apparently, was a hill worth dying on. “End of story,” he said again.

“Oh, yeah right, like you really care. Everyone knows you’re just in love with Red Hood’s thighs.”

“I can care about what the vigilantes do for this city and still appreciate how sexy they are,” Aaron said proudly. “Red Hood’s jacked and has the thighs of a god and I’m not ashamed to admit I would tap that in an instant.”

Eden made an involuntary high-pitched sound. She stared dead at the table, trying not to think about Red Hood as her face grew piping hot and she curled in on herself.

“Besides, you’re one to talk,” Aaron continued, either ignoring or not noticing Eden’s discomfort. “You always go on and on about how hot Nightwing’s ass is!”

“Which it is, but that’s not the point! They might be hot but vigilantes are the reason we have so many crazy supervillains in this city!”

“Those hot vigilantes are the only reason we have any sort of justice in this city!”

Hiding her burning face in her hands, Eden just shook her head, trying to phase out of existence as they went back and forth on their stances of law, order, and whether or not Batman was a dilf.

Eventually, she peeked through her fingers and found the scout watching them with an uncertain look on his face. His phone was still in his hand, however, close to his chest and pointed in her direction, so they weren’t out of the woods yet.

Eden groaned and ran her fingers through her hair as she dropped her head. Then she popped back up, her expression taut, like an heiress who’d been ignored for far too long.

“Ex—cuse—me!” she said clapping her hands, forcing the bickering to finally stop. She gave them a tight smile, speaking lowly in her own voice. “Y’all can have this… discussion some other time – preferably when I’m not here – but right now, we’re in the middle of something.” She stood from her seat. “So I’m gonna need you two to stop. Now.”

The guilty party shared a look then muttered an annoyed agreeance.

“Thank you,” she said with a nod. “Now then.” She grabbed Veronica’s big white purse and confidently slung it over her shoulder. “Are we ready to go?” she asked loud and clear in her Veronica voice, gesturing to the side door. “I’m sure Daphne and the rest of the cast are waiting for us.”

“Sure thing, Veronica,” Aaron said a little louder than usual. “Lead the way.”

Eden smiled and linked arms with the real Veronica, constantly shifting to keep the girl’s face hidden from the scout as much as possible. As they exited the café, she pointed to something down the street, giving Veronica an excuse to keep her head turned.

Eden on the other hand tried to catch a glimpse of the scout from the corner of her eye. Instead, she ended up latching on to the group of boys one last time.

A few of them looked uncomfortable but all four were quiet, each seemingly lost in their own thoughts. But Eden could tell that wasn’t right. Even if they didn’t seem focused on anything in particular, she knew they were. It was almost like she could see that they were… were… She didn’t know what to call it. Ready? On? Something like that. But why? What for?

The guy in the red hoodie shifted back, leaning lazily against the booth cushions. His hood stayed in place despite his head tipping up toward the ceiling. Though unable to see his eyes, Eden had the sudden sense that he was watching her.

Should she be nervous? Had she set too much of her attention on the man on the other side of the café? Should she have been watching these boys as well? She didn’t feel like she needed to worry about them. Had she made a mistake?

She walked arm-in-arm with Veronica until they reached the end of the block and crossed the street. There, she released the girl and spun around, scanning the stream of people for the face of the scout, or perhaps even one of the boys.

She suddenly wished she had snuck a picture. Maybe back home it wouldn’t be such a big deal, but this was Gotham. And Veronica was a high-profile local. As much as Eden preferred giving people the benefit of the doubt, this wasn’t a safe situation to assume anything but the worst.

Not seeing anyone from the café, she sighed and rejoined Veronica and Aaron, who were giving her nervous looks. She smiled at them.

“All good.” She took the purse from her shoulder and handed it back to Veronica. “You might want to consider having someone else get your latte for a while. Maybe an assistant or something? And maybe some kind of security for yourself. Just to be safe.”

Veronica nodded mutely, then muttered out a small thank you before taking Eden’s arm again. She held it tightly, with a concerned look on her face, so Eden didn’t complain. Every few blocks they would stop or slow down and she would check the crowd around them for caution’s sake.

The walk to Stardunks and back to the practice hall was fairly quiet, giving Eden plenty of time to think. Mainly she wondered if she should bring up the day’s events to Red Hood. It wasn’t anything vigilante-worthy, not yet anyway, but Veronica’s status certainly made it a possibility. And Eden stepping in as her double probably counted as doing something stupid, which, even though he'd been joking, he’d asked her not to do.

In fact, when they stepped into the practice hall and Veronica started telling everyone what had happened and how Eden had “saved” her, and Aaron reiterated her “vigilante-like knowledge”, and a number of people started looking at her with a curious sort of twinkle in their eyes, the stuttering, blushing Eden was quite certain she’d done something very, very stupid indeed.

---

Next chapter

#Never-Ending Encore #Jason Todd #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd x oc #jason todd x reader #red hood #red hood x reader #red hood x oc #oc: Eden Smith #chapter 7 #cross posted on ao3

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kanene-yaaay-o-retorno · 3 years

Text

Caffeinated drinks, black dots and I should’ve stayed at home

Kanene’s Notes: Heya, heya awesome beans! Howz you are all doing?!

I am very glad that I finally finished this idea dfghjkderty. Shinsou was the second character that my mind screamed that I NEEDED to put in a cat cafe and kjhgtrertyu I think that one is a litol more funny and fluff than hurt/comfort, like the one with Midoriya, but worry not! In the end of the day one more kid is adopted :D

Warnings, fun facts, random things and stuff:

* That fanfic has Dadzawa and Yamadad and their relatonship can be seen as romantic, if you wish.

* This happens in the same universe as This Fanfic Here and you can also find it on AO3.

* There is passing out due exhaustion, sleep deprivation and cursing, but besides that i don’t think that there are any more warnings. This is more funny and fluff.

* This characters do not belongs to me. They all belongs to the amazing the manga/anime Boku no Hero.

* Something around 2.500 words. -w-)b.

* Sorry for any spelling, pontuation and grammar mistakes! Any advice is very very welcome!

* Tô com preguiça de postar a versão em português brasileiro aaaa! Oh!! If you have an idea for another scenario in this universe, hmu! I would love to hear it !!Thankys so much for reading this. Take care! Drink water! Eat well!! Pet a cute animal today!! And please sleep a bit, okie? <3 Byeioo!~

[~*~]

Shinsou blinked for what it felt the fifth time on the last minutes, which was probably the same amount a normal human being was supposed to blink but right now it just felt wrong. He rubbed his stinging eyes again, suppressing another yawn, firm on his purpose to concentrate his brain enough on the task of remembering his order, an almost impossible action by the way a growing headache involved his mind since he woke up.

The teenager focused again on the colorful, full of doodles of paws and whiskers menu, wishing for the first time in nearly two months attending the place that the drinks’ names were objective and direct, and not awful cat puns that made his braincells prefer to combust themselves instead of gathering the necessary information to remind him of the beverage he should ask.

He squinted his eyes, dots appearing in the air. Hm. Definitely not a good sign. Maybe he should order two of the most caffeinated drinks instead of just one? He stared the menu again, frustration flaming on his veins as the words blurred and lost their signification, dancing together with the café’s lights.

And it was only 7 AM.

Perhaps he should have stayed home, on the safety of his bed and the darkness of his room. He knew he should have cancelled his training.

And yet, even thinking about that possibility made Hitoshi’s stomach be consumed by anxious tugs and knots, leaving an unpleasant taste of displeasure on his mouth. His trainings were one of the best moments on his entire week. They were events he would catch himself smiling as he thought about a newest move he learned or how his body seemed to recover quicker from the lessons. Or even how good, how right and free he felt on the gym, tired and sore, in the moment that his mentor nodded, proudness flicking in his eyes.

… How amazing it felt to look at the mirror and see that same feeling reflected on his own gaze.

He couldn’t deprive himself of that sensation, even if dealing with the painful consequences of his sleep deprivation and probably a lecture if his mentor caught him was the only other options.

“Just one more. Just one more person and then I can ask for the strongest caffeinated shit here.” Yeah. This time those cups would be enough to make him endure at least his afternoon classes, he repeated to himself in mumbles. Two cups. Two cups and some minutes petting a cat and he would be ready. He would be ready for the world and society and the whole being a functional human being thing. And then he would get on the metro and nap until he gets home where he would have the real opportunity to properly sleep. Almost there. Just two cups. Two. Two cups.

Gosh, he probably sounded like Midoriya, mumbling non stop like this. A mental image of the energetic teen looking as tired as Shinsou and drinking coffee as if his life depended on it popped on his brain, leading to a sudden urge to giggle manically take over the purple haired boy, and for the way some other customers eyed him warily he possible vocalized that impulse as well, limbs feeling at the same time too much heavy and too much light.

He was so fucking tired.

“Next one!” Loud. So loud. Shinsou obligated his body to step closer, opening his eyes enough to realize that dark spots still painted his vision. Huh. When did he close his eyes, again? “Good morning, little customer! How can I help you today?”

Hitoshi stared at the figure in front of him, senses slow like he was under water, trying to understand the distorted sentences being directed at him, the dots growing and twinkling. Black dots were supposed to be able to do that?

The world swayed a bit under his feet. He tried to move his lips but they didn’t obey him.

“Little customer?” The voice sounded worried, and maybe that is what compelled the boy to take a deep breath, putting all his will in forming word after word when a nauseating wave of tiredness hit him, leading his conscience’s grip in reality weaken.

“I am going to pass out.”

And then the world got completely black, his senses disappearing together with a background screech.

Well, fuck.

[…]

Yamada had seen a lot of crazy, strange things while working at the cat café.

As example that one shift when an adult of blue hair, strict pose and clear exhaustion dripping in waterfalls from his form was convinced that he was in a library and fiercely tried to return a book to them, doesn’t taking a ‘no’ as answer until the blond was left stupefied with a book of “The Secrets Hidden in The Bottom of The Ocean” on his arms.

Or that occasion when a boy with a blank expression wearing Victorian clothes and completely surrounded by crows opened their door, looked from a side to another, stared at the deepest parts of Yamada’s soul, analyzing all his dark fears and secrets before slowly blink and say “Wrong store, my apologies” walking back and calmly ignoring the hissing and battle yowling of dozens of cats and crows.

Or the day a green haired woman with a kind, calm aura just walked behind the counter completely unphazed by Hizashi and Aizawa’s unbelieved looks, made two healthy snacks, patted their cheeks saying ‘You two need to eat more, dears’ and then disappeared as if nothing had happened.

However, none of those events ever prepared him for the moment which purple eyes would stare his in an unfocused state, not really looking at anything and a wobbly smirk – if he wasn’t accustomed with Shouta’s grin, he would easily call it ‘creepy’ – would paint his customer’s pale face, the silence ringing alarmingly on his ears.

“Are you okay, little listener? Do you want to sit for a minute? You look extremely tired.”

As the words came out of his lips, a spell seemed to break, the other’s face getting even paler, smile falling and eyes widening leaded his body to stumble forward instinctively, something on his guts screaming for him to get ready. A few other customers on the line grumbled in impatience, looking at their watch and protesting. Somewhere, in the deep part of his brain, Yamada wondered why those things only happened when Aizawa was out and no procedures for those kinds of situations were previously discussed on their contract.

“Hey, guy,” a blonde teenager behind the paralyzed one said, tipping forward in an attempt to catch the other’s expression, his kimono following each move, “are you… here with us?”

“Little listener?”

A hesitant poke on his cheeks, two pair of eyes warily watching a third.

His mouth finally moved.

“I am going to pass out.” His voice was light, stitched together by certain. His legs trembled under his own weight, body collapsing.

“You WHAT?” A terrified shriek mixed itself between Hizashi’s words, flying across the whole store.

“Oh, shi-”

His blonde client didn’t waste a second before holding the other, arms locking under his armpits in a strange kind of hug, knees weakening with the sudden, unexpected effort, the limp teenager not even flinching with the touch, laying there completely motionless.

Hizashi blinked, gulping, adrenaline exploding on each one of his fibers, color slightly draining from his own face, a piece of his conscience wishing with all its strength for this to be only a dream. When his eyes opened, everything would be the same.

He blinked, the deafening silence still crushing the room, one set of black eyes staring at him in confusion and growing panic, another set closed, heavy, dark circles under it.

Right. He didn’t have time for this.

So, he blinked again, finding himself in front of them both, pushing his feelings under a mask of a calm, an easy reassuring smile already slipping on his face, crouching to get the legs of his customer, catching the gaze the other and winking, “let’s get him on a more comfortable position, right?”

A determined nod, quick, careful steps as they both laid the purple haired one on a small couch placed under some shelves, having to gently dislodge three sleeping cats, who hissed in irritation. The voice of Nemuri, attending the rest of the line filling the space and being acknowledged in the back of his mind, serving as a firm ground and helping his muscles to relax, even if just a little bit.

Hizashi stared the young boy in front of him, looking somewhat peaceful, a bit of color having already returned to his face, soft snores coming out from him.

… Hitoshi. That is his name, right? He wasn’t a new client, always coming at every fifteen days, always by morning and always caffeinated drinks that only Yamada - on his most delirious moments - ever thought in trying, quick to go to play with any feline who appeared in front of him. Although, he never stayed more than ten minutes, the quiets ‘bye’s he gave to the felines never failing to melt Yamada’s weak, bleeding heart.

A childish voice pulled him right out of his thoughts.

“Mom, is he dead?”

A snort escaped his lips before he could help it. Kids.

“Sir?” The teenager shook a small device with a shiny screen in front of him, the logo of a new rock band he hadn’t a chance to listen to yet on the background “I found his phone, I think we should call his emergency contact…?”

“Of course! Thank you, little helper!” He ruffles his hair, flashing a smile and thumbs up as his finger quickly clicked on the call button, listening, not trying to show his impatience as it ringed.

“You’re late.” A tired voice answered him, and Hizashi felt his entire body relax completely, right before the surprise shook its frame, too much pieces clicking together in a puzzle he didn’t even know he was solving.

“SHOU?”

[~*~]

“I am sorry.”

“You will be writing a formal letter apologizing to Hizashi, Nemuri and to me, our classes will be cancelled for this week and, if I notice you didn’t recover properly on this free time, for the next week as well. I am not going to stand by and watch you running yourself to the ground, damaging your potential because you lack of some sense of self preservation, do I make myself clear?” Shinsou tried to not visibly flinch at his sensei’s words. He almost forgot how much intimidating Aizawa could be when totally serious. They stopped by the Cat Café’s door, the black eyes staring at him.

“Yes, sir.” He answered, lowering his gaze. Shouta sighed, his worry stopping to come out as harsh and necessary words to materialize itself in the form of him patting the boy’s head, messing his hair for a few seconds before opening the door and getting into the establishment.

“Good. Now come in, Hizashi has been worried and he won’t stop pestering me until he sees with his own eyes how you are.”

Hitoshi didn’t had time to question how someone that he just met – if you consider passing out in front of him a proper meeting – could be worried about his well-being when, as the door clicked behind him, an excited screech filled the room, forging the realization that maybe that weird high sound before his faint wasn’t just the ring of his ears.

“SHINSOU!!” And, in a blink of eyes, the blonde was in front of him, hands on his face, turning it from a side to another, up and downwards, “You look so much better with some color on your face! I am glad that you finally took some necessary rest, huh? Your eyeshadows even got lighter, which, phew, is such a relief! For a very terrifying moment there I almost thought you would be as bad as this guy right here.” Yamada locked his arms around Aizawa’s shoulder, using the time to take a breather and smile, gladly giving the younger some time to process the flow of words thrown at him. “You gave us both quite a scare, kiddo.”

“I am deeply sorry for inconveniencing you and interrupting your work, Yamada-san.” He bowed, a slight embarrassed blush dusting his cheeks.

“Just please don’t do that again and you will be fine, little customer.” Hizashi then squinted his eyes on his direction as Hioshi brought himself back to his previous position, shoulders tense and straightened back, much different from his previous more slouched pose. Yamada’s eyes got a few inches wider. “You gave him The Talk!” He turned himself to Shouta, his excited sentence, loud enough to probably making his friend deaf, if the black haired adult wasn’t already used with the other’s attics, previously covering his ears before the outburst.

His response was a grunt, Aizawa dislodging himself from his touch with scoff and half heartedly mumbles, ignoring the confusion on his pupil’s gaze. “Maybe he looks like that because of your total disregarding of personal space.”

“Don’t worry,” Hizashi put his hand at the side of his mouth, as if he was confiding Shinsou’s a secret. “He only does that because he is worried about you, too. Don’t let yourself to be fooled by his grumpy façade. He is a mother hen at heart.”

“I am going to lock you outside and give all your CD’s to the kittens a their new toys.” The other threatened, going behind the balcony and turning the coffee machines on, preparing the store to open. The few cats who were already wandering around the place yowled and meowed in despair, as if the blonde hadn’t feed them fifteen minutes ago and they were starving under the hands of such unloving and uncaring creature. Aizawa crouched and distributed the treats hidden on his pockets for everyone of them, nevertheless. His friend used the distraction to mouth a ‘see?’ at the younger’s direction, eliciting a snicker from him, his body language more relaxed.

“Feel free to do whatever,” Aizawa proclaimed, not staring at the boy, who felt a flower of warmth blossom on his chest. “Just be sure that all your homework is completed by lunch time or the moment you decide to go. Sushi is probably napping now, but when she wakes up, I will warn you.”

“But first,” Hizashi clapped, capturing the attention as he walked with a dance on his step to the bakeries, taking two plate on his way. “breakfast! For you both. And that means something substantial and not just a cup of coffee.”

Shinsou startled from the table he decided to place himself, shaking his head. “Yamada-san, it’s okay, you don’t need to-”

“Nonsense, nonsense! I want to. Eating breakfast alone is just sooo boring, you know?” Hizashi spun on the place, almost throwing the muffins and breads around as Ochaco used his distraction to attack his shoelaces. “Uravity, stop, I need those.”

“Her name isn’t Uravity.” Shouta appeared again, bringing drinks and yawning, his focus changed to the boy’s. “Better give up. I’ve been fighting against him for years now.”

“Also, her name is Ochaco Uravity Fluffy Second and you just refuse to call her that because you’re just jealous of how much genius I am.”

“I refuse to call her that because I care for her sanity.”

“Lies, lies.”

Hitoshi snorted, hiding his smirk behind his hand. “I prefer his name better, sensei.”

Aizawa watched them high five between the cheers of the blonde with an unimpressed expression. “Cheeky brat.”

“You’re just grumpy because he has a good taste. Friendship ended with Shouta, now Shinsou is my new best friend.”

"I am truly devasted." Aizawa deadpanned, taking a long sip of his beverage, hiding his smirk as Shinsou snorted, Yamada's dramatic wailing in the background.

And, as the playful bickering engulfed them between the warm food and purrs, Hitoshi decided that maybe losing his weekly training wasn’t so bad if that was what waited for him.

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dreamescapeswriting · 5 years

Text

Overworked || ~ JH

Words: 3,856

Warnings: I don’t think there is any except swearing is involved

Pairings: Hoseok X Reader

Genre: fluffy|Cute| couple goals

Summery: You’re a student in college, you and Hoseok have been dating for two years, you lived together but he’s away on tour leaving you in charge of the apartment and the bills, everything get on top of you and you end up disappearing for a few days, sending everyone into a worried frenzy.

A/N: I’ve been wanting MORE Hoseok on tumblr, I can hardly find any and it makes me sad, so I took matters into my own hands. I SUCK AT WRITING SUMMARIES OKAY? IM SORRY!

Walking through the front door of your apartment you dropped your keys onto the small coffee table, kicked off your shoes and collapsed onto the grey fabric sofa, curling into a small ball and shutting your eyes for two minutes. You’d just gotten in from 8 am classes and you were exhausted but you knew you couldn’t rest for too long because you had work in an hour, another late shift at the bar down the road from your apartment, you forced your eyes open and looked at the clock above your fireplace, you had an hour before 5 pm, which meant you had to get a shower, do some homework, and then head to work, as well as facetime your boyfriend Hobi to tell him about your day but you knew you weren’t going to have enough time to do all of the above, so you sent him a small text.

Got to work a late shift tonight, I’ll call you when I’m home, have a nice practice. Love you my sunshine xoxo

You hit the send button and began getting ready for work, Hobi knew you were busy just like you knew he was busy a lot of the time so there was an understanding in your relationship if one of you didn’t have time to facetime, or call. You both knew you loved each other and would always be there when the other was ready. Your boyfriend of 2 years was currently away on a tour which meant you were home alone in your shared apartment until he came back, you didn’t mind you loved having time to yourself but it did mean you were in charge of all of the bills while he was away, you didn’t want to rely on him for money or to pay for everything when you knew you could do it yourself.

Hoseok stared at his phone, your text lighting up his face as he read it again and again, he knew you were busy with work and school, he understood that but this was the fourth time this week you’d blown him off for his morning facetime/ your afternoon facetime call, he felt hurt but he knew you were busy so he pushed the thoughts away and text you back.

Okay Princess, stay hydrated and get some rest, love you too xx

Hitting send he looked up at the ceiling in his hotel room, he was getting tired of waking up without you, he missed you a lot and you missed him too.

“Hobi!” You yelled excitedly when he answered the phone, it was 3 am your time and 4 pm his time, he frowned looking at you on the facetime call, your hair was in a messy ponytail, you were wearing one of his favourite shirts and dancing around your kitchen.

“Baby it’s 3 am, what are you doing awake?” You looked at the clock and then back to your boyfriend, still smiling away.

“I had some sleep but now I’m awake and can’t get back, so I thought I’d call you before your concert and talk to you.” You lied hiding the mug of coffee out of the camera’s view and smiling again, truth be told you hadn’t slept, you hadn’t been to sleep since the night before and you were running purely on coffee and energy drinks to keep you going, you’d been at the late shift and your boss kept you behind, making you clean up all the glasses and dishes that needed doing so you didn’t get home until 2 am, you saw no point in going to bed and started on your homework.

“I have homework to do this week, then mum wants me to get working on 200 cupcakes for my cousins birthday party that’s in one week, then I have to go to another shift later.” You said looking at him and then searching through the cupboards, you were writing a shopping list of ingredients you needed for the chocolate cupcakes.

“You need to rest, you can’t do all of this on your own.” He said with a sigh, you shook your head taking the phone to the kitchen table and showing him your already half-finished homework.

“Sure I can, I did some homework earlier, now I’m going to go to the 24-hour store and get ingredients, come back from classes and go to work, come home and bake.” You hadn’t noticed you were beginning to talk fast but Hoseok had, he noticed your teeth chattering too meaning you were on a caffeine high, he looked at you with sad eyes.

“Promise me, you’ll get some sleep.” You stared back at him and nodded, all the jumpiness in your body gone when you noticed how concerned he was for you.

“I promise, I’ll take a nap when I’m back from the store.” You whispered, sitting down in the chair and looking at him, he looked pretty tired too and you smiled.

“Promise me you’ll get some rest.” You mentioned, he smiled his big smile and nodded.

“I promise, I’ll nap after the concert.” You smiled at him and he chuckled, looking over at something behind him and sighing.

“I’ve got to go, I’ll text you. Love you.” You nodded at him.

“Love you too.”

The last facetime was a week ago, and he was starting to worry about you again, he worried anyway but now you weren’t calling him, or face timing him, you were giving him texts and barely any conversation to them. He figured you were busy with college work but he missed having his calls with you regularly and he missed how you would text him with strange dreams you had, but you’d been so rushed off your feet you hadn’t had the chance. You’d been picking up extra shifts at work, even on your half days at college you’d pick up a shift and do more work, homework was being done behind the bar when you were working, your boss didn’t mind of course but he was a little mad when you’d fallen asleep in the back of his office.

You were running off of 2-3 hours of sleep every day and you weren’t feeling the effect of it. It felt good, you felt like you had more time in the day for everything you needed to do, except, of course, message Hobi but you were studying for finals, working more and more to be able to pay for the apartment and then getting ready to bake for your family as well as keep the apartment spotless, it was tiring. You’d started to accidentally skip meal occasionally, you didn’t mean to, you were too busy working or studying to eat and when it was time to eat you just grabbed something quick, instant ramen, or a small sandwich so you would have time to eat and work.

“Namjoon?” You questioned answering the facetime call to your boyfriend’s bandmate, Joon was on the other end with a smile on his face.

“Hi Y/N, We were just wondering what you were planning for Hobi’s birthday, we wanted to surprise him but we didn’t know if you were going to do something.” You glanced over at the calendar, shit. It was his birthday in less than three weeks.

“Where are you going to be? On tour or back home?” You questioned grabbing a pen and writing down some notes on a post-it note to remind yourself you had to go shopping for him again, as well as pick up some more shifts if you were going to get him a good gift.

“Yeah, we’ll be back for his birthday.” You nodded looking at him, he was staring at you, one eyebrow raised and biting his lip

“You okay-” You cut him off.

“I’m fine, bring him home. I’ll bake a big cake, we could all have a meal together it’ll be nice.” Your giant smile on your face convinced him you were okay and he agreed, hanging up the phone and leaving you alone with your thoughts. It was currently 4 am, you had classes in two hours meaning you had time to call Hobi and ask about his tour.

You’d been on call for an hour, it felt good talking to your boyfriend again, you’d asked him about the tour, the sightseeing they’d been doing and he told you about all the small souvenirs he’d been collecting for you, an Eiffel tower keychain, a Vincent Van Gogh bookmark set, some pens from a giant stationery store in America and some other small bits.

“Hobi, you know you don’t have to do that.” You whined you hated it when he spent money on you, it had always been a thing in your mind, you hated when anyone spent money on you, not just him.

“You deserve it, baby, you’ve been working so hard.” You smiled at him, blushing as he stared at you with his big brown eyes, you giggled before noticing the time.

“I have to get ready for school, pick my outfit.” You yelled taking the camera from the kitchen table and heading up to the walk-in wardrobe.

You settled on some jeans and one his button-up shirts, the star one you’d gotten him the year before.

“I look fresh.” You said as you began buttoning up the shirt, Hoseok’s eyes fell onto your body, looking at you with a frown. You’d started to lose weight dramatically and he could tell.

“Are you…are you eating?” He questioned, worried about how you would take the question, you hummed in response, finishing the buttons and throwing your hair into a ponytail.

“Yeah,” You lied, you’d been forgetting to eat, it’s not like you were doing it on purpose, you didn’t want to worry him though.

“New exercise routine, been hitting the gym between classes.” He knew you were lying instantly, your left eye twitches when you lie and you avoid eye contact not only that but he knew you didn’t have time to work out between classes, he knew your schedule, but he didn’t want to mention it.

“Well…I’ll call you later tonight, love you.” You said quickly, ending the call before he could say anything else to you.

Later that night you got a notification that BTS were doing a VLive, you smiled logging into the app and opening it up, putting your phone on the kitchen counter as you began to bake, it was 2 am and you were getting a head start on the 200 cupcakes that needed baking for the next night, you’d taken some caffeine tablets to keep you awake as well as drinking coffee yet again. Your face lit up as you noticed it was Hobi doing the VLive on his own, having a meal and talking to fans. Mentioning the tour and talking about how he was sad it was almost over, you scanned through the comments some of them noticing how tired and worn out Hobi looked and you were agreeing with them in your head, he looked run down and worried about something.

“I’m fine guys, just worried about Y/N.” Your name rang through your ears and you dropped the spoon you’d been using into the bowl, the screen has your full undivided attention now.

“She’s just so busy with school work and work, work…you guys know how it is.” He chuckled, you looked down at the bowl and then back to the screen, taking in his full appearance, he looked like he hadn’t been sleeping either.

“Anyway, we’re here to talk about the tour.” He said trying to change the subject but questions were flooding in about you, fans knew about your relationship and they supported you both, you made Hobi happy and that’s all they really cared about.

Comments were flooding in and then your social media began to go off in the background, questions about you coming quickly. You turned off the VLive and then your phone, wanting to just get on with the cupcakes without any more distractions.

It had been three days since the VLive happened, three days since you handed over the 200 cupcakes to your auntie and then went back home to rest before college started. Hoseok was panicked, your phone was going straight to answering machine and the house phone was doing the same, Fans began to notice you were absent from social media and began freaking out for Hoseok,

Is Y/N okay?! Began trending on twitter but you didn’t know because you’d been in and out of sleep for the last three days, waking up for an hour, eating and going back to bed, your phone was still switched off in the kitchen and you’d not turned up for work or college for three days.

Finally, you got up and felt reenergized, but panic set in as you realised you were behind on everything, college work, your job and even missing calls with Hoseok, you grabbed your phone rushing out of the front door in nothing but a pair of jeans and a strappy tank top, heading into college first to explain where you’d been and how you could make up the time. Your professors understood and you were grateful for them, letting you catch up in your own time and taking work home with you, you rushed into the bathrooms of the college, splashing water into your face and looking at yourself in the mirror, you were a mess, your hair was in a messy bun, your eyes were swollen and red, and you looked as though you’d been dragged through a hedge backwards, some girls came into the bathrooms and looked at you but you hadn’t noticed, you just washed your face again before leaving to go to work, to talk to your boss. If you’d noticed the girls you would have seen them taking photos of you and tweeting them out with the same hashtag that had been trending about you for days.

@BTSFANSUNITE: I found Y/N at college, is she okay!? Did Hobi and her fight? She looks worn out. I’m worried about her.

Attached were photos of you, leaning against the sink and leaving the bathroom, your phone clutched in your hand and yet still turned off. Fans began speculating that you and Hoseok had been fighting, some of the nastier ones claiming you’d cheated on Hoseok and were now feeling guilty about it, which was far from true. You never hurt the love of your life.

“I know I fucked up Wayne but I promise I’m fine, I just went a little overboard with college work and over tasks, I promise I’m loyal to this job.” You pleaded, your boss walking around tables, complaining that he had to do all of the extra shifts and lates you would normally be doing.

“You need to go home and rest, do you know how many people I’ve had come in here looking for you?! Teenage girls asking if I’d seen you.” He scoffed, he looked at you and then sighed.

“I told them you were fine Y/N…but you’re clearly not. This is too much for you and I don’t think I can have you working here anymore.” You began to tear up at the thought of losing your job, you needed it to be able to afford to live.

“Please Wayne, it’ll never happen again, I need this job.” You cried out, he sighed shaking his head at you.

“You’ve got one shot, but I’m giving you the rest of the weekend off, it’s Friday. Go home, rest and come back Monday.” He said looking back at his calendar.

“Think of it as your paid holiday.” You walked out of the bar and headed home, crashing onto the sofa and finally turning on your phone.

65 missed calls from Hobi, 34 missed facetime calls, over 100 messages and then there were the others, your mum had called, the rest of the band members had called you. Shit, shit shit, you hadn’t even thought about Hobi when you woke up, you felt worse when you got onto social media.

@GotNoJammmsss: Can’t believe Hobi is out here hardly sleeping while Y/N walks around as if nothing happened - Attached was a photo of you going into work

@HOBISMINE: Maybe Y/N was having a tough time…but Hobi is a state, he looks like he hasn’t slept in days, and Namjoon said in a VLive he’s really worried.

You wanted to cry, you were the worst girlfriend in the entire world, you dialled his number but it was going straight to voicemail, you tried Namjoon but it was doing the same thing, again with the rest of the boys. You began to try and hunt on social media for what they might have been doing, but there was no new news about them, the only recent thing was about you walking into work and coming out with tears in your eyes, nothing about the boys.

“Dawwy I think I fucked up.” You said down the phone as you looked around for your car keys, you were going to drive to BigHit’s studio and talk to Sejin, he would know what was happening with them but J-Hope’s sister, one of your best friends, was trying to get you to stay still for two minutes.

“I haven’t heard from you in three days and this is what you called to talk about? Your boyfriend?!” You sighed, finally letting the tears rush down your cheeks, you fell down onto your knees in the porch and began crying.

“I’m scared Dawwy, I’ve been so busy with work and college, then with the family baking and then I completely neglected him. I’m so tired.” You whimpered out, tears streaming down your cheeks as you finally let the words out.

“I’m so tired…I can’t keep up with everything, every time I get a hold of something, another thing kicks the stool out from under me and I’m back on the floor, trying to catch up again.” You heard her sigh from the other end of the phone and you leant your head back against the wall, you’d been struggling for so long and finally admitting it someone felt good, even if it was to your boyfriends sister, but she was your friend, your best friend, you’d known her longer than J-Hope.

“Get some rest, I’ll find out what’s going on and I’ll tell him you’re okay, just go and get some real food…some real sleep and try not to think about it too much…and call your mother.” She ordered, you hummed, wiping your eyes and hanging up the phone.

You tuned into an Instagram live that Da-Won was doing later that night, you were sitting on your sofa in some shorts, and a jumper that belonged to Hoseok.

“I just wanted to let everyone know that I spoke to Y/N…I don’t know if I’m allowed to share what she’s been going through but I’ll just say she’s exhausted that’s all and that’s all I’ll say on the matter.” You smiled at the screen and popped some popcorn into your mouth, you’d eaten a full meal earlier and were now snacking on something small.

“J-Hope isn’t cheating on her and she’s not cheating on him, they’re both truly tired and need some rest.” You clicked off the stream and went to dial Hobi’s number again but it was still off and going straight to voicemail.

“Hi Hobi…I know I worried you, I’m sorry…I just…it’s a long story. Call me when you get this…I love you.” You hung up and put the phone down onto the table, picking it up again two minutes later and dialling for Yoongi, answer phone.

“Can someone let me know what’s going on?! I know I scared Hobi but I didn’t mean to…someone tell me he’s okay! Dawwy says he’s fine but…I want to hear it from him…does he hate me? Yoongi call me or text me please.” You pleaded, hanging up and throwing the phone down on the table, going upstairs to get into bed, cuddling up to the Mang teddy you had.

You shivered in your sleep, groaning and trying to feel around for the covers but not finding them around you anymore.

“Hobi you did it again.” You whined out, turning over and playfully hitting Hobi in the back. Your eyes shot open, you sat up in bed looking at your sleeping boyfriend, why was he home so early? Did you simply dream everything? You’d know if you were dreaming, you poked his arms but he didn’t move.

“Hobi!” You yelled hitting his arms playfully trying to make him move, but he groaned pushing you off him as you continued to try and wake him up.

“When did you get home?!” You yelled you began crying again, tears rolling down your cheeks, your folded your arms across your chest, the tears were still going.

“I got home about an hour ago, the front door was unlocked and you were sleeping, I didn’t have the heart to wake you up.” He grumbled sitting up in the bed, as soon as he noticed you were crying he pulled you into his arms, his legs going either side of you and your back to his chest.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He questioned, referring to the fact that you were struggling to keep up with school work, and the bills.

“I could have helped pay for things, you know that.” You shook your head, not wanting to have this conversation but also knowing there was no real way to avoid it.

“I don’t want to have to rely on you Hobi, you’re my boyfriend not my bank account.” He laughed softly at you and sighed.

“You’re my girlfriend, this is our apartment even when I’m not here.” You leaned back against him, shaking your head and closing your eyes.

“I didn’t want to rely on you Hobi.” You repeated again to him, but he was shaking his head at you.

“From now on, we split the bills, you’re not allowed to overwork yourself, you take regular breaks from work and college and you eat properly.” He begged you nodded wrapping your pinky around his pink, a pinky promise.

“You’re not mad at me?” You whimpered, he shook his head, closing his eyes and leaning his head into your neck.

“I could never be mad at you.” He whispered leaving small kisses over your neck and cheeks, you giggled a little and he wiped the tears away from your eyes.

“I heard you have the weekend off.” He chuckled, laying down, putting you beside him and spooning you, you hummed in response, too tired to form actual sentences.

“Good, we’re going to rest up all weekend, and not leave the house.” He began to pat your arms gently, as he always did whenever you’d fall asleep together, you hummed again in response and he placed a small kiss on the bottom of your neck.

“Goodnight Y/N, I’ll be right here when you wake up I promise.” You snuggled back against him and smiled in your sleepy state.

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ajokeformur-ray · 4 years

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@hotpacino Hey there, Erika, my luv! If your requests are still open I have a request for you. This Thursday I will be having a very important exam and I am nervous as hell... So, could I please have some headcanons for J and Pat comforting their s/o about an impeding exam, because she has severe anxiety and depression and she feels like she is gonna fail, and has a meltdown about it? I know it's super specific and if it's not something you would enjoy writing, feel free to ignore this!!! 😘😘😘

Hi, darling! I’m so sorry that this is a few days late; I hope that you enjoy it! How did your exam go? Sending you love and strength!💕 I wasn’t sure if this was a poly request or individual sets; so I’ve done individual skksks if you wanted poly let me know and I’ll whip something up for you! <3

This is a repost; the initial format for the piece screwed up lmao so I’ve just moved everything over into a blank post and done it this way.

Total word count for the two sets: 1, 331.

Pandaaaaa ~ // wc: 655.

(he’s cheering you on!)

To say that you were on edge was an understatement. You had an exam coming up and you were sure that you were going to fail, even with how hard you were working.

You spent your days with your nose buried in various textbooks, your fingers almost permanently stained with black inks and bright colours from the highlights which you had been using. You were definitely sleep deprived and running on caffeine and spite. You had to pass your exam. You had to.

J had been a silent observer throughout your revision process. He was pleased with your dedication and how hard you were working, even though he didn’t necessarily understand why you were working quite so hard. Though education was important, there were other ways to learn, other ways to live, than academics.

But. J would support you, and he showed this in small ways. He made sure that you ate, that you drank, that you rested when you needed to and, most importantly, that you slept the required minimum of eight hours every night.

This was non-negotiable and J wasn’t afraid to use cold, hard facts to get you to rest.

“Ya’ain’t gonna’ get any more infor-ma-tion in that brain o’yours, Y/N. Get, ah - get some rest, hm?”

“A-ta-ta, no. No talkin’ like that, ya’ hear? That’s my Y/N ya bein’ rude to. And I don’t like it. Not. One. Bit.”

Eventually, though, with you working non stop and not allowing your brain any rest, the inevitable happened. J knew that it was coming, he saw all the signs, recognised the microexpressions.

He stood by, prepared to catch your fall, but J never got in your way; you were a grown person, you knew what you were doing, and he would leave you to it, especially if you weren’t going to take the advice and care he had been consistently given you.

You had a melt down and started to sob over your textbooks. But still were you studying, even with tears streaming down your face and falling upon your textbook pages and notes like rain.

J cooed mockingly, unsurprised by this. He had warned you to slow it down. “Oh, shush shush shush, Y/N.”

As your sobs increased with the sound of J’s voice, he stood behind you and bent over your body, his semi-greasy curls coming into your line of sight as he rested his chin on your shoulder, an arm snaking around your waist. “I got’cha, doll. Easy, hm?”

His other hand came up from where it was by his side and stole your pen. He chucked it carelessly across the table and then shoved your materials forward, away from you. J’s chin rested atop your head as his arms came around you like a cage, while you remained sat at your desk.

J’s breathing was deep and steady, his movements exaggerated, and you understood. You copied his breathing, felt his touch, heard his low soothing shushing, and allowed J to calm you with his own body.

“Feel better?”

You nodded, “Th-thank you, J.”

“Uh-huh. So, ah - are ya’ gonna stop now? Ya’ve done all ya’ can. I’m proud o’ya. Get, ah - some rest. No more workin’.” J tapped your temple teasingly. You couldn’t see the proud smile on his face but you could hear it and it made all the difference to you. “If it ain’t in there now, then it ain’t gonna’ be so why bother stressin’, hm?”

Harsh, but true. J only wanted the best for you, and as you nodded and leaned back in your chair, J dropped a tender kiss to the top of your head and surrounded your entire body with his own.

Shit, his back would hurt later, bent over you like this, but it was worth it if it meant that you wouldn’t want to keep working. You had done your best, and he was very proud of you.

Pretty boyyyyy ~ // wc: 676.

(a reminder)

It was no secret that Pat just wasn’t the academic type.

He skipped classes, never did his homework, only attended detentions because a) he didn’t want to get expelled and b) had no one to go home to anyway, and just didn’t care about letters on a piece of paper.

His attitude towards things which others deemed to be important but didn’t matter to him was so liberating and you wished that you could have even a third of the devil-may-care attitude which Pat did.

Oh, but you were so tired. You had barely had a break over the last few weeks and you were constantly working; you only stopped to sleep for a few hours before you were back at it.

Pat was so proud of you for working as hard as you were and he was in awe of your strength, but he was also very concerned for you.

Every time you sat down to study, Pat was right there with you. He took such good care of you that often did it leave you in tears.

He brought you your favourite hot drink every time you finished one, brought you (mostly) healthy snacks, rubbed your shoulders, pressed kisses to your neck and shoulders when he walked past...

Pat was there for you. He was immensely worried for you due to your anxiety and depression and a natural cafetaker was he now thanks to the year which he had spent taking care of his grandfather, so it was something which he didn’t even have to really think about. Pat just... took care of you.

Neither of you were surprised by your meltdown; Pat had been waiting for it, so intuitive and so intelligent was he, and you had felt the incoming tidal wave.

You were overwhelmed and you were convinced that you were going to fail.

Your breaths came in harsh gasps, tears streaming down your face. “I can’t do it, Pat, I’m gonna fail, I can’t - “

Pat was out of his seat like a bullet from a gun as he dashed over to you, “Hey, hey, come on, Y/N - breathe, love. With me - “

Pat wrapped one arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his body, and the fingers of his other hand interlocked with yours. He breathed in deeply, held it for eight seconds and exhaled for the same length of time.

Full lips feathered kisses to the side of your face as he did breathing exercises with you. “You’re so smart - “ A kiss, “hard working,” Another kiss, “and you’re gonna’ pass,” A whimper from you. “No, hey - look at me, Y/N,” He waited until you looked at him before he continued, “It’s not the end of the world if you fail, okay? It’s just a grade. It doesn’t define you. You can do it.”

“Th-thank you,” You managed a teary eyed, weak smile for your koala and he flashed you a grin.

“You’re welcome. Now, what d’ya say we take a nap, hm? You’ve barely slept and I know that’s why you’re a bit more emotional right now. This can all wait - “ Pat nodded at your work and helped you up, tugging you to the bedroom, “My Y/N’s way more important.”

You smiled and wiped your tears away with a shaky hand, trusting that Pat knew what was best for you. You curled up in Pat’s arms, cushioned atop him. His lips pressed kisses all over the top of your head. “Just sleep, Y/N. I won’t let you go.”

And so it was, surrounded by Pat and all that he was, that you napped, s safe in the knowledge that when you awoke, you would be okay. You could do it, you knew you could.

Pat always made you feel like you were on top of the world, and when you couldn’t believe in yourself would he do it for you; he loved you and he spent his every day proving that to you with his actions again and again and again.

Destructive raccoon boii(tm) @jokershyena @anyatheladyclown @joker-daddy @rinbyo @imightaswellnotexistatall @vladtoly @joker-is-my-hero @liz-rdwitch @enigmaticandunstable @ledgerskitten @tsukiakarinobara @germansarechill @ezziesworld @antonija89 @acw1 @sadjesterautumn @mermaleizroseglasses @justawriterinprogress @truthbehindthemysteries @hotpacino @call-me-harley-quinn

Patrick Verona @jokershyena @loveletterstoledger @itsthejoker@royaleclownx @tsukiakarinobara @arianatheangelworld@antonija89 @hotpacino @call-me-harley-quinn

#ledger joker #ledger joker x reader #ledger joker imagine #patrick verona #patrick verona imagine #patrick verona x reader #heath ledger #heath ledger joker #heath ledger joker imagine #heath ledger joker x reader #10 things i hate about you #10 things i hate about you imagine #10 things i hate about you x reader

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