#this was extra hard and annoying considering a few of my laptop keys have been popping off.

[godkilller]

ROLEPLAYING A FIGHT

DETAILS AND EXAMPLES.

As I touched on in my previous tips ‘n tricks post, fight threads should never happen in a void. There should be concrete connections to your character’s main storyline, their goals, their motivations, and other contributors to why and how they’ve found themselves in this current situation. That ALSO being said, the fight should literally not happen in a void: WHERE IS THIS CONFLICT TAKING PLACE? Describe, as an ‘establishing shot’, where your character is. Are they outside, is there a lot of room for them to run around and get into a scuffle? Are there trees, cars, buildings nearby? Will there be a high potential for objects (and people passing by) to get harmed / damaged in this battle? Does your character care about causing destruction during a fight, are they the type to say “let’s go somewhere else”?

Describing the space your characters are in is an excellent way of UNDERSTANDING WHERE YOUR CHARACTER STANDS, literally, because POSITIONING IS REALLY IMPORTANT! You don’t have to go absolutely crazy detailed when dishing out specs on where your characters are, but a general sense of “an opening within a clustered bamboo forest” or. “a half-constructed abandoned building” can really determine how the fight goes within that space, and most importantly how your character moves through that space.

HOW DOES YOUR CHARACTER MOVE? Are they fluid, are they clumsy? Do they hunch, do they stand tall? Describing essential details pertaining to your character’s appearance, their demeanor, can help solidify them in that space. Do they sway when they talk? Do they jitter when they’re nervous or anxious? A conflict is brewing, are they looking for an escape? Do their eyes keep darting to other distractions, or to look for an opening?

THE FIRST MOVE. Who makes it and why? Example taken from a threeway thread involving Matsumoto Rangiku, Nnoitra Gigla, and Ichimaru Gin. Featuring @oboete-iru​ & @despairforme​ respectfully. Gin’s POV:

“ ❝ I saaaid... that’s e-nou-gh. Besides, why would ya go ‘n break her wieldin’ arm if she ain’t a thre---- ❞ in a flashing beam, a bared blade, his left foot swept back to brace as black-lined white billowed to reveal Shinso’s lunging bite directly past Rangiku’s hip------to drive a deep unrelenting strike into his upper ribcage; close to the armpit of the limb that held her still in favor of convincing the uncoiling reflex of his fingers. Gin aimed with precision, and with deliberate proximity to the very target he wished to not be thrown into the line of fire----quite impossible for the Espada to potentially thrust her into the fray considering Gin’s angled approach... lulled by his interrupted speech. The traitor sought to be swift; the blow would surely send the Espada backward in its connection------and hopefully result in her release. ”

Throwing the first punch is a decisive moment for many reasons, but it also should still speak to your character: DON’T EVER FORCE A FIGHT THREAD FOR THE SAKE OF ONE, if your character would rather talk their way out of a situation, exhaust that route first before going feral at your thread partner.

With that aside, let’s dissect this moment.

We get some dialogue to start the moment off, because Gin is a character who will casually chat, but he’s also cunning -- he interrupts himself to create a more abrupt attack. The motion is described as swift, so NOT MUCH IS SAID ABOUT EXACT MOVEMENTS, but we get what we need: his blade is drawn (”a bared blade”) it’s moving fast (“a flashing beam”) Gin has added strength to this strike by falling into a wider stance (“left foot swept back to brace”) and we also get where he’s aiming “directly past Rangiku’s hip to drive a deep and unrelenting strike into [Nnoitra’s] upper ribcage, close to the armpit” We also get motivation: Gin wants Nnoitra to let go of Rangiku, striking to “convince the uncoiling reflex of [Nnoitra’s] fingers” -- so we get this all relatively quick. In fact, it’s all almost condensed into one big sentence.

I don’t really worry about proper sentence structures and lengths because in fights, things should not be adhering to neat sentence pacing, they should be paced the way the fight is unfolding. Gin moves fast, and a lot of things happen at once, so that’s my style choice when writing a lot in one sentence. You can do things differently, this is just my preference!

Notice that none of the language implies that Gin’s target is being struck. The words and phrases used are open for Nnoitra to respond to, to react to, rather than to submit to. I describe things as “quite impossible” for Nnoitra to, say, throw Rangiku in front of Shinso in time -- because I want to stress the speed of Gin’s attack, and guide Nnoitra’s writer away from doing something I feel wouldn’t be realistic without the outright act of godmodding. I say this, however, by still giving Nnoitra the OPTION to do exactly what I have just stressed as DIFFICULT TO DO. Maybe he can still try to throw Rangiku into the way! It’ll be a tight window, but hey, surprise me! Writing this moment also shows that my character is actively deciphering yours, deciding what they could do and preparing for that: Gin knows Nnoitra’s dirty, and thus he’s taken a measure to avoid Rangiku paying the price by striking quickly and at an angle that would make it hard for Nnoitra to bring her harm.

At the end of this Moment(™) I top off the attack by mentioning that IF IT HITS, it’ll do X. Not only that, but IF MY ATTACK HITS, IT’LL DO X TO YOUR CHARACTER, AND HOPEFULLY CAUSE X. This sets up a potential chain of events for your writing partner to consider. If they decide that Nnoitra is going to take this hit, they can also consider: will Nnoitra be sent back through a wall, or will he drive his weapon into the ground to slow his skidding enough to avoid that? Will this be enough to make him let go of Rangiku? I have now given Nnoitra’s mun a few things to think about, or “goals” to either reach or adjust the outcome in their following reply. Nnoitra now has to a.) react to an incoming strike b.) be moved by it, either via being struck or by dodging, and c.) deal with holding onto or letting go of Rangiku, with the option of d.) a counterattack at Gin, or at Rangiku, in response to Gin likely pissing him off.

Describing motion that impacts a character other than yours: KEEP YOUR LANGUAGE OPEN, you can legit drop a “if this hits” to keep yourself from unintentionally godmodding contact onto your opponent. If you’re ever unsure, write like your character is thinking: they’re not thinking that their sword has already landed, they’re thinking about what’ll happen IF it does, or WHEN, but in an open-ended sense. The character themselves should never just manifest a blow landing in their heads as they’re swinging it, if that makes sense.

Open-ended language go-to’s for me: “aimed with the desire to cause (insert what’ll happen if your blow were to land, like ‘causing an immense force to blast all debris, and even dare to throw [opponent] backwards’)” or “their weapon sought to (insert what their attack trying to do, like cut off an arm, slash across a chest, or chop at the other’s weapon) with a wide strike” or “they parried, then moved to attempt a disarming scrape of their blade against the other’s, the swinging momentum a convincing pull to urge the swift release of the blade” etc. etc. I’m staying very vague, but the concept’s there!

THESAURUS TIME! Does your character move fast? Swift, fast, quick… those can get a little boring if your character is ALWAYS moving in that nature. So try to sometimes spice things up by playing with words that can replace your common descriptors.

https://www.thesaurus.com/ is your fellow student who’s working on a group project with you -- you shouldn’t lean so heavily on it because they’re not your friend, but it’s there to help you get the job done and together you can spruce up a neat end result.

MAKE SURE THEY STILL MEAN THE SAME THING, and don’t go too crazy as to lose your reader or distinctly destroy your pacing, your style, and your voice. Sometimes simplified is better, like describing the WOOSH of a fast moment as opposed to saying “this moved fast” -- “a WOOSH of the blade” rather than “he swung his blade quickly” can sometimes make a moment more exciting and easier to read without things droning on.

Hey, speaking of droning on, (this post lmao!!! Amirite lads???) does your character’s weapon have multiple ways of being referred to? Since a fight stars your character and their trusty weapon, having a few different ways to title it in your reply can be a lifesaver from sounding too repetitive. Shinso is Gin’s Zanpakuto, a Shinigami’s katana, and it’s in a wakizashi form. This can be called a short-sword, a wakizashi, a soul-slayer, a blade, a sword, a Zanpakuto, a ‘fang’ (swords or blades in general can be called fangs, especially if your character has animal symbolism tied to them), a beam (when it’s being shot) … and a few other things, too, to avoid me having to constantly write “Shinso” or “wakizashi” when moving it during a fight thread. I try not to alternate TOO much, because then it becomes obvious, kind of like when people start deliberately avoiding ‘said’ and it’s a dialogue-heavy scene… don’t go out of your way, this is just to help you avoid having 34 mentions of ‘sword’ in your 5 paragraph reply.

So you threw the first punch, but what happens next? Well, you can actually end your reply once your blow’s been polished up and finished. But a little bit of juicy introspection can’t hurt, too! Your character’s just started a fight, what are they thinking? What’s the damage? Did your character just do something destructive or brash? Tell us how, and what’s to be made of the attack your character just threw. Here’s Gin’s following moment after striking at Nnoitra:

“ … it’d feel nice ( akin to a surging punch ) to slam his blade into the pitiful pawn’s side. One hundred sword lengths called for, due to their confinement, a collision course that involved Nnoitra taking a shortcut through a neighboring wall. No matter the Espada’s tough exterior, solid defenses, Shinso would not stop shy. ”

There’s some more info pertaining to Gin’s attack in here, drizzled with a brief introspection that Gin will feel immensely satisfied if he gets to land a decent hit on Nnoitra (coupled with a “pitiful pawn” quip that notifies readers that Gin really DOES NOT LIKE this character, nor does he think very highly of his status, which may or may not be a chance for the character of Nnoitra to surprise or impress Gin via a hearty fight)

The details of exactly how far Gin’s blow would carry Nnoitra are important due to the nature of Gin’s special ability / sword. Shinso will “not stop shy” implying that Nnoitra’s going to either have to dodge or get slammed, because the blade that’s hitting him won’t stop its travel until it’s 100 katana-length’s long. Now, back up to the first section of this post: describing your character’s surroundings. Gin and Nnoitra are in a hallway, and Gin struck in a way that means the hallway is not going to suffice in terms of room. SO DESCRIBING POTENTIAL DAMAGES IS IMPORTANT: it paints the scene better. If Nnoitra is going to take this hit, this also means that a wall is likely going to crumble and collapse due to how tough and tanky Nnoitra is. Cue a classic anime moment of dust billowing up, rocks tumbling, and rubble shifting.

In all of this, don’t forget to respect your opponent -- Gin’s strike may land, but right from the get go there’s never an assumption that Shinso will be able to pierce Nnoitra’s tough skin. Knowing about your enemy’s special traits and abilities can help you make these moments more respectable: I know that Gin’s Shikai will not be enough to cut past Nnoitra’s hierro, his ‘steel skin’ defense. The most that’s described is the action of Shinso batting Nnoitra aside and into a wall, despite it being a sharp blade, it’s not described as an impaling moment.

That being said, don’t pull your punches if your character is a powerhouse! Respect others, don’t godmod, but also look out for defending your character’s own strengths! This can involve you studying up on how strong your character is in their universe, and finding some relations and comparisons to draw from in order to properly ‘rate’ them against your opponent. This can also lead you to a very IMPORTANT step, though not always required if both writers feel comfortable enough to proceed unplanned: TALK TO THE WRITER.

Discuss what you think your character is capable of vs. their character in a respectful way, open to hearing “actually, I don’t think that would happen” or “maybe we can go this route instead, since my character can x y and z?” Learning how to protect your character’s power while also being mindful and open to your writing partner’s character can lead to a really fun exchange and a memorable fight. You can literally drop a tentative “hey, I’m replying to our thread and Gin wants to punch Nnoitra in the face” and be responded to with a “go for it, it’ll probably break Gin’s hand” or “oh snap! that’s his one weakness!!!” LOL. I mean, unrealistic, but seriously talk to your writing partner about things if this is something you’re both passionate and excited about!

PLEASE, PLEASE REMEMBER THAT FIGHTS SHOULDN’T HAPPEN IN VOIDS, if you feel like your characters should be interrupted, or end in a draw, or lose interest / dissolve back into talking rather than fighting, then do this! Will your character chose to run away if the fight starts going south for them? Will your character try to offer a merciful end, will they be open to sparing the wounded enemy character if they feel they’ve successfully won? Does your character end up saving the other character by getting them medical help? This can go so many different ways than just blankly fighting and someone winning whilst the other dies.

CONSEQUENCES! What will the consequences of this fight be? For Gin, he has struck out at a supposed ally in defense of a Shinigami intruder that by all means should be considered the enemy. He can get into some trouble for this, or at the very least gain some speculation on where his loyalties lie if word gets out about what he’s done. Other consequences include, too, the very real threat that if Gin fails, Rangiku’s going to be killed. Find how this fight between characters can ADD MORE WEIGHT. Gin really wants this battle to end quickly and quietly. It’s going to drive him to act in a no-nonsense manner, too, because he doesn’t have time to play around. THIS IS VASTLY DIFFERENT, DUE TO THE CURRENT CONSEQUENCES, IN COMPARISON TO HIM PLAYING AROUND WITH ANOTHER MUN’S CHARACTER IN A LESS STRESSFUL SETTING.

Long term consequences, and calling back to a past fight thread in a later thread can make things extra spicy. For example, now Rangiku knows that Gin’ll fight one of his own to defend her; he can no longer pretend to be some emotionless husk standing on the opposing side in the war, he can be confronted about this moment -- by Nnoitra, too, or by other characters who are told about what happened. Gossip’s a bitch, right lads?

Now let your character recover: have them take that nap, or indulge yourself in some juicy hurt/comfort threads with an ally of yours, or some angst about a lost fight hitting your character’s confidence and mentality hard; do they train, do they rest, do they seek out someplace safe to heal, do they hunt down their rival / opponent for a second try? Are they now afraid of certain things, do they have trauma? Near-death experience, or a major injury that now hinders them?

This is a great resource to writing injuries (tw for blood and other graphic depictions of violence, injuries, detailed there) If you’re not squeamish, you can really dive into the medical side of things and study up what kind of damages your character may be faced with. It’s alright to not be totally realistic, though, considering much of what’s being written is based entirely on fake super-powered scenarios.

Sometimes, when struggling on how to describe movement, I’ll go onto Youtube and look up “Battle choreography” or “top ten realistic swordfights” or other relatable content to assist me creatively. Watching things in slow motion or multiple times to nail the positioning can help immensely. By watching similar-themed fights, I can see how those people are moving and try my best to describe that motion in written form. I try to avoid TV/Movie scenes that have been obviously hounded on for their anti-realism, especially sword fights, the common victim to Hollywood’s ridiculousness. But hey, if your character is an absolute mad lad and can pull a John Wick moment, then pull up that badass clip and go for it!

THERE’S SO MUCH TO EXPLORE, SO HAVE FUN WITH IT!

[blueskrugs]

Jump Then Fall | Jack Hughes

I am eternally soft for this kid, okay. this is not the original birthweek fic I had planned for him, but it is a bonus Swift Fic because I couldn't help myself. enjoy while I work on getting my shit together for the summer!

tagging: @marcoscandellas @stlbluesbrat21 @dembenchboys @poltoncarayko @robthomissed @letmeplaytheblues @troubatrain @ayohockeycheck @blackwidowrising @aria253264 @antoineroussel @starswin @glassdanse @ch-ristiane @majdoline @nazdaddy @hockey-more-like

length: 2k words

High school relationships never worked out. That’s what they always told you, at least, when you and Jack were young and in love. And they were right, sort of. You’d broken up not long after you’d both graduated, with Jack off to be drafted and you off to college. Except you’d stayed close, texting and talking on the phone often once Jack had headed off to New Jersey. He was one of your best friends, and you were thankful he was still in your life, but you weren’t sure you’d ever stop loving him, not really.

I like the way you sound in the morning We're on the phone and without a warning I realize your laugh is the best sound I have ever heard

Saturday mornings always meant long phone calls with Jack. You’d both wake up early and make coffee before spending most of the morning on the phone, talking about everything and nothing. Sometimes you wished more than anything that you could see his face, but you weren’t sure what would come spilling out of your mouth when you saw him.

One cold morning in December, you were pretty sure Jack had still been asleep when you called. His voice was slow and rough when he spoke, but you could still hear the smile in his voice.

When you heard him yawn, big enough his jaw cracked, you laughed. “Am I keeping you awake?” you asked.

Jack rushed to answer, “No, never.”

“Jack,” you warned.

Jack laughed. “We got in late last night, I’m just a little tired, I’m fine,” he told you.

“I can let you go back to sleep,” you said.

You heard Jack sit up on the other end of the line. “No way, absolutely not,” he said.

“We’re not even talking about anything important.” You’d mostly been stressing about the end of the semester.

“So? I like talking to you,” Jack argued.

You sighed. “You’re an idiot,” but it came out more fond than annoyed.

Somehow, that phone call lasted almost two more hours. Later, you wouldn’t remember what dumb thing you’d quipped that had made Jack burst out laughing, but you’d always remember the sound of that laugh. You’d wished you’d been able to record it, to have it to listen to on rough days, on days you missed Jack a little extra.

I hear the words but all I can think is We should be together

Jack was telling some story about his teammates. You were only half-listening, paying more attention to his face as he talked. It was late, and Quinn and Jack were home for Christmas. You and the three Hughes boys had taken over the basement for the night. Quinn and Luke were sprawled out on the couch opposite you, and you were buried under several blankets with your feet in Jack’s lap. He was using one hand to help illustrate his story, but the other was resting on your ankle, warm despite the chill outside, his thumb absently rubbing against your bare skin.

Quinn threw a balled up napkin at you, jolting you back to reality. “What’re you thinking about over there?” he asked.

“What?” You threw the napkin back at Quinn.

Luke chimed in, “Yeah, Jack’s not that funny, there’s no way you’re smiling at him.”

“Hey!” Jack protested. You dug your heel into his thigh, and he turned to grin at you.

You hadn’t even realized you were smiling. You always seemed to be smiling when you were around Jack, you couldn’t help it.

“Just missed you guys,” you said, grinning back at Jack.

Jack squeezed your ankle and went back to telling his story. You still weren’t listening.

Well, I like the way your hair falls in your face You got the keys to me I love each freckle on your face, oh

When Jack first started growing his hair out, you hated it.

“No, why,” you said the first time you saw him that summer. Luke laughed from somewhere behind you.

Jack ran a hand through his hair and smirked at you. “What do you mean?” he asked. “You love my hair.”

You tilted your head, pretending to consider. “I’ve changed my mind,” you said.

Jack squawked, outraged and offended. He slung an arm around your shoulder and pulled you in close as you giggled and tried to get away. “You’ll pay for that,” he told you. You dug your elbow into his ribs until he let go of you.

Later that night found the two of you left alone near the bonfire as the sun went down.

“Hey,” Jack said. You locked your phone and tilted your head back to look up at him upside down. “Do you really not like the hair?” he asked.

You snorted. “Would you cut it if I said I didn’t?” Jack shrugged, not quite meeting your eyes. You sat up and twisted to look at Jack properly. “You wouldn’t, oh my God.” It was hard to tell, but he might’ve been blushing in the fading light,

“Just tell me the truth,” he said.

You looked at Jack, really looked at him. He was tan, a new burst of freckles dusted across his nose. He’d shoved a hat on since you’d first seen him earlier in the day, but you could still see how his hair was just beginning to curl at the ends past the nape of his neck. Jack stared back at you, blue eyes dark.

“I guess I could get used to it,” you said.

Honestly, you were so gone for him, you were pretty sure you’d end up still liking him no matter what he looked like.

When people say things that bring you to your knees I'll catch you

Sometimes you didn’t know how Jack put up with it all. From losing streaks to being called a draft bust to people questioning whether he was capable of being a leader, there wasn’t a day that went by that he didn’t have to deal with some bullshit. You knew it wasn’t easy, but he rarely let it get to him. Rarely, but not never.

It didn’t surprise you when your phone rang after a rough game. You answered the FaceTime call without thinking about it, smiling softly when Jack’s face filled your screen. He looked tired, dark bags under his eyes and his hair hanging limply in his face.

“Hi, bud,” you said.

Jack closed his eyes and sighed, long and loud, scrubbing his free hand across his face. You’d been able to watch the game, had watched the blowout happen in real time, just another loss in this skid, in a season that had started out promising for once.

“I’m tired,” Jack whined.

“You look like shit,” you told him. Jack stuck his tongue out at you. “Do I need to get Ty to delete Twitter off your phone again?” you asked. Jack rolled his eyes, but you weren’t joking.

“No, I just-” Jack rubbed his eyes again. “Did you see what my plus-minus was tonight?”

It was your turn to roll your eyes. “Oh my God, no, we’re not doing this,” you said. Sometimes Jack wanted to forget everything about a shitty game, but other nights he got frustrated and wanted to pick apart every mistake he’d made on the ice. You dragged your laptop closer to you. “C’mon, open your Netflix, we’re watching a movie.”

There was some scuffling on the other end, with Jack accidentally pointing his phone at the ceiling. “Fine, but I get to pick,” he said.

You argued half-heartedly with him for a while, but he won in the end, and you settled on some movie you’d both seen a dozen times. It was quiet while you watched, a comfortable silence, heavy with familiarity.

“Hey,” Jack said lowly as the end credits rolled later. You’d been half-sure Jack had fallen asleep on you. “Thanks.”

You smiled tiredly at him. It was late, and dark in his room, and you could barely make out his blurry form on your phone. “Anytime, Jacky,” you said, but you meant, “I love you.”

You can jump then fall, jump then fall Jump then fall into me, into me, yeah

Your doorbell rang one morning in early May. When you pulled open the front door, there was Jack, hands shoved deep in his hoodie pocket, standing on your parent’s front porch.

“I thought you weren’t coming home for a few weeks still,” you said, leaning against the door frame. The Devils season was over, but Jack had told you he was planning on sticking around for a while or traveling some before coming home for the summer.

Jack took one of his hands out of his pocket and ran it nervously through his hair. “I’ve been thinking,” he said, instead of responding to your non-question.

You raised an eyebrow at him. You’d known Jack for years, and you could probably count on one hand the number of times you’d seen him be nervous. “Well, don’t hurt yourself with that, bud,” you told him.

He made a face at you, but it also got him to smile. “Will you just let me-” he started, but he didn’t finish his sentence.

“Hey, c’mon, let’s go inside,” you said, stepping back to let Jack follow you into the house.

In the living room, the TV show you had been watching was still paused, but you both ignored it. You sat back on the couch, but Jack stayed standing, awkwardly shifting his weight from foot to foot.

“You’re freaking me out a little, Jacky,” you said.

Jack sighed and sat on the floor in front of you, leaning back on his hands with his legs stretched out in front of him. “I miss you,” he said.

“Jack, we talk every day,” you told him. “I’m right here,” you added softly.

Jack huffed and ran his hands through his hair again. He laid back for a moment, staring silently up at the ceiling fan as it slowly turned above you.

“Have you ever thought about getting back together?” he asked when he sat back up.

You thought about it a lot, actually, but you just said, “Yeah.”

“Do you think we could do it?” Jack asked next.

You hesitated on that one. You’d thought that, maybe, you could’ve made it back when you were in high school, but things were so different now. You’d listened to the opinions of others so much back then, had broken up in part because you thought that it was inevitable anyway. Could you make it through all that again? You still had a few years until you graduated, and New Jersey wasn’t exactly close.

Then again, you two were as close as ever. Jack had only missed a handful of your Saturday morning phone calls, and it was always just because of hockey. He was still sitting on the floor in front of you, looking nervous as he chewed on his bottom lip.

“I don’t know,” you said honestly.

Jack’s face fell a little. “Do you think we could try?”

“Yeah, I think so,” you said, just as honestly. You’d never been good at saying no to Jack, anyway.

Jack beamed, and you knew exactly why you still loved him after all this time. Jack leaned forward and tugged at your foot. “Hey, come down here,” he whined. “Wanna kiss you.”

“Or you could come up here?” Jack tugged harder. “Oh my God, you’re so fucking needy,” you laughed, but you slid off the couch and let Jack pull you into his lap.

His hands went to your waist, sliding under your T-shirt, and he smiled smugly up at you. “Hi.”

You pressed a kiss to his nose. “Hi,” you said back.

“Uh-uh, you can do better than that.” A kiss to his cheek. Jack rolled his eyes and put one of his hands on your cheek to drag you in for a real kiss. “That’s better,” he whispered, but you were already leaning in for another kiss.

[daisybeewrites]

Academy Blues — Prologue

word count: 1.8k

warnings: not any for this chapter

ship: Dousy, background Fitzsimmons and Philinda

okay y’all.. here it is. the first installment of my first LONG TERM SERIES!!!!!! ahhhh i’m so excited. literally i cant wait to continue this and see where it takes me. i have an idea and a few different planning sheets, but honestly i have no idea where exactly this will end up. i love each and single one of you <3 thank you for reading!! this is also posted on Ao3, and linked in the masterlist.

Daisy hated the sound of the bells at The Academy. Screeching, awful, way too loud, the bells were the bane of her existence. They all wore standard-issue watches from the lab that monitored vitals and gave them reminders, and also told the time, for god’s sake! Fitz had even modified hers so that she could play snake on the tiny watch face! There was no need for the bells to be so excruciatingly disruptive. Though, Daisy guessed, there were many things more tortuous than bells ringing every hour and fifteen minutes.

Daisy slowed to a jog, cutting her morning run short. The bright side to being a third-year was that you chose your schedule, for the most part, and that meant Daisy had a free first period for four out of five days of classes. She usually spent this free period getting an extra hour in at the gym, boxing or sparring with Mack or Bobbi, two fourth years that had reluctantly taken her under their wings, or sleeping in. She reserved sleeping in for especially rough nights where visions of ashes and earthquakes and lightning returned time and time again, no matter how many deep breaths she took or sheep she counted.

But this morning was not one of those mornings. She had been up before sunrise, a little before her usual alarm and silently headed out of her dorm for a run. It was humid this time of year on most Virginia mornings, but never so hot that it made Daisy feel as if she was being smothered. The cooler air chilled her sweaty skin, her chest rising and falling as she jogged up the three flights of steps to the second years’ dorms. Down one long hallway, and she arrived at her room.

Daisy had been given her own room at the start of last year, complete with poly-adaptic-proto-whatever panels, which she had painted a pastel shade of purple, to compliment the greens of her cacti and the dark purples and blacks of everything else in her room. Even May had agreed that the stark white was too ”psych wing” for a bedroom. Daisy was grateful for the space, but considering the panels and the private room were only necessary since...

She shuddered. Grabbing her shower caddy, Daisy set off to the bathroom at the opposite end of the hall, hoping no one else was spending a free first period at the dorms.

Her shoulder-length waves were wet from bouncing against her neck, and starting to become annoying now that the sweat had dried and was starting to itch. Picking the white tiled shower furthest away from the door, Daisy quickly turned the water on, checked the temperature, pulled her sports bra and shorts off and hopped into the shower. Shampoo, condition, soap body, rinse. Checking her watch, Daisy found that she had showered in record time, less than three minutes. After spending another five just enjoying the hot water, she hopped out and changed into her class clothes.

Dark purple leggings, Coulson’s grey vintage SHIELD tee and a pair of white running sneakers she had “borrowed” from Jemma completed her look. Passing the mirrors, Daisy tried not to glance at herself. If her hair was messy or her undereye bags a bit too dark, she didn’t want to know. Instead, she headed back to her room to pack her bag for the day.

SHIELD-issued laptop, extra hard drives and a charger, Advanced CS 3: Ethical Hacking: Theory and Application, Advanced CS 4: Secrets of The Coding Languages, Physics notebook, an essay that was three days late on some boring book about international laws, and her sparring gear were all thrown into the black bag. She gave a second glance at the Russian notebooks Bobbi had loaned to her, promising that she’d learn without taking the class. Oh well, she still had all of this term to start. Plus, would she ever really need more than the dirty words?

One look at the alarm clock that sat on her dark hardwood night table showed that she still had almost forty-five minutes before she had to be in the computer lab. Sitting down on her bed, Daisy ran a hand over the grey blanket May had given her.

Daisy’s relationship with May and Coulson had been something of a problem with other students when she first got here. Some had been okay with the obvious paternal love Coulson showed for Daisy, showing her around and checking up on her, scheduling lunch dates and reminding her of tests. May was more subtle, texting her links to tai chi videos when she noticed Daisy getting too stressed or letting Daisy do her own thing if she saw that she was overwhelmed. Of course, none of the other students knew her family history, what she had gone through just to realize that May and Coulson were more her parents than her biological father and mother could ever be. She would see them later today—May during field training and Coulson in between lectures in the canteen.

Daisy walked over to her window to open her blinds, staring out at the campus she had grown to love. The large brick buildings scattered around acres of the Virginia countryside; green fields meant for physical activities like sparring or obstacle courses, or simply basking in the weather to study or chat; the dorms—red brick and concrete melded together to upgrade and expand the charming style of previously-built homes.

Grabbing a protein bar, Daisy headed to the canteen to make a green smoothie (and maybe snatch a cup of joe before she had to listen to an hour-long lecture on the reason SHIELD must cooperate with the UN’s stupid rules at 7:30 in the morning). Smelling the pines and morning dew surrounding her, she smiled slightly. Maybe this term wouldn’t be so bad.

———————————————————————

Daniel Sousa was a man of honor. He was a man of great strength. Agent Daniel Sousa, previously Officer Daniel Sousa in the US Army, was a man who could fix his damn alarm clock on his own.

Just, not today. Or the day before.

So, Agent Daniel Sousa was now hurrying his way to class at The SHIELD Academy, books in hand and gym bag slung over his shoulders. Catching a glance at himself in the shiny glass doors of the bio-chem building, he groaned. He hadn’t even brushed his hair. And, looking down, he discovered he was wearing two different shoes.

This is the college experience everyone raves about, he thought bitterly. You see, Daniel Sousa had enlisted to the army straight out of high school, forgoing university. He climbed the ranks impressively quickly, earning his place as second-in-command and reconnaissance scout in the 28th Infantry Regiment. Unfortunately, after only four years in the army, Sousa was injured in the field, losing his leg and almost his life.

He came back to the US a war hero, and yet, he felt he wasn't finished. So, when a recruiter named Peggy Carter knocked on his door claiming to be from SHIELD (“Wow, you guys are still a thing?”), he leapt at the chance to continue fighti-...doing good. The Academy wasn’t exactly what he had bargained for, though. Trying to earn his B.A. and training to be an agent at the same time was grueling, but nothing he couldn’t deal with.

No, six different one hour and fifteen minute long classes plus mandatory physical therapy every day wasn’t going to break him. Learning how to be a communications agent and re-starting field training and catching up on general college education was no problem. Pressuring himself to be the best, to break the limits, to get past all his weaknesses was just another miniscule feather to add to the pile.

Unless his stupid alarm clock broke. Then yes, Agent Daniel Sousa would fail, buckle under the weight and be left on the floor to die.

Maybe he was being a bit dramatic.

One bunny-slippered right foot and a sneakered left leg carried him forward, propelled by a quickly chugged orange Celsius and his sheer will not to be late.

Daniel heard the late bell ring out, understanding that, on his first day of class, he would be counted late. It wasn’t like him, not at all. Especially when his first class was a refresher course on field tactics and covert strategy, something in which he was already aces.

He let out a sigh, slowing as he rounded the corner into the comms building. At the Academy, most buildings were grouped into categories: the cafeteria, gym and pool, and student resource building all to the south; the gun range, obstacle course, and specialized gym to the east; bio-chem labs, tech labs, and smaller rooms for lectures to the west; the computer labs and comms buildings right smack in the middle; and dorms to the north.

He swiped a key card with his driver’s license picture and student ID, unlocking the sliding doors that led to the computer labs. It was quicker to short cut through them than to walk around the building to the entrance closest to communications classrooms.

It wasn’t because he knew a certain broody brunette spent her mornings in the lab.

No, it wasn’t, because she wasn’t in her usual seat in the corner, typing away.

He slowly walked through the rows of computers, searching for a familiar black backpack. Nothing was there.

“Hey, Sousa,” an accented female voice called behind him. He whipped around to see who it was, feeling just a twinge of disappointment when Elena, or, as most people knew her, Yo-Yo, was leaning against the door frame. Yo-Yo, a fourth year operations trainee, who was very close with Daisy.

“Hey, Yo-Yo. Good morning,” he called, “I’m running a bit late.”

Elena checked her nails casually, “Way to state the obvious. You were running faster than I could trying to get here before the bell.”

Daniel rubbed the back of his neck and blushed. “Yeah…”

“Daisy’s running late today, too.”

Daniel looked around, pretending that hearing Daisy’s name didn’t make him want to smile. “Oh, of course. She’s usually here early.”

Elena nodded, chuckling a little at his response. She couldn’t tell if he was oblivious or just a bad liar. It was charming, really. “Right. See ya ‘round, Sousa!”

“See ya,” He replied. He thought he heard a quiet ‘Lovable nerds’ coming from the direction she left, but he couldn’t be sure.

And so, with a last look around the computer lab, Daniel set off to arrive late to May’s lecture.

———————————————————————

okay okay,,, what do y’all think?? like/reblog and let me know! it’s the best way to support writers and it only takes a second! stay tuned for more chapters!!

[faby-montana]

me & u

“i’ve been waiting. think i’m gonna make that move, now.”

paring: haechan x reader

summary: a collection of memories that happened between us.

warnings: 18+ for smut— (they only go to 3rd base tbh) handjobs, cumming, awkward kids (that are of legal age!)

a/n: this was supposed to be part of a series, not sure yet if I’ll make it one. let me know how you guys enjoy! (i also don’t really write smut so uh let’s see how this goes—)

recommended song: me & u

You bit your lip, your phone clasped in your hand beside you. You haven’t spoken to Donghyuck in almost a week. It was only about noon, maybe it’s too early to text him. Rolling to your side, you turn on your phone and go on snapchat, seeing if he had even been active recently. Not much to your surprise he was.

Your computer sat at the foot of your bed, a classroom tab open as you sat on your phone to pass the time. Your mother walks in, telling you that your principal was on the phone.

Shifting to sit up, you could only wonder what he wanted. After all, you haven’t been in school since the 15th and your athletic season is long over.

“Happy birthday!”

Wow. Even he remembered. You have yet to receive a happy birthday from him just yet. Once another hour passed, you wondered if now was the perfect time to send a text.

hey, are we still on for today?

Shutting off your phone instantly, you place it down as you pick up your laptop. You were scared to know the response, if he would even respond. You weren’t in the mood to get rejected on your birthday. You glance over your assignments, slowly starting to work on one to distract your hyperactive mind. Has he seen it yet? Did he ignore it? Maybe he’s busy.

The buzz of your phone makes your heart smile, focusing on your assignment you try to finish the sentence before going to see his response.

where are we going again

this ice cream place, it’s only like 10 minutes away i can meet you at your house if it’s easier

Smiling extra hard you hop out of your bed and walk over to your closet, trying to figure out the perfect outfit to wear. The two of you had confirmed plans to go after his mom goes to work around six, so you two had settled for seven. You showered, spent hours on your hair, deciding against makeup so your mom wouldn’t be too suspicious.

After eating dinner with her, you told her you’d be visiting two of your friends. You left out the part of going to see him too, but he lived down the street so if she tracked you she wouldn’t know the difference.

You hopped in your car, nervous about what might happen. You knew something might happen tonight, how far would the two of you go? You hadn’t necessarily shaved off your entire bush, god you flushed hard wondering if he’d mind. Your thoughts had you so distracted, you hadn’t even noticed you’ve been sitting outside his house for three minutes. Taking a deep breath you grabbed your purse, spraying yourself in the perfume he had bought you months ago and took a step out the car. You locked the door and took notice to the sun starting the set. You knocked on the front door, stunned to see his mom standing in front of you. She was very fond of you, so she greeted you kindly as she always did and told you she was on her way out. She wishes you a happy birthday and apologized for not getting you anything.

He jogs down the steps in a sweatshirt and his grey joggers, slipping on his black sneakers. You stood quietly by the door as he asked his mom for the keys, her telling him to be careful as he only nods in compliance. You knew he wasn’t really listening, probably already hearing that from her more than once. She says goodbye to the two of you as you walk out the door, him unlocking the door to take a seat.

You’ve never actually been inside of it before, it was a bit surreal considering you’ve stood outside of it for a very long time. You run your hand over the passenger seat that you sit on, putting on your seatbelt and laying back. It smelled good, just like him.

He tells you his mom had actually been off that day, him not knowing about it to which you only shrug. You reach for his phone, asking him if you could play a song. He unlocks his phone for you, and you clown him for using Spotify. It’s a routine almost, the two of have to tease each other.

Me & U by Cassie begins to play, him asking what was playing as you loudly sing along. The rest of the songs are ones you both enjoyed, but the first one was just to indulge you.

Once you get there, you both go inside to order and the biggest smile graces your face. You’ve been meaning to come here since October when it opened, and you finally got the chance. You already knew what you were ordering, and funny enough he orders the same. The two of you go back inside the car once the order is prepared, both of you sitting while soft music is playing. There’s not much talking, just the two of you being in each other’s presence as you watch the end of the sunset. He’s playing a game on his phone, and from time to time you glance over to annoy him.

“Hey so,” placing down the spoon in the jar, you look at him. It was now or never you figured, if you didn’t make this move now it just might never happen. “You actually like me?”

His head immediately looks up at you, raising an eyebrow. “what kind of question is that?”

You giggle, “a valid one.” You tear your gaze away, “I’m really sorry about not sending you anything..” You slightly shift towards him, “but I thought yours were cute.”

“uh huh.” He was embarrassed, you could tell that much. He also didn’t take you seriously, so you placed a hand on his knee to grab his attention. His gaze focused on it for a split second before looking at you once you started talking.

“I’ll let you take pictures of me if you want.”

He scoffs, “your lying.” Why is he acting so awkward? Was he just as scared as you were?

You leaned in a bit closer, telling him you were wearing that black bralette he liked. You could see him swallow, and before he could open his mouth again you opened the car door and went into the back seat. Taking off your top you told him to come join you.

Still flustered, he does as told and gets into the backseat. Sitting beside you, your knees touching he seems a bit clueless. You slid back a bit, “do you really want this?” You were giving him a chance to back out now. If he really wanted this he would have to make the first move.

“Yeah.” He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Part of the insecurity you had of him not wanting to be with you left instantly. “Do you?”

You let out a huff, “I literally have my shirt off.” His eyes cascaded downwards briefly, not wanting to stare too hard. You sat back, wanting for him to make the first move, it was silent between the two of you before he slid closer, gaining the courage to finally kiss you.

It was short, as if he was testing the waters with you. His lips were soft and sweet, damn near addictive. You were glad he was at least a good kisser, knowing his experiences probably haven’t gotten him farther than that.

Climbing onto his lap you wanted nothing more than to continue, you even wrapped your arms around the back of his neck to bring him closer. Noticing his hands hadn’t really moved, you reached down and placed one on your waist. His other hand followed suit as you put your hands back on his neck.

This. This is everything you dreamed of. You’ve never felt closer to him, happier to be with him. You hoped you conveyed that when you grinded down against his lap.

You heard him moan lowly, which only made you smile. Gliding your hand down his front, you felt him shiver under your touch and shift a bit under you. Did he expect for you to grind down again?

Giving into him immediately, he whined against your mouth. Did he have any idea of what he was doing to you?

His hands gripped your waist a little tighter, pulling his lips from yours. “S-stop.” You immediately halted your actions, leaning away from him as you watched him catch his breath.

Was he about to bust in his joggers? You couldn’t help but feel a little proud as you saw just how hard he was.

You were going to get up to sit back next to him, in case you were heavy on his legs but his arms wrapped around you. He stared into your eyes a bit, causing you to mutter a small “what..” to cover up how nervous you felt. He kissed down your neck, making you blush darkly as a moan escaped your lips. Your straps, which had been previously falling, had been tugged on. You pull them down, his warm hand cupping your breast. It was different to feel someone else’s hand groupe you, you glanced down to see how it filled his huge hand. He massaged it slowly between his fingers, you leaning back to give him more access. Another moan left you as you felt his warm mouth on your left. You couldn’t help but rub against him again, wondering what he was thinking of.

Pushing him back a bit you run your hand down his front, a soft groan leaving him. You untie the top of his joggers, sticking your hand down his pants as he gasped. He shifts a bit again, tugging down part of his pants to make it easier. You go back to kissing him, wanting to feel him moan against your mouth as you brought him closer to his edge.

“Baby..” He moaned, a small whine towards the end of his words. He was close and you had no intent on stopping. You only hummed, kissing down his neck as he got even louder after cummming. You didn’t stop, right away wanting to see his face. Taking your hand away you felt proud, and you knew you’d remember this for a long time. He looked at you while you glanced at your cum covered hand, deciding that you wanted to try it. You sucked on your fingers and glanced up to still see him staring. You blushed, turning away as he only chuckled. He asked you how it tasted, to which you could only shrug.

You got off his lap so you could turn, sticking your ass in the air as you reached for the napkins. You wiped off your hand first, grabbing a few more before turning back around. He took them from you cleaning himself off and pulling up his pants as you pulled back on your straps. He grabbed your waist, pulling you towards him as you leaned on his chest. The two of you stayed like that for a while, sitting in each other’s presence. You heard the sound of his heart beat, closing your eyes to the rhythmic sound. “We should get going soon.” As much as you wanted to fall asleep in his arms, you knew you shouldn’t. You couldn’t spend all night out here, and you shouldn’t give yourself the chance to get attached.

He sighs, saying okay as you separate to move into the front seats. He turns the car back on as you grabbed his phone, going back to being dj. You smiled to yourself, singing along as he drove through the night.

When he parks back in front of his house, you lean over and kiss his cheek, thanking him for such a great night. You would leave right after, going back into your own car and about the rest of your day.

You wondered, if you had sent that text- would that have happened?

i’ve always wanted to play this song on what would’ve been our first date. or hang out. or whatever it was gonna be. i had so many hopes for us back then. so many hypotheticals about what we could’ve been.

[imagine-that-one-thing]

Styles. || 15

Authors Note:  Hey everyone!! I know it has been a while since I have updated, but I wanted to pop in and say hi, I am back. I intend to do my best to start writing again and to start where I left off at. I have missed Elise and Harry’s story so much, but I needed the break. With that being said, I am back and doing my best to get back to writing their story. Bare with me as it has always been hard for me to end stories, hence why this one is still kicking. I have a strong connection with the story and I just want to keep writing, so here I am. I hope you all love their story as much as I do. Anyway, I hope you are all well and continue to read my work. xx 

For previous chapters, click HERE.

First. Book : Styles and Co

Second Book : Styles’ Towers. 

Third Book : The Rise Of Glory.

Styles & Co. || Extras.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

Wouldn’t It Be nice.

My apartment is quiet as I type away at my laptop, attempting to stay focused on my essay with a pounding headache. I have hardly slept the last few nights, and I have been running around like a chicken with its head cut off. Balancing school and work have proven to be extremely troublesome, but I do not regret my decision one bit to take up Jamie’s proposal. I am incredibly appreciative of the opportunity, even if I manage to get an hour or so of sleep a night.

I landed Jamie the clients and completed the meetings as requested, and successfully redesigned one of the portfolios— it has all been worth it. It will one day pay off to only sleep a few hours.

I massage my temples before the sound of my apartment door opening takes my attention. I turn around immediately, almost plummeting to my feet before nonchalantly recognising it’s Elise and not my worst nightmare. Ever since my father appeared at my apartment that one night, I have been on edge, not to mention I also don’t want Logan coming to my apartment. “Hey,” I half-smile towards her as she closes the door behind her and propels me the apartment keys.

I catch the keys in my hands, “Good to know you’re alive, Harry,” Elise’s commentary takes me by surprise as I kiss her cheek, and she moves away from me.

She’s exasperated.

“What do you mean? What’s wrong?” I immediately challenge, “What’s with handing me the keys?” I dangle the keys in my hand.

Elise raises her brow and crosses her arms over her chest, “What’s wrong?” Elise scoffs, “Harry, you haven’t spoken to me in two weeks, not sure if we are even together.”

“What? Sweetheart, I called you the other night before I fell asleep.”

Elise shakes her head, “You haven’t called. I got a text from you, but it said my name, and that was all,” Elise responds, showing me her phone, proving that she is, in fact, correct.

Fuckity-fuck-fuck.

“Oh,” I trail off, feeling like a horrible person… “I’m so sorry.”

And the award for worst boyfriend, once again, goes to me. How wonderful. At this point, I may as well keep an honorary speech on hand. Damnit.

“Harry… if you don’t want to be with me—“

“Darling,” I begin, “I thought I called you the other night… I swear I even texted you today when I woke up,” I assure her, clutching my phone from my table and clicking her messages.

The messages are somewhere here. I know there’s some sort of logical explanation. I remember distinctly. I texted her.

My heart drops, and I shake my head, dissatisfied with myself, “I uh… I never hit send… I never realised that the texts I did send never delivered,” I show her my screen of undelivered text messages and a message from this morning I never sent. “I look like an ass.”

Elise snickers and nods her head, “What else is new?” She jokes, and I can’t help but playfully roll my eyes and grin at her. However, she may be joking; deep down, she and I both know that there’s some truth to the joking matter. I’m an ass, and I can openly admit it.

“I know it is no excuse, but I’m dead tired and busy. I wasn’t trying to blow you off or forget you. I genuinely thought I had called and texted you… Fuck, I’m sorry.”

“You still want to be with me?”

“I’m sorry you even doubt my intentions. Of course, I do. Not sure you feel the same about me.”

It has never been my intentions for her to have to doubt whether I want to be with her. I want to be with her, one-hundred and ten per cent. She’s the woman I aspire to spend my time with. It’s too early to say this, but I want to spend my life with her. We aren’t ready for marriage, but she is the one I want to come home to every night. She’s the one with who I want to grow and build a life.

“I know you’re tired and swamped, but I did feel like you didn’t want to be with me,” Elise confesses.

I nod my head, considering her feelings and how I may have made it seem like I don’t give a damn. “That’s me just being an ass who is struggling to get everything done. Can I make it up to you?”

“How?” Elise demands.

I can imagine she is tired of hearing whether I can make it up to her. I’m tired of hearing it, too. I sound like a broken record, which isn’t my intent, but I am doing my best. My best isn’t good enough, and I know this, but I will do better. I will do what it takes to make her feel valued. I don’t want her ever to have to question my intentions or love for her.

“Stay the night with me. I’ll go to work and come back at around eight before you have to be up. I’ll bring coffee and breakfast… if you like?” I suggest, unsure of how to make things up to her. Dinner and flowers are too cliche, and I have already promised her that. Right now, all I can do is breakfast, and I physically don’t have time for anything else until the weekend.

Elise nods her head and agrees, “Can you maybe try to remember that I’d like a text or a call, so I know you’re alive?”

“I’ll do my best. I’m sorry, baby, I am,” I step closer and kiss her cheek before giving her a warm hug.

I need to make it up to her, and I need to show her I care and want to be with her. She deserves better than a boyfriend who forgets to press send on a text message. It may not be a big deal to some, it was a genuine mistake, but I feel horrible for not realising I hadn’t spoken to Elise. I feel as though I neglected my duties as a boyfriend to make sure she is okay and feel valued and wanted. It is the small things that can make a difference in a relationship.

Elise hasn’t asked for much; she wants my time and effort, which I will give her to the best of my ability.

❈ ❈ ❈

I feel a tender touch to my shoulders, and I draw myself away from my sleeping state. I open my eyes and groggily glance around. Fuck, I fell asleep on my laptop. “You fell asleep,” Elle informs me, her hand massaging soothing circles on my back.

I nod my head and sigh. I touch my fingers to my temple and rub them slowly, “I have the worst headache, and this is due in an hour,” I gesture towards my computer screen that is only making my headache graver.

“Would you like me to finish it for you?” Elise kindly offers.

“Do you even know what I am writing about?” The words leave my lips without me thinking twice about how they sound.

“Don’t be a condescending ass, Harry,” Elise mutters.

I heavily sigh and nod my head, “I’m sorry. Do you know about this,” I motion towards my laptop that has my composition mostly completed? I am not sure if I am nearly finished or not.

“Harry, I can use the literature as a framework to sum up your essay, unless you don’t trust I have the intelligence to do so?” Elise answers, annoyed with me still.

I do not blame her for being irritated with me, After all, I have unintentionally blown her off, and now I am making her believe she is not intelligent, which was not my purposes. I know she is brilliant. She may not be as into the business world as I am, but she is one hell of a writer. Elise is excellent with essays and literature. “And don’t forget, I have to take business, so I do know the basics,” Elise notifies me, and I bow my head.

“Again, I am sorry, Elle,” I apologise, “Be my guest, have at it,” I move my chair, and Elise rests beside me, immediately beginning to read what I have written.

“For someone who is great at business, you have a lot of errors,” Elisse chuckles, nudging me lightly. I nod my head and hum.

“Business major, not an English major, also wrote that with a headache and no sleep,” I mumble before I rest my arms on the desk and place my head to lean in my arms, closing my eyes and falling in and out of sleep while Elise types away. “Harry,” Elise taps me.

I hum my acknowledgement, “Hey, what is the main conclusion you want to be emphasised?”

“Baby, I don’t care,” I murmur tiredly, “Just write whatever sounds good, just don’t fail me,” I continue.

“Great, so I will conclude on valuation and whether to rely on an algorithm or on an ad-hoc analysis,” Elise confirms.

“Sounds good,” I admit, grappling with concentrating, my eyes stinging and my head spinning. “I trust you, darling,” I drowsily mumble, prompting to rest my head on her shoulder, closing my eyes again and drifting off to sleep.

❈

It isn’t long before I am woken, and it feels like only moments have passed where I was put at ease and managed to get a few moments of relaxation. “Hey, Harry, hey, sweetheart,” Elise gradually and benevolently tears me from my sleep, and I lift my head off her shoulder, brushing my eyes as I attempt to focus on her. “It’s done; you need to just go to bed.”

I groggily come to terms with my surroundings, regarding that Elise has finished my paper, “What time is it? I still have work to do,” I shake my head, remembering the collection of work I need to finish. I need to establish a fundamental algorithm for one of my clients, and I still need to figure out a way to balance Elise’s sister’s portfolio that was due the weekend of her wedding. Still, Jamie put it on hold due to her antics and marriage. With Elouise getting married, there is a chance she could venture to combine assets with her husband, but if he is intelligent, he won’t let her encounter any of his assets. I would not combine anything with her. There is a time and a place to consolidate things, and a new marriage is not the time. They have not established boundaries, nor have they demonstrated the true meaning behind the wedding. I think Elouisa married for money, point-blank.

“It’s one, and we are going to bed. You’re not working yourself to death,” Elise informs me, closing down my emails and shutting my laptop.

“Elle, I have to send it and —“

“I already sent it. You owe me, by the way,” Elise smiles, standing up from her position and taking my hand, dragging me with her.

Elise and I wander towards the hallway, “Add it to my tab,” I chuckle, “Tell ya what… I’ll get breakfast in the morning, and this weekend I’ll take you to a nice dinner,” I inform Elise, aware that she deserves more than what I’ve given her lately. I’m not sure how she hasn’t thrown in the towel and told me to go fuck myself.

“That would be nice,” Elise accepts as we step into my bedroom, and I waste no time taking my shirt off and launching it to the corner. This is the earliest I have managed to crawl into bed, and if it weren’t for Elise, I’d still be awake, perching at my computer and making my headache ten times worse.

“Thank you for finishing my paper,” I grasp a t-shirt from my drawer while Elise draws back the covers of my bed, “I appreciate it,” I assure Elise, handing her a t-shirt for her to wear to bed.

“Ignore me again for a week or two, and I won’t be so nice,” Elise responds, taking the shirt from my hands. I nod my head, and I don’t expect her to be friendly and forgiving when I fuck up and act like an arse. I need to be held accountable. Elise leans up and kisses my cheek before caressing her hands to my chest, “You’re hot.”

“Thanks, but I’m not in the mood for compliments.”

“Moron,” Elise rolls her eyes, “You’re warm,” she caresses her hands to my cheeks, “Your cheeks are flushed.”

“Mhm,” I hum, “I get migraines after a long period with little sleep,” I shrug my shoulders, not too concerned about things, “It happens like once every few months.”

“Has it ever occurred to you to sleep?” Elise challenges with a touch of sass to her tone of voice.

Sleep would be delightful, but I have too much on my plate.

“It has,” I laugh, “But I don’t have enough time for that.”

“How are you not miserable right now?”

“I am,” I respond, “I just know I have to deal with it. Are we going to continue talking about my lack of sleep and terrible migraine, or are we going to sleep for a few hours?” I question, moving to my side of the bed and crawling between my sheets.

In all fairness, I am miserable. I feel like utter shit, my head is pounding, any sort of light burns my eyes, and it feels like I’m just being clobbered with a club.

“A few hours?” Elise seems surprised at my comment.

I only have a few hours to spare, nothing more, nothing less.

I nod my head, “I have work at six, so yes, a few hours.”

“Surely you’re not getting up?”

“I have to, Elle,” I sigh, “I can’t afford not to.”

In all honesty, I don’t want to get up in a few hours, I’d love nothing more than to sleep in and allow my migraine time to dwindle off, but I can’t. The world doesn’t stop because I’m unwell or for any reason. My mother’s bills still necessitate to be paid, meetings still need to take session, and my school work still needs attending. I don’t get sick days. I don’t get to sleep in. It’s nothing against Elise, but I’m not lucky enough to get to have a few additional hours of sleep as she can.

“You’re wearing yourself too thin.”

“I have to.”

“Can’t I help?”

“You have; you finished my paper for me. That’s more than enough.” I smile towards Elise, kissing her, sweetly, “Thank you for your help.” I kiss her again before stepping away and moving to my side of the bed.

It is not Elise’s responsibility to help my situations. These are my problems to deal with, and she has enough to worry about on her own. I do not wish to burden her with my issues, nor do I wish for her to have to deal with anything more than she already needs to. I don’t want to scare her away, and I don’t want to risk letting her help me and then leaving me because it is too much to handle. I can handle things on my own… I think.

❈ ❈ ❈

The drive to Elise’s parent’s house has been nothing but full of anxiety. I have no reason to be anxious, but I am. I haven’t stepped foot back in the house since the weekend I met her parents. Ever since, I have kept all meetings with the parents in public places. The gates to the private estate open, and I drive up the driveway, parking next to Elise’s car before turning my car off. I sit in the driver’s seat, taking a deep breath as I take in my surroundings. One day I will be able to afford such an extravagant house like this, but for now, I will settle with my tiny apartment and non-glamorous lifestyle.

I get out of my car and close the door. I make the short walk along the perfect cobble pathway towards the door. Everything about the estate is immaculate, from the gardens to how the Autumn door wreath sits flawlessly aligned. Although the leaves are shifting to magma-reds, hot-oranges and fever-yellows, not a single leaf is on the ground— the groundskeeper but be astonishing at his job. The barbecue-red leaves hang soundlessly on the trees, and I can't help but glance up and watch in awe, curious as to whether one will fall and wreck the pure aesthetic the Cartier’s have going on. I shake my head and chuckle to myself before walking up the steps. I stand before the double doors and adjust my shirt, making sure my collar is suitable, and my shirt is not creased. I take a breath and knock on the door.

After a few moments, the door opens, “Well, it’s about time you show up,” Conrad, Elise’s dad, comments with a grin, “I thought you were bringing the liquor?” Conrad questions as he opens the door wider and allows me to step into the house.

I shake his hand, “Hello, and no sir, I did not bring the liquor. Next time I will bring you a bottle,” I respond as we shake hands.

I was unaware that it was now customary for me to bring liquor. I shall be prepared for next time. Hopefully, this time, I will not feel as though I do not belong here or that I am not good enough for Elise. Although our last gathering at the house was far from what I had hoped, ever since that day, her parent’s and I have gotten closer and gotten along. Conrad has realised I am not here for the money, and I do not want any special treatment in the business world. I want to make it on my own with my name, not theirs.

“Elise is at the kitchen table, finishing another essay.”

“She has had quite a few to do,” I nod my head.

“While she finishes, care to have a drink with me?”

“Uh, sure,” I agree, following Conrad into the living room and standing by him as he picks up his decanter set and begins to pour a glass.

“Question for you… Would you consider working for me?”

I shake my head, “All due respect, no. You’re my girlfriend's father, and I do not want to make things awkward. I am also quite happy at Jamie’s company.”

“Damnit, Jamie got a good one. Okay, fair… Well, I would like to have lunch with you and talk business one day this week, just to get to know you more.”

“I can do Thursday?” I suggest, “I leave Thursday night to travel with Jamie.”

“I guess that will do,” Conrad nods his head, “Where are you going?”

“We are going to LA.”

“My brother and I need to talk more. I am leaving for LA next week. We could have tag-teamed clients.”

I chuckle and shrug, “That is between the two of you. Do you not worry about competing with each other for clients?”

“No, we have boundaries.” Conrad shakes his head just as Elise wanders in and welcomes me.

She kisses my cheek and beams towards her father, taking a prompt sip of my drink before asking us about our conversation, and of course, rolling her eyes at me when she is told we are discussing business.

❈ ❈ ❈

After a brief moment at Elise’s parent’s house, I was enlightened that we would be setting sail on the River Thames. I had no idea that today's adventures entailed such a journey. I was under the impression it would be a relaxing day at the house— I was mistaken. I did not anticipate spending part of the day on a yacht. I did not know Conrad owned a yacht.

I knew Elise’s family was wealthy, but I did not think they were this prosperous. Elise doesn’t show nor act that she has a very elite lifestyle. She never once mentioned that her father had a yacht. It makes me wonder what the fuck else they have that I have no clue about. After all, Elise has an investment that is almost worth a million dollars— and somehow, she is still asking me for investment help and assistance with the stock market.

“Harry,” Conrad begins as he hands me a glass of some sort of alcohol, “I believe I owe you an apology,” Elise’s Dad begins, taking me by surprise.

I look at him and nod, waiting for him to give me some sort of explanation. I am not sure what he owes me an apology on, but I am willing to listen to him. “I didn’t give you a fair chance when I first met you months ago. I thought you were hanging around for a business opportunity. I know that way of thinking was wrong. I should not have assumed.”

I don’t blame Conrad for not being open to his daughter dating someone who does not come from the same upbringing as she did. I didn’t have a gorgeous house with perfect gardens. I didn’t have the luxuries she had and still has; I grew up with everything I needed and not much more. My mother couldn’t afford luxuries, and she still can’t. One day, I do hope to give my mother the amenities she deserves. I want to be able to fix her house up the way she wants it and buy her a nice car that she doesn’t need to worry about, whether it will break down on her drive to the grocery store. I didn’t grow up anywhere near close to the same lifestyle as Elise, so I understand the judgement on Conrads end. Every father wants the best for their daughter, and I might not have much money or much to offer her materialistically, but I can give her my time and love— I personally think that is better than anything anyone could buy her. One day, I will buy Elise the things she deserves. One day I will buy her the bracelets and the necklaces, all the things women love to receive. But for now, all I can offer Elise is my devoted time and love.

I accept Conrad's apology, “Sir, I want nothing more than to give her all the great things she is used to, but for now… All I have is myself. I can’t give her expensive dinners and diamonds. I can barely get her flowers, I will be honest, but I can give her my time, effort, and love. I care for your daughter a lot… To be honest, I am in love with her,” I begin to speak sentences before thinking about them. Part of me wants to stop sounding so soft, but the other part knows that Conrad needs to know my true intentions with Elise, “I may never be able to afford a yacht like this,” I gesture to the space around us, “And I may be dirt poor, but I will never be the man my father was, and believe me, that means more to me than anything materialistic I could give her. She will never have to worry about whether I love her. She will never have to worry about where her next meal will come from or whether she will be alone… I will put her first, I will put her before myself, and I will treat her the way a lady should be treated.”

Being a man and being the complete opposite of my father is what I strive for in life, aside from being a CEO. I have learnt what a man is and what a man is not. I have learnt the difference between a deadbeat husband and a real husband. I will not be the man my father was; I will worship the ground Elise walks on, and I will do everything in my power to make sure she is taken care of in every way. Like I have said, I might not ever get to give her mansion with the most beautiful art hung on the walls she could imagine, but she will know that every time I walk through that door, that I am coming home to her. Elise knows that I am the one she can call at any hour with any problem, I will always be there for her, and I will support her in all her decisions. I am aware that we may fight and argue over stupid shit. Hell, we will even fight over things that aren’t stupid, but I wouldn’t want to fight with anyone else at the end of the day. We will have our moments where we want to strangle each other. I know the time is coming, and I know there will be times she won’t want to speak to me or times where I have fucked up, but that is the beauty of a relationship— you grow together, and you learn.

I don’t plan to give up when the going is tough. I will not leave her in the dark and call it quits because things might not get any easier for us financially. I may run from many things when it gets tough, I may bury myself in work in school when I don’t want to deal with personal issues, but I will do my best not to run from her— from us.

“You don’t speak of your father. May I ask why?”

I grow withdrawn for a moment, unsure of what to say. I have managed to avoid my father’s issue for most of the relationship with Elise, but I know at some point I will have to tell her a few things. I would much prefer to discuss how Conrad succeeded in his business to the point he owns a yacht and can sail on the River Thames with a skipper and crew. I wonder if he even bought the dock as well that he docks at. I shake my thoughts away, remembering I have been asked a question about my father. “He isn’t in my life.”

“You mentioned that,” Conrad nods.

“My father is not what I would call a man. He is just someone who is a waste of space in society.”

“That’s a bit harsh, Harry.”

I lift my shoulders into a shrug, “All due respect, but that is nothing compared to the things he has done and said to my sister and myself,” I respond, not trying to sound like a prick. I don’t like having conversations about my Father. He is not worth my time or energy. I should have just told them the has is dead. In all fairness, he is dead to me. “He was an alcoholic. I don’t like to get in detail about him.”

Conrad nods his head and respects my decision of not wanting to speak much of my father. Conrad takes a sip of his drink, and I finally do the same, allowing the whiskey to give me a sense of ease. “Elise told me that you had been the one paying to keep your mother’s house?”

I nod my head, “Yes, sir… Mum lost her job and my sister…. Well, she is going through an emotional breakdown and struggling herself,” I admit, unsure of how much detail Elise has told her parents.

“I have a lot of respect for you, Harry.”

“Why?” I curiously ask.

Conrad leans forward and places his drink down at the table, “You are helping your mother and working night and day plus doing your masters, and you have not complained once.”

“I think I have complained,” I shake my head.

“Elise has said otherwise. You’re a genuine and modest gentleman, and you seem to put others first… I respect a man who can do his best to provide and not make excuses.”

I am not sure what to say. If I didn’t go to work and do what I do, my mother and sister would be on the streets. Someone had to step up and do what needed to be done. I would never forgive myself if my mother lost her house. The house may be small in comparison to what Conrad has, but it is still a home. It is the place my sister and I grew up in. It is the place my mother worked hard to maintain to the best of her ability. “I’d do it all over again if I had to,” I shrug, not really in the mindset that this is something that I should be praised for. I don’t need praise for stepping up. I just want my family to be happy and healthy.

“You’re a good man. I see that,” Conrad nods, finally cracking a small smile, “I don’t think I would want my daughter dating anyone else.”

I stifle a laugh and shake my head, “Give it time. I am sure Elise will tell you I am an asshole.”

“We all are assholes at some point. It’s more so common with people like us.”

“People like us?”

“We are businessmen, and we are born to lead and be assertive. Sometimes that crosses over into being an asshole. Do you know how many times my wife has called me every name under the sun? Or how many times she has told me I am being a CEO and need to walk out of the house and adjust my tone before walking back in?” Conrad questions in all seriousness, and I can’t help but chuckle. I can see Elise doing the same thing in the future. “Cathleen does not take my shit, and I don’t think Elise will take it either. She will call you an asshole, and all you can do is learn where the line is drawn between CEO and boyfriend or husband.”

“Elise has already called me an asshole,” I confess, “I deserved it.”

“Half the time, we do deserve it. It’s in our nature, but again, we learn to control it. We better get back to the ladies before they think I have killed you,” Conrad stands to his feet.

I stare at him and raise a brow, “Was that your initial plan, sir?”

“No, but it will be if you call me sir one more time,” Conrad laughs, “My name is Conrad,” Elise’s Dad corrects me, not wanting me to be as formal. I nod my head and stand up, taking my drink with me before we climb the stairs, leaving the cabin area and stepping back out into the crisp air, Conrad and I parting ways and walking to opposite ends of the yacht.

I make my way around the yacht, amazed by how big the fucking thing is. I know this thing had to have cost more than I can imagine. I smile to myself when I see Elise sitting on a blanket at the yacht’s foredeck with a book in her hand. I watch her for a moment as she is clueless to the world around her, her hair is blowing in the breeze of the slow sails, and her eyes are cast on a book with no intentions of looking away. Most people would be taking pictures or drinking on their father’s yacht. Instead, she is content, reading a book on her own and paying no attention to the rest of the world.

I step closer to where she rests, “Elle,” I call her name from her behind, not wanting to startle her as I walk closer. Elise turns to look at me over her shoulder and smiles that gorgeous smiles of hers.

“I see you made it out alive,” Elise chuckles, keeping her finger in place on her book.

“I did,” I nod, “I see you have your nose in a book.”

“I do,” Elise shows me the cover of the book.

I cock my head to the side and look at the title, “Haven’t you read that before?”

Elise nods and hums her response, “And you are rereading it?” I question.

“It is a good book, Harry. Do you have something against the Great Gatsby?” Elise asks, sounding shocked, almost as if I have insulted her but asking if she is rereading it.

I am not the kind of person to read books twice. I read them the first time, watch the movie and then call it a day. I have never been interested in reading something over and over again, just for the fun of it. I know the ending. I know the plot. Why reread it?

I sit down beside her and drape my arm around her as I kiss the top of her head, “Eh, I won’t lie. I found the book boring.”

“How so?”

“It’s a story about elite society.”

“Is that what you got out of the whole book, Harry?” My response does not amuse Elise.

“No, I don’t like how the book was portrayed. Not one of the characters were good. It isn’t like To Kill a Mockingbird where the book manages to display both the good and the evil inside people.”

“It’s the writing style that makes the book so great. It’s the pros.”

“Yeah, not a literary person, love,” I shake my head, “Anyway,” I trail off, “I have to go to LA for work on Thursday,” I finally tell Elise that I have a business meeting in LA that will take most of my time next week.

“Damn it, Harry,” Elise huffs.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“Now, who is going to help me study?” Elise chuckles, causing me to roll my eyes at her.

This woman is something else, that is for sure. “Do you keep me around just to help you study?”

Elise shrugs her shoulders and closes her book, “Also for your good looks, but seriously, I need some help with my China and globalism course.”

“I assume you have a test?”

“Indeed,” Elise nods, “Can I get some help?”

“Sure, we can before I leave, or if you want, we can facetime while I am in LA to help?” I offer, unsure of when the best time will be for her to study. “China Globalism is a blast. You will love it,” I sarcastically add, very aware of the fact that Elise will hate the course. She may be knowledgeable,, but this will be the course that tests her in every way. The fucking course broke me at one point, it was a horrible experience, but it has come in handy with Jamie’s clients. However, I do not foresee this course helping Elise. She doesn’t want to get into this side of the business. She doesn’t even want to be in the business world. Elise has a true passion for English. I know she wants to do something with writing and is only pursuing business for her father.

“I already hate it,” Elise mutters, “So, you will be able to help?”

“Of course,” I agree, “I don’t know why you think I won’t help,” I kiss her cheek as she places her book down on the blanket.

Elise looks at me and pushes her hair behind her ear, “I know you’re busy; that’s why.”

“Mhm,” I hum, “I am going to have to go up to my mother’s sometime soon. Would you like to come with me?” I softly offer, not wanting to make the dreaded drive to Chesire on my own. I don’t want to go up there, but I have to. My mother deserves to see me, even if it is for a few moments.

Elise rests her head on my shoulder, “I would love to,” Elise responds cheerfully, far too cheery to be going to Cheshire. I wish I had her happy demeanour about Cheshire, but I cannot. I can’t even attempt to fake it.

My phone goes off, and I reach into my pocket and grab it. I look down at the screen and bite the inside of my cheek when I see ‘Logan’ pop up on my screen.

I don’t want to deal with him, and I thought I made it quite clear that I want nothing to do with the spawn of satan. My hatred for Logan will probably never subside, so we should have minimal contact, but for some reason, like my father, Logan is determined to cause havoc on my life in every single way possible.

I quickly read the text message, much to my bitter distaste, “Harry, I know you didn’t want to hear from me so soon, but if it’s a 999 situation. — Logan”

I place my phone back in my pocket and stare out at the water in an attempt to find my thoughts. A 999 situation with Logan can only really mean one thing. Blood. The last time it was a 999 situation, I had to swallow my hatred towards him and give him blood. I am not sure why he doesn’t just go to our father for it— but I can’t be petty and scoop to the level of declining him what I believe is primary care. I may hate him, and he may be what I consider the worst thing to happen to my life, but I can’t sit back and not help him with this. Ever since his mother passed away, I have been the one to donate blood to him when he needs it. I don’t remember our ages well, but I know that at around sixteen, his mother died, and up until that point, she was the one who would help him when his health got too poor. Now it is up to me. I could be an asshole and refuse to help him. I could tell him to fuck off and go to our father… But what kind of man would I be to deny someone essential health? What kind of man would I be if I didn’t help someone in need? Most of all, what kind of man would I be if I didn’t put my anger and resentment to the side to benefit someone else?

To answer my questions, I would be a selfish prick like my father, and I refuse to be anything like him.

I pull myself back to reality and remind myself that today was meant to be a day of not stressing about things I cannot change or fix. I cannot change the predicaments that happen. I am not in control of them. I am only in control of what I do. When I am done with Elise and her family, I will see what needs to happen with Logan and do what needs to be done.  

[purplesurveys]

1239

survey by allwrongx

Is there anything purple nearby? A lot of my merch have purple details/designs on them, because obviously. From where I’m sitting, I can see my McDonald’s BTS Meal packaging, which are mostly purple, that I keep in my room as a souvenir.

Do you usually leave voicemails on other people's machines? I don’t do voicemail; I’m not sure we have that here.

Do you know somebody whose Christmas lights stay up all year round? No? What a waste of electricity and money.

Do you always shut your computer down when you're finished with it? I haven’t shut down my laptop in months (probably even years) and this question just made me realize that lmao. When I’m done with my work I just fold it shut. 

Are most of the pens around your house from random companies or plain? They’re mostly plain pens, though we may have one or two company pens lying around.

Do you dread filling out the about you box on most websites?  I usually ignore those now, but when I was around 10 or 11 they were actually my favorite thing to fill out since I liked having the opportunity to share about my interests. About me boxes were the predecessors to my survey-taking habit, I guess? Hahahahaha.

Do you prefer the Code Red Mountain Dew to the Orange kind? I don’t drink Mountain Dew.

Sixteen Candles or Pretty In Pink? I actually haven’t watched either. I’ve always meant to; I even downloaded these onto my hard drive YEARS ago...I just never got around to it lol.

Do you want to have a big family in the future? No. I would be okay with one or two kids.

Do you get embarrassed when talking about things like sex and periods? No.

Are there any towels in your house with cartoon characters on them? I don’t think so, but the dogs’ towel does have a Superman hood and logo on it.

Do the half sheet paper towels annoy you? No.

Ever been in a mosh pit? Not really. 

What was the last thing you did that gave you a rush? Probably watching JK’s live a few days ago? I couldn’t sleep for an hour after that and was just feeling really happy and giddy the whole time.

Is Vegas one of your must-see places? No.

Pet rat; Yay or Nay? Nay.

If given the chance, would you ride a unicorn to Iceland? Sure, whatever.

Have you ever washed a cat in your bathtub? No.

Ever seen the movie Max Keeble's Big Move? Opinions? I haven’t.

Would you call yourself a writer? Written any stories lately? Yeah, I write. I don’t focus on stories though; I found out early on I don’t have a very good handle of fiction.

Do you think that the iPad sounds like a foreigner trying to say iPod? That’s so annoyingly racist.

Did that last thing make you laugh? - Probably not. - Whatever.

Are you good at reading people's body language? To an extent. But yeah, my hunch is usually correct, especially if what I’m reading is a negative mood lol. I guess I’m oversensitive to this because my mom usually came home from work in a bad mood when I was a kid, and it continues to this day.

Do you feel obligated to feel bad for people who are crying? Erm, not obligated. I just automatically feel bad and will sometimes not really know how to handle the situation, especially if I’m not close with the person.

Ever ask a random stranger to pretend to be someone for you? I don’t think so. I’m not sure if I can be bold enough to come up to a stranger and pitch something like this to them, either.

Ever threatened somebody and actually went through with it? Yeah, I’ve removed names from a group project after warning that I wouldn’t hesitate to do it if certain people continued to not help.

Does holding newborn babies scare you? Yeah, I’ve always refused to do it. I feel like I would drop them.

Are needles something that you're afraid of? Very much so.

Piercings, Yay or Nay? I don’t mind them as long as it’s not excessive.

Have you ever been prescribed medication? I mean yeah, for flus and stuff.

Do you have a collage of pictures in your bedroom? I have a mini collage of OT7 photos on my corkboard.

Are Mac computers a bit frustrating? Not really; I’m partial to Apple products.

Ever consider a career in photography? As a teenager when DSLRs were all the rage. My sister proved to be a lot more capable than I am, though, so much so that I ended up passing on my camera to her.

Are your friends a different breed? (: I don’t really use that term but yeah, they’re great.

Excited for the new Alice In Wonderland movie? Too creepy looking? I’m not really into that genre.

Favorite Nicholas Cage movie? I’m not sure I have one.

Does either of your parents watch Judge Judy? Nope.

What colour does the button on your computer glow? I’m not sure what you mean, but the backlight on my keys are white.

Did you ever have those glow in the dark stars on your ceiling? I have one set of cousins who did, and it always excited me when we had the chance to sleep over because it meant I got to see those glow in the dark stars.

Do you have a Friday night routine? Kinda, as lazy as it is – I usually use it as my time to catch up on surveys; watch several episodes of Run BTS; and pick long-form BTS content to watch, whether it’s one of their docu-series or one of their other shows like Bon Voyage. If I have extra money to spend I’ll also order in a comfort food of mine, usually either sushi or burgers.

Do you kind of have to pee right now? Nope.

Does bad grammar in surveys annoy you at all? Annoying questions annoy me more than anything. I don’t really mind a grammatical error or two; I just end up correcting them.

For projects do you prefer using glue or tape? Tape, so that it’s more stable.

[come-on-shitty-boys]

//nothing more. bokuto koutarou//

Warnings: Mild sexual themes. Swearing.

Word Count: 2.2K

Notes: I hope you all know that this wasn’t supposed to end like this, but everyone wore me down smh

READ PART 1 HERE

“Good practice today, guys.  Clean up and head out,” Akaashi’s mellow voice carries through the gym, tossing a ball into the cart.  His eyes drifted over towards his friend who had essentially sat out most of the practice.  Even after their little talk, Bokuto remained in his defeated state.  If anything, talking about it just made him feel worse.  He was forced to actually admit that he was heart broken, rather than just pushing it down in a state of denial.  But, the cherry on top that made everything worse?

Akaashi visibly took pity on him.

It made Bokuto feel so weak, seeing the underclassman look at him with sad, sorry eyes.  He wished that he could’ve just crawled up in a ball and disappeared.  He could handle his teammates being annoyed with him when he was out of it, but pity?  Bokuto had hung his head in shame with each passing word as Akaashi’s face grew sadder.  At the end of their break, Akaashi led Bokuto inside with a small “I’m sorry” as if that was going to make the elder’s pain go away.  He was allowed to practice, but just barely.  His sulking, no matter the cause, always threw off the flow of practice.

But, now, helping Akaashi take down the net, Bokuto was increasingly aware of your eyes on his back, watching his every move.  Why were you here?  What could you possibly have to say to him?  He wasn’t even sure if he wanted to talk to you in the first place.  You had broken his heart.  You didn’t deserve to try to explain yourself to him.  He should just shoulder past you and leave with his friends.  He should just go home and never speak to you again.  Nothing you could say was going to fix his heart and make everything better.  

Who was he kidding?

Of course he wanted to talk to you.  He wanted to get on his knees and beg for you to give him another chance.  Things could go back to how they were if that’s what you wanted, but he just wanted to have the opportunity to feel you in his arms one more time.  He wanted the feeling of your breath against his skin as you were nestled into his side, some cheesy movie playing on your laptop.  He wanted to send you memes and watch you discreetly check your phone in the middle of class, trying to hide your giggles, but giving him a little smile when you knew the teacher wasn’t going to catch you.  He missed all of his little interactions with you, but ever since you told him your real feelings, the two of you had been avoiding each other.  Passing one another in the halls led to eyes being immediately dropped to the floor, hoping the other didn’t notice your presence.  

He hated it.  He’d been through break ups before, but nothing had ever hurt as bad as this.  He didn’t even know what he did wrong.  What was so wrong about him that you were willing to do everything couples do, but not actually get into a relationship?  Why didn’t you love him?

Bokuto just wanted answers, but he could never bring himself to send that “can we talk?” text.  Maybe it was because he didn’t know what he would say if you did answer.  You would probably respond with a simple “about what bo?” and his mind would blank on everything he wanted you to know.  

But, you were the one who approached him as everyone started to leave the gym.  You kept your head down, shuffling your feet slightly.  There was a box in your hands and Bokuto could see the sleeve of his jacket hanging over the edge.  Oh. . .  She’s just bringing me my stuff.  This was really the end.  

“I- I thought you might want this stuff back,” you say, your voice barely audible.  Bokuto had to strain just to hear you.

“Oh. Thanks,” he muttered, taking the box from you.  The weight took him by surprise.  Had he really left this much shit at your house?  He did get a little forgetful at times, so he figured he shouldn’t be so surprised.  

“Well, have a nice night, Bokuto.”

Bokuto’s hand flies out to grab your wrist as you begin to walk away from him.  “Really?  That’s it?  You waited around for three hours just to give me a box of stuff and leave?”

“Yeah.  That’s all I wanted.”  He can’t remember the last time you had seemed this small.  You were usually so confident and never failed to stand out in a crowded room. But, this version of you, Bokuto was almost afraid to look away from you in fear that you might shrink into oblivion.  

“Y/N, come on.  Will you please just look at me?”

“I don’t have time to talk.  I need to go home.”  You wiggled out of his grasp and Bokuto was left to only stare at your retreating figure.  

His grip tightened on the edges of the box.  With a loud roar, he slammed the box to the ground, firmly kicking the cardboard container on its side, spilling the contents all over the gym floor.  His hands pulled at his hair as he sank down to the floor.  This isn’t fair.  This isn’t fair.  This isn’t fair! 

It wasn’t supposed to end like this. He wasn’t supposed to be missing you while you carried on not giving a shit about him.  He wasn’t supposed to have his heart ripped out of his chest all over again.  He wasn’t supposed to be sitting in the middle of the gym, surrounded by his things, watching his tears pool on the hardwood.  

He covered his face with his arms, letting the sleeve of his sweatshirt soak up the snot that always accompanied his sobs.  It wasn’t supposed to be like this.  He wouldn’t have ever spoken to you if he knew that this was how it was all going to end.  He was so stupid. What was he thinking?  Of course you didn’t feel the same way.  That would’ve been too easy.

A pair of sneakers squeak to a halt.  There’s shuffling and some soft thumps as things are put back into the cardboard box.  There’s a firm hand on his bicep as someone tries to pull Bokuto up from the floor.  “Jesus Christ . . .  Work with me a little, Bokuto,” Akaashi puffs, struggling to lift his friend.  

“Leave me alone . . .”

“We need to lock up.”

“I don’t care.”

“Okay, well, I do.  Cry outside.”  Akaashi finally managed to stand Bokuto up.  The newly packed box is shoved into his arms.  Bokuto feels a firm hand on his back, leading him out.  It doesn’t take him more than a few seconds to sink down on the concrete slab by the door.  Akaashi can only shake his head as he flips the lights off and pulls the doors shut, twisting the key in the lock and giving the handles a hard yank to make sure that everything is secured.  

Bokuto fully expects Akaashi to just walk off, “goodbye” being the only words exchanged.  So, when the setter takes a seat next to him, he’s caught off guard.  “I don’t want to talk. . .”

“Okay,” Akaashi states, reaching towards the box, shuffling through the items.  “You sure gave her a lot of stuff.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore.”

The younger boy just hums in response, taking the time to properly fold all of the clothes that had previously been haphazardly tossed in.  “Haven’t you been looking for this jacket?”

“Yeah.  She was cold during class, so I let her wear it.”  Bokuto rested his chin on his hand, staring up at the evening sky, his eyes finally starting to run dry.  “The sleeves were way too long, so she had to keep bunching them up, but they kept falling down and covering her hands.”  A small smile crept onto his lips.  You had looked really cute.  He kept conveniently leaving it at your house in hopes that you would wear it again.  You never did.

“Some of your school books are in here.”

“She lost her math book so she was borrowing mine and her chemistry book was missing some pages, so I traded with her.  Guess I need to give her her book back.”  He shrugged.  “I never used it anyway.”

Akaashi’s lips turned up in an amused smile.  “You really seemed to care about her a lot considering she was just your fuck buddy.” 

Bokuto almost objected to you being called his fuck buddy.  It seemed so lewd.  So wrong for what the two of you had, but Akaashi was right.  That’s all he was to you.  Your fuck buddy, nothing more.  “It’s whatever.  It doesn’t matter anymore anyway.”

“I don’t think that’s true.”

“You’re wrong.  She wouldn’t be giving me a box of my shit if any of it meant a thing to her.”

Akaashi sighed and got to his feet.  “There’s some interesting stuff in that box.  You might want to give it a look yourself.”  

“Can you not talk like a fortune cookie?”

“I’m just saying-”

“Well, don’t, man.  She doesn’t care about me.  I get it, okay?  You don’t have to lie and try to make me feel better.  It’s not helping.”  His fingers raked through his hair, a heavy sigh  escaping him.  “There’s nothing in that box that could make this better.  It’s over.  It’s over and I fucked everything up.  I should’ve just kept my big mouth shut and everything would have been fine.”

“You wouldn’t have been happy.”

“Do I look happy now?”

Akaashi shook his head and turned to leave.  “I have to go.  But, seriously, there’s something you probably want to look at.  I put it on top.”  He lifted his hand to wave goodbye as he walked away.

Bokuto couldn’t care less about what was in that box.  You could’ve kept everything for all he cared. Burned it.  Threw it away.  It didn’t matter to him.  He didn’t want it.  He couldn’t look at that jacket without seeing you drowning in the fabric, struggling to keep the sleeves up.  The textbooks would have your notes scribbled in the margins.  He didn’t want to see that.  How was he meant to get over you if everything he owned was now attached to you in some way?

But Akaashi’s words kept echoing in his head.  There’s something you probably want to look at. What could possibly be so interesting that Akaashi had pointed it out?  Bokuto scoffed a little.  It was probably nothing.  Probably just a picture or something.  But, it wouldn’t hurt to look, right?

He took a deep breath and looked into the box for the first time.  All of the clothes that he had let you borrow had been neatly folded.  His school books laid on the bottom next to a box of condoms that he had kept in your bedside drawer.  His extra phone charger.  A pair of headphones.  Copies of your prom photos.  The sneakers that he left because he had stepped in a puddle on the way to your house.  They got soaked so you offered to dry them while the two of you hung out.  He had just kept forgetting to take them home.  But, just like Akaashi said, the most interesting item sat on top.  A folded piece of lined paper with “Koutarou” scrawled across it in your script.  The o’s were little hearts.  Just as they always were when you wrote his name.  

With shaky hands, he took it from the box, unfolding it.  He didn’t want to read it.  He was sure that it wasn’t going to end well, but-

Koutarou, or Bokuto since I guess we aren’t on good terms anymore,

I want to apologize for what happened.  You caught me off guard and I didn’t take your feelings into consideration.  If I’m being honest, I didn’t exactly take my feelings into consideration either.  I told you what I had been telling myself for weeks.  That this wasn’t anything serious.  That this was just teenagers being dumb.  I kept trying to lie to myself.  I thought that maybe if I kept saying that this didn’t mean anything, my feelings for you would go away.  But, they didn’t.  No matter what I did, I kept thinking about you.  I liked spending time together.  Not just the sex stuff (don’t get me wrong, that was fun too), but just hanging out and watching Riverdale or laying in your bed talking.  I want more of that and I hate that I ruined everything for the both of us.  So, I’m sorry, Kou.  Really.  If I could take everything back, I would do it in a heartbeat.  I was scared to admit it to myself.  That I was really falling for you.  I know that this doesn’t make up for everything and I don’t deserve to have another chance.  I guess all this is just a really long-winded way to say that:

I think I’m in love with you too.

[connordavidscamera]

Love Notes | Connor Brashier

A/n: I would like to thank the person in the dorm next to me for inspiring this meet cute situation. *there might be a part 2 or a blurb to follow this because there is a specific part that isn’t in here that I promised Rina.

Summary: someone on your floor has been playing piano and you can’t not love it. (college!AU)

Warnings: none

Word count: 3.5k

***

It’s been one of those days. You know the one where you’re awake, you’re alive, but you can’t seem to focus on anything. You’re going through the motions, but you can’t sit still, can’t pay attention in your lecture, can’t get yourself to work on a homework assignment for more than five whole minutes. Yeah, it’s one of those. I’ve been alternating between scrolling through my phone and working on this five page essay that’s due Friday that I currently only have an introduction for. Well… if you consider two sentences an introduction. My professor definitely would not. 

I sigh and toss my phone on my bed, where it bounces and lands on the floor with a loud thud. I groan and run my hands over my face, maybe I just need caffeine. However, getting said caffeine would mean walking all the way across campus for a $5 cup from Starbucks that definitely would not keep me awake without a few extra espresso shots. It’s not worth it. But then again, maybe the walk outside would do me good. (Not that it did this morning when I was walking to class.) 

I’m grabbing my shoes from my closet when the first note fills the room. And then the second and the third. At first, I think I’m imagining it, maybe it’s coming from my computer, but then I remember that I didn’t have music on. The notes get faster, louder, almost more aggressive, like the person playing them is pushing harder on the keys. But it still sounds so pretty - I might be a little biased though because I’ve always been a sucker for piano. I’ve always wanted to learn how to play too, but I never had the chance to take classes.I stand there for a while, just listening. It’s so pretty, soothing. 

It takes me a minute too long to figure out what the song is, because every time I think I have it, I’m wrong. But it’s a popular song. Not new though. At least a few years old. One that was played on every radio station for months and months. Thinking Out Loud by Ed Sheeran, I finally decide. And that’s when the melody comes to me and I find myself humming along to it. And that’s when I realize that I’ve finally focused on something for more than a second. 

The notes continue to fill the room as I look over at my abandoned paper. Their fingers on the keys though, are slowing down just as I sit in my chair, convinced that if they just keep playing a little bit longer, I can get through maybe half of this essay. And much to my delight, they do keep playing once they finish the other song. It stops for just a moment though, probably to think of another one to play. This one I don’t recognize at all, but it’s soothing and while they continue to heat each beautiful, melodic note, I type away at my computer. 

My two sentences quickly become ten, then fifteen, then twenty, then thirty and I’m on a roll. Before I know it, I’m working my way down my third page and the playing still hasn’t stopped. To anyone else this is probably the most annoying thing to hear, because who in their right mind would be playing the piano for, I glance at my clock, an hour and fifteen minutes straight? And I definitely don’t have an answer. At least not right now. But I’m gonna find one. I close my laptop and shove my feet in the shoes I had taken out of my closet earlier. I don’t close my door completely when I step out of my room, knowing that I’ll go back in just as soon as I find the source of the notes. They get louder as I make my way down the hallway. I stop in front of the door where I’m 99.9% sure the music is coming from. Room 1327. 

Cautiously, I press my ear against the door and am once again met with the aggressive taps on the keyboard. I take in a deep breath and nod before heading quickly back to my room. I grab a stack of sticky notes from my desk and a sharpie. I scribble out a few words and then rush back out to the room. Half of me says not to do this. To leave it alone. But the other half of me says that whoever lives behind that door needs to be told that they play beautifully. Which is exactly what the note you stick on their door says. Just three simple words and a smiley face.

‘You play beautifully. :)’

And with that I go back to your room to grab my bag and keys, now in desperate need of that caffeine I was craving only an hour ago. I lock the door behind me and head to the main exit, opposite of what is going to easily become my favorite room, if they continue to play like they are now. I open the door to the closing notes of “The Scientist.”

When I come back, much later than I anticipated (but I guess that’s what happens when you go to the only open Starbucks on campus at eight at night, with an abundance of due dates fast approaching.) my eyes are threatening to close on me - despite the two extra espresso shots I added to my order. I don’t notice it until I’m at my door, key in the lock, that the music hasn’t stopped. And being the oh-so nosy person I am, I make my way down to the magical room 1327 and notice my note is missing. I smile softly and I hope - selfishly - that they play just long enough for me to fall asleep. 

I trudge back into my room and the first thing I notice is all the lights are on, which means my roommate, Tara, is back. She’s not a huge fan of the dark when alone, always keeping at least two of the lights on when I’m not in the room. She’s laying on her side, with her phone in her hand and her earphones in. I move farther into the room, turning off the bathroom light on my way to my desk. I set my bag on my chair and toss my keys on the smooth, although kinda crowded, desktop. She sits up, pulling her earphones out. “Hey.”

“Hey, sorry I’m back so late. Starbucks was packed. And then I ran into one of my friends and we got a bite to eat.”

“It’s okay. Do you hear that?” She asks quickly.

“Hear what?”

“The piano. Do you hear it?”

“Oh that? Yeah, they were playing before I left.”

“Yeah, well they’ve been playing for almost two hours now. Nonstop. It’s driving me crazy.”

I shrug and reach for a fresh pair of pajamas, “I don’t know. I think it sounds nice. I’m gonna go shower.” 

I don’t hear the music in the bathroom, but that’s definitely because I’m playing my own, needing something that could wake me up just enough for me to get through my shower without passing out from complete exhaustion. I’m disappointed to find that the notes are no longer filling the room when I get out of the bathroom. It’s strange, but I already kinda miss them.

---

Mystery piano person continues to play for the next week, sometimes repeating songs from the day before, but mostly playing new ones. I wonder if they knew these all previously or if they’re just learning as they go. Sometimes it’s hard to tell, but that could just depend on the difficulty of the song, I guess. I tug on the sleeves of my jacket, pulling it off my shoulders before going to my desk to write another note for the piano person. 

‘Still beautiful. But aren’t you scared your fingers will fall off with all that tapping? Lol :)’

I leave the room to put the note on their door when I notice one already there. I scrunch up my face. The one I left yesterday was already gone by the time I got back to the dorm last night, and it was written on an obnoxiously bright pink sticky note. This one, however, is blue. I don’t want to be nosy, but I can’t help but read it when I go to place mine. 

‘Thanks for the notes. Glad you like it. Have a favorite so far?’

I stare at the writing for a while, it’s scribbly, and small (half of the sticky note is left untouched), but legible enough. It’s  Part of me thinks I shouldn’t reply. Because if it’s not for me then that would be totally awkward. But if it is, it would be rude not to answer, right? I scurry back to my room to get a pen. I’ll answer, I decide. There’s no reason not to. 

‘Yellow - Coldplay’

The music stops on the other side and I quickly run back to my room, not wanting to get caught. Because sure this isn’t wrong or anything, but some part of it feels… intrusive. I hear the door opening just as I’m shutting mine and I so desperately want to peek out and see who mystery piano person is, but that would give me away as well. And even though we live on the same floor, I’ve hardly met anyone that wasn’t Tara and a few girls that lived down the hall, and I’m not quite ready for that yet. 

---

It goes on like this for another two weeks, passing notes back and forth. Him asking for feedback - I usually have none. He thinks I’m lying, says there’s always room for improvement. I tell him that since I don’t have a background in music, I have no room to judge. He asks if he can teach me. I tell him maybe someday. 

‘Okay Yellow, we’ve been at this for weeks. You gonna tell me your name yet?’

I smile at the nickname. 

‘Not today, piano man. Soon.’

‘Fine. But you know my room number. Can I have that at least?’

I think it over. It seems only fair that he knows that.

‘1320.’

The note is not on his door the next day. It’s on mine. But I don’t respond to this one. I don’t have time. 

And when I get back to my room later in the evening, the note was still there, untouched, unanswered. And even though I wanted to, I didn’t have the energy to respond. I was spent. It was one of the rougher days. One thing just piling on top of the other until it’s like that one chair that has all your clothes on it that’s not necessarily dirty, but you wore it for a few hours so it’s not clean enough to hang back up. You know the chair that becomes the biggest fucking inconvenience when you need to work at your desk so you have to throw all the clothes on your bed only to throw it back on the chair when you want to lay down. 

Yeah, my day was pretty much that chair. I woke up late thanks to my alarm that just didn’t go off? So I was running really late, and I had to sprint to my first class, and I was still late. Then when I went to get coffee, the line was long, and when I finally got my drink I had a total of two sips before someone bumped into me and I dropped the cup on the ground outside the building of my next class. Then there was a pop quiz in said class that I’m quite sure I failed because I don’t think our professor had even covered half of what was on that test. Then my phone died and in my rush to get to class, I left my charger in the dorm. And the cherry on top of this already melting sundae, I locked myself out of my room. I swore I had it when I was leaving, but as I retrace my steps, I remember leaving it right there on the bathroom counter. And it’s just my luck that Tara won’t be back until after midnight tonight because she’s closing at work. I let out a loud groan and take a seat across from my door, legs crossed in front of me. 

I know I should work on my homework that’s due at the end of the week (in literally just two days, actually) but my computer is on the verge of dying too, so there’s no point. I pull out the book I’ve had stuffed in my bag for days, in hopes of finding some time to read it. I guess with nothing to do for the next four and a half hours, I could read. 

I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting there, but I notice about ninety pages in that the familiar sound of piano man is not filling my ears. 

“Locked out?” Someone says, the first one that I’ve seen come down the hallway since I’ve been here actually. I knew this floor was pretty dead, but I didn’t ever notice that it was this dead. 

I chuckle bitterly, “Yeah. Just a little bit.”

“Is your roommate on their way?” 

I shake my head, “No, she won’t be back until late.”

“Did you call the RA on duty?”

I hold up my phone which rested beside me - habit, I guess, to take it out of my back pocket in case I get notifications, “Phone’s dead.”

“You can use mine, if you’d like.”

I shake my head, “No, it’s okay. Thank you.”

“Well, it’s cold out here. Why don’t you come to my room? You can charge your phone and get off this dusty floor that I don’t think has been cleaned since we got back from break,” he says light-heartedly. 

I can’t help but laugh, “You have a point there. Okay… sure. But I have to ask you something first.”

“Shoot,” he holds his hand out to help me off the ground.

“What’s your name?”

He looks down with an embarrassed smile on his face. “I’m Connor. And you are…?”

“Y/n.”

“Well, y/n. It’s nice to meet you. Uh, my room’s this way.” He takes the lead and I sling my bag over my shoulder. I think my heart stops when we get to his room. Room 1327. Fuck. 

He frowns for a second, looking from his door to mine just once before opening the door. “After you,” he pushes the door open and I smile sheepishly before entering. Sure enough, there’s a keyboard against the far wall, where the window overlooks campus. The odd number rooms definitely got the better views. I stand awkwardly near the wall, allowing him to walk through and set his stuff down. 

“You can sit down. Let me just, move some of this stuff real quick,” he takes his towel off his desk chair and takes his shoes from under the desk, throwing them carelessly to the corner. “Sorry, it’s a little bit messy. It’s laundry day tomorrow, so there’s shit everywhere. Please, sit.” He gestures to the chair and I do, setting my bag down next to me, leaning against one of the legs of the desk. “Do you want something to drink? I have water and… no that’s about it. I need to go grocery shopping, too.” He laughs. 

“Thanks, Connor. But I’m fine.” 

“Okay,” he nods, sitting down at the stool in front of the keyboard. “Oh! Charger,” he stands up and goes over to his nightstand. “May I?” he holds his hand out and I nod, handing him my phone from my back pocket. “Sorry, I’d plug it in over there, but that outlet is fucked. Hasn’t worked since I moved in here.”

“No, it’s fine, really.”

Slowly he makes his way back to the keyboard, facing me, away from the setting sun. I spare a glance behind him and notice the bright pink sticky notes that rest on the wall beside the window. They’re my notes, every single one of them. I clear my throat. “Um, I’m assuming you’re the one who’s been playing the past few weeks.”

He cringes, “Yeah, sorry about that. It’s just how I’ve been destressing recently. It’s probably been getting on everyone’s nerves.”

“Not everyone’s… you play beautifully.”

He doesn’t say anything for a second, and then clears his throat, looking down at his feet. “Uh, thanks.”

“How long have you been playing?”

“It’s actually a pretty recent hobby. My friend started teaching me like last March, I think. And then I started watching a lot of videos on YouTube and I got pretty good at it, I guess. I mean, I won’t be selling out any arenas or anything like that.”

I laugh softly, “Well, I would definitely buy a ticket.”

I swear I see his cheeks tint pink, “Do you play?” He asks, avoiding the compliment. 

“No,” I shake my head. “I’ve always wanted to learn, but I’m pretty sure I don’t have a musical bone in my body.”

“I don’t think that’s true.”

“Oh it is. I uh, I auditioned for my school musical in like fifth grade. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone cover their ears so quickly.” I laugh and his eyes crinkle at the sides as he tries his hardest not to. “It was definitely not one of my shining moments. Yeah, I told myself that day not to even think about starting a career in music.”

“Were you singing?”

I nod. 

“Okay, well singing isn’t playing. And if you ask me, the notes, the chords, that’s what makes the music, not the words. Although those are important too.”

“Can you sing?”

“My shower head hasn’t told me to stop yet.” he jokes. And when I laugh, genuinely this time, he just watches me for a minute. “So you like yellow,” he says, turning to face the keyboard.

“I’m sorry?”

“The song. You said it was your favorite one that I’ve played.”

I sigh, “What gave me away?”

“‘You play beautifully.’”

“Well, it��s true. However, my preference did change since you last asked me. And don’t think I haven’t noticed that you now play yellow at least twice every day.”

He’s really blushing now. “Gotta keep the audience happy.” His fingers press gently over the keys not settling on a melody yet. “What’s your new favorite then?”

“You played ‘happier’’ the other day. I’ve never heard it on piano like that. I really liked it.”

He nods and starts playing the opening notes to it. “Now, I told you I wasn’t a singer,” he looks back at me, “but I’ll try it just for my biggest fan.”

I roll my eyes, “Oh shut up.”

“‘When the morning comes and we see what we’ve become, in the cold light oh na na na na na na na na…’ definitely don’t know those words.” He smiles and I think my heart melts at the sight. “‘Every argument, every word we can’t take back. Cause with all that has happened, I think that we both know the way that this story ends.’”

He continues through the song, but doesn’t continue singing after the first chorus. I’m sitting here, watching his fingers dance across the keys like they were made for it. He moves his body with each note and I am absolutely mesmerized. I know I’ve always loved piano, but watching him do this makes me love it even more.

“God, you’re perfect.” I mutter when he’s done and immediately cover my mouth because holy fuck, I said that out loud. 

“Well, I wouldn’t say perfect.” He turns back to face me. “You’d have to get to know me more before you could make that assumption. And I can guarantee that you will not feel the same way after.”

I shake my head, covering my face with my hands. “I’m sorry. I really did not mean to say that out loud.”

“It’s cool,” he waves it off. “Although, I wasn’t kidding about getting to know me. Because I’d love to get to know you.”

I clear my throat, removing my hands from my face. “Well, I’m free right now,” I say, crossing one leg over the other, this newfound confidence foreign to me. 

“Can I take you to dinner? Or to get coffee, if you’ve already eaten.”

“Right now?”

“Why not? You said you’re free, right?”

I nod, “Yeah. Yeah.”

“Okay, then it’s a date.”

“A date?” I question with a raised eyebrow.

“First dates are usually meant to get to know each other, aren’t they? And hopefully this isn’t too forward. But I think I have an idea for our second one too.”

“Oh you do? Well someone’s optimistic.”

“Only when it counts. So, may I?”

“May you what?”

“May I, Connor,” he stands from his seat and holds his hand out to me, “take you, y/n, on a date? Right now?”

I bite the inside of my cheek, “Yeah,” I finally say, placing my hand in his, “Yes, you may.” He pulls me to my feet and we’re so close. He smells nice, clean, with just the slightest hint of cologne that I can’t quite place. But I know it’s easily becoming my favorite scent already. 

***

I hope you enjoyed reading!! Like, reblog and leave feedback!! Permanent tag: @soyalimoncada-blog @tinycertain @magcon7280 @daisyangei @devilmendes @babybrash @fallinallincurls @lovewithanattitude @sinceweremutual @myyohmyuohmyy @perfectly-mendess @enchantingbrowneyedgirl @baroness-alison @lostinmendess @linanilssonfurberg @luvluvxx @mariamuses @shawnieeboyy @divinginfearlessly @mendesficsxbombay @shawnsthighs @shawns-badreputation

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[larougie]

caffeine stains and library books

genre: college/coffee shop au

pairing(s): bang chan

word count: 3.2k

description: With college kicking your ass, what exactly are you meant to do, when you spill that fifth cup of coffee over that very. Very. Expensive textbook. Apparently he didn’t have any good ideas either.

Finals were going to be the death of you.

You were seriously considering the option of dropping out and just working in a supermarket for the rest of your life, and it had gotten to the point where breaking into the office for the test answers wasn't seeming like such a bad idea. You'd been renting a tiny studio apartment for the last two years, but the limited floor space was currently overtaken by piles and piles of notebooks and loose sheets of paper with rushed notes scribbled over them. Your old textbooks with folder corners and bashed ends were all stacked against the wall in a corner beside your bed, and you only took one out from the pile at a time. Those books were worth more than your life at this point, and you swore to yourself that you’d never lose them. But currently, the one book you were poring over wasn’t even yours. 

Eventually, you knew that the rent payments and college fees would catch up with you - especially considering your current lack of employment - but you had hoped that your bank account would hold out until after the final exams and until you could go job hunting in the summer break. As fate would have it, it was a little bitch, and you had no such luck. You had a few options before you had to start selling kidneys, but none of them seemed appealing and you simply just did not possess enough hours in the day. Of course, there was always one major expense on your debit card every month, but you weren't sure if you were ready to give that one up.

Turns out, you were perfectly content to use textbooks borrowed from the library and return them after the exams, as long as it meant that you didn’t have to stop going to the little cute coffee shop a few minutes off campus. You spent most days frequenting that cafe, sitting in the corner with your old laptop and the borrowed books, sipping on a coffee way too hot for your taste buds. Now, when you had called your best friend, asking for advice on what to do because you were about to lose your apartment, he had, of course offered the logical solution of - Stop spending so much money on coffee. 

But you had a dilemma. 

See, you told Minho that you studied in the corner of the cafe because the atmosphere was calm, it helped you focus, and to not buy a coffee would be incredibly rude, but he knows you very well. Too well, actually, it's quite terrifying sometimes. You definitely weren't going to the coffee shop to stare at the cute barista who had been working there for the past few months, that was definitely not why you were spending extra, unnecessary money on coffee. Or, that's what you tried to convince Minho of at least.

It wasn't a one sided infatuation though, and that was your saving grace in this situation. You'd been dropping into this specific cafe for about a year now, after trying all around the campus to find a decent cup of coffee that wasn't overloaded with sugar. Even before the barista boy had added himself into the mix, you knew that this was going to become a regular addiction, and his addition to the staff only cemented that fact. You really wish you had the guts to ask his name, because he already knows yours. However the universe worked, he always seemed to be working when you came in at random hours of the day, and he always seemed happy to take your order at the register. Give it a few weeks, and as soon as you entered the cafe through the small door, he was ringing up your coffee on the machines behind him. You were his “regular”, as the other staff members liked to tease him. 

Sometimes, when the cafe quiets down in the later hours of the evening, he’ll still be working and you’ll still be typing up that essay that was due in a few hours. He’ll put on some music from his phone, and put it into a small glass to amplify the sound so you could hear it. The first time he’d done it, he’d been constantly checking back at you to see if the volume was annoying you or if you were looking at him. To be honest, at first the music did distract you a little bit, but you were too enamoured with the way the boy danced quietly to the music as he cleaned down the tables to ask him to turn it off. 

Soon enough, most of the songs he played you had made their way onto your study playlist. You put your earbuds in and listened to the music as you studied in the cafe, and when the barista turned on his own playlist - only then would you remove them. He’d always catch you staring at him as the cafe began to empty, the unspoken question of “are you going to put your music on soon?”

You’d always turn bright red when he caught you staring, and look away so fast it should have given you whiplash. You figured that he never approached you about it because it was too awkward of a topic and you had made him feel too uncomfortable. The truth was, he did want to talk to you, but he had neither a reason nor the confidence to stroll up and strike a conversation. He had noticed that one of the textbooks you often dragged with you to the corner looked oddly familiar, but he guessed it was because he had taken that class as a junior last year, and shoved the thought to the back of his mind.

You were five or six cups of pure caffeine into the study session, and before you looked up you already could tell it was getting too dark for three pm. As you lifted your eyes from the screen in front of you for the first time in a while, and rolled your head back onto your shoulders, your wandering eyes caught sight of the time displayed on your laptop. Oh. Oh. The cafe is closed now. Had been for about twenty minutes. You turned your head quickly around the shop, looking for people and found no one. You wondered why no member of staff had come up to you yet asking you to kindly leave the building, but they all seemed to be preoccupied behind the kitchen doors. Seeing an ideal time for an unnoticed escape, you packed up all your things in record time, shoving them haphazardly into your bag and bolted out that door. The chime might have alerted the staff to someone leaving, but by the time anyone had made it to the front counter to see the door - you were long gone.

Pulling an all nighter was never a fun proposition, but you undertook the task more often than you’d like to admit. See, your reasoning behind that was Procrastination was key to a passing grade, and, yes, so far that certain theory hasn't failed you, but it was definitely taking a toll on your mental health. But, you dug your own grave, time to lie in it.

You take it back, you hate this. It's four am. What's the treble clef. Tchaikovsky is that you. All the notes are one big long line. Minho send assistance. 

Its official, university is going to kill you and tonight is the night you finally keel over. Rubbing your eyes you roll back the chair you've been curled up in and lift your arms to stretch over your head- 

Your hand hit something. Probably a pencil. Or that water bottle. You lifted one eyelid slowly, peering at the offending object. Oh the coffee mug, yeah that makes sense you don't drink water. The coffee mug that was now slowly pouring the cold brown liquid over the textbook that was open at the top of your desk. The textbook that you couldn’t afford to buy yourself because you were a broke college student and rent and living expenses took priority. 

It took a moment to register.

Oh no. oh christ, you had to return this back to the library in a few days - you couldn’t pay another late fee! The lady at the library desk really didn't like you, and always seemed to go out of her way to make you pay the full fee, despite you showing her your student ID multiple times. It was probably because you never returned books on time, but that was beside the point, isn't she meant to be understanding? You were a uni student for crying out loud, the stress. 

The point was, you had now completely destroyed a very, very expensive textbook that you didn’t have the money to replace - the words were bleeding into each other and slowly becoming illegible right before your eyes. The librarian was going to hang your head from the archway. You re-iterate, college was going to kill you. Just maybe, not in the way you expected.

Picking up the phone, you frantically press on the first contact you see.

“Minho?”

“Sup dumbass.”

“I’d bitch at you, but it's fitting for the situation, help me. Please.”

“... Who’s dead.”

“NO ONE’S DEAD I JUST- murdered a very expensive textbook that I don’t have the money to replace, and the librarian is signing my death warrant.”

Minho sucked in a breath from the other end of the phone. “Eesh y/n, you sure it wasn’t one of those loan-on-loan books from the last shelf?”

You press the phone between your shoulder and your ear, snagging the paper between your fingers and pulling the hard-bound book towards yourself. You pushed the pens and pencils out of your way and sent them scattering onto the floor in your haste, and flipped to the back of the cover to see the words On Student Loan.

“About that,” you mumbled, crumpling your head into your hands as the phone clattered to the desk beside you. You could hear Minho laughing on the other end, and you huffed to yourself. “I called you to give me advice, you horrible person, not to lauGH at my misery.”

“Okay okay I,” Minho tried to catch his breath, coughing slightly, “It's not the end of the world, is it? It's a Library book. Explain it to the lady at the desk, I’m sure she’ll understand.”

“Sure, Min. Thanks.”

“No problem, babes.”

“Ew no.”

“Whatever babes.”

You hung up the phone with a sigh, and let your head hit the desk again, before yelping as the wood left a red mark on your skin. It couldn’t have been just a normal library book? The universe has to hate you right now? No, instead it had to be one of those stupid textbooks that seniors lent to the library from past courses for the younger years to borrow. It was someone else’s book. That they had bought and studied from, and were expecting to get back from the library once the year was over. In the top corner of the stamp, the senior’s name who gave it to the library was printed - Bang Chan.

That was familiar, wasn’t it? You had heard that name being called out around somewhere, by a group of boys. You rattled your brain around, trying to think where you had heard that name before - you knew it sounded like you’d heard it before. In your lectures, on the roll? No, he was a senior and he wouldn’t be in any of your classes. Around on campus wouldn’t make any sense, you walked around with music on all the time, you couldn’t hear when people called your own name out, let alone anyone else’s. 

In the? Cafe? Possible. Very possible. Well, it's worth a shot, he could be a friend of someone who works there. 

What you planned to do once you had found this Bang Chan is beyond you, but you had a general idea of apologizing profusely, attempting to stutter out an explanation between that and tossing in a promise to repay him for destroying it but just not right then because you didn’t have money, hence why you can’t just buy your own textbook and not borrow ones from the library. Hopefully, he’d be a nice enough guy and won’t take your destruction of his music book to heart. Hopefully. 

So, come the next morning, you took one last long look at the destroyed pile of papers held together on your table - still waiting to wake up from this nightmare - and left your apartment with your bag swung over your shoulder. You locked the door behind you, and began the short walk into your first hour of lectures. 

You knew you couldn’t get to the cafe before two pm, but that didn’t stop you from checking the clock every few minutes to see if there was a chance you could dag out of the hall. Five past one turned into ten past two, and by the time your lecturer was finishing up her last slide you were already turning off your laptop and putting it away into your bag. 

Your heart was in your mouth as you walked slowly up to the cafe. You didn’t even know why you were so nervous, but you guessed it was just because of a guilty conscience. Pushing open the door slowly, you looked up from your shoes and instantly made eye contact with the one, the only. Barista boy. 

Great, this is going to be embarrassing. 

Swallowing your pride, and your slight disappointment that your first real conversation with the guy is going to be about looking to find another boy, you began to move up towards the counter where he was standing.

“Your usual?” He asked, with a small smile.

“I, uh. No actually, I was wondering. Do you know if - of, sorry, of. Do you know of a Bang Chan, by any chance? I think he studies music in my university.” Your hands were fumbling with each other in front of your hoodie.

The boy in front of you furrowed his brow slightly and tilted his head, stating “Present?”

Oh cool, you destroyed a cute barista boy’s textbook who is actually Chan, the guy you’ve been looking for is the guy you’ve been thirsting over. Great stuff. That's the end of you. Rip in pieces.

After that, you started blabbering out everything. Word vomit, and no stomach medication was stopping this. 

“Christ okay, this is gonna sound absolutely horrible, but did you lend one of your music theory textbooks to the library by any chance? Well, heh, of course you did, I have it and I was using it for a while - like for study not for anything else that would be weird - I’m a music major you see, and I - the textbooks are really expensive this year? And I just couldn't afford them with my rent as well but you obviously don’t care about that bit-”

He put up a hand to stop you, and you took a deep breath. Softly, he said, “Yeah, I remember I left some of my older textbooks in the library because I didn’t need them for notes anymore. Is there a problem with one of them?”

You stop. 

“Well, yes? Technically? But it's totally my fault - you see, a few night ago i kinda, totally on accident destroyed the book when I spilt coffee over it, and I’m so sorry, i really am and I promise I’ll find the money to repay you for the book, I just don’t have that kind of cash on me right now, I’m so sorry.”

Chan pursed his lips, looking at you with his head lifted up slightly. He chuckled softly. Oh boy he’s so mad, there went your chance at dating the cute barista boy, because newsflash he’s going to hate you for the rest of your life and, you looked again at his face. He was smiling now. The small lips had broken into a beaming smile that spread across his face like sunshine on a stupidly adorable field of flowers. 

“You know i've been waiting for a reason to talk to you for the last few weeks.”

His voice broke the rushing of your thoughts around your head, and you flipped your eyes up to meet his in shock.

“So now it kinda seems like you owe me a favour right?”

Words. Come on words.

“Uh, yeah i guess? I'll have the money for you as soon as possible. I promise I'm so sorry-” you stammered out, clearly confused by the situation but still extremely grateful that he was taking the news of his mutilated music book so well.

“It's okay! Seriously, I never used that thing anyway. But instead of paying me back for the book, how about we say you just - owe me a favour?”

Your bank account screamed at you to say yes, so you did.

“Uh, sure?”

When you said you'd owe him a favor, this isn’t what you had meant. 

“CHAN I'M GOING TO KILL YOU.”

He only laughs at your threats, running around the back of the sofa and tossing a pillow at your face to block your view. You bat it away in frustration, rejoining the chase, and your socks skid on the wooden flooring as you slide around the furniture in pursuit of your assailant. Chan runs into the bedroom and closes the door, you hot on his heels and you reach the door seconds after it clicks shut. As you slam open the door, and skid into the room, you stop in your tracks. You survey your surroundings, looking for any indication of where the menace could be hiding. The curtains twitch from the wind coming through the open window, and you shift your stance to face the billowing fabric. When your guard is down, he takes his chance. 

With a strangled battle cry, Chan leaps out from behind the door and tackles you down in one swift movement. You fall with an ungraceful yelp onto your bedsheets, banging your knee on the foot of the bed as you tumble into a heap. You land on your back, the breath knocked out of you as Chan sits triumphantly atop your legs, pinning them down. He smiles down at you like the angel that he is. 

Staring amusedly back up at him, you jerk your uninjured knee, flipping the two of you over so you were on top and he was staring up at you. You tilt your head, and smile at him like he had smiled at you, and the two of you break out into laughter.

“You made me hurt my knee.”

“I didn't make you do anything.”

“Wow, such care. Such emotion. Much love. Not even an offer to kiss it better.”

“I think i have a better idea.”

 Yeah, maybe this wasn't exactly what you had in mind, but by god, was it a million times better.

You still had that library book by the way. It was sitting underneath your desk, caffeine stains and all.

[quinnybee-writes]

Title: Fire Meet Gasoline

Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia/My Hero Academia

Rating: T+

Part: 6/?

Story Summary: A chance encounter between a villain and vigilante leads to an unwise deal made between unlikely allies; an unwise deal made between unlikely allies ends in a final stand neither would have ever dared to take on alone. Together, though, they just might have a fighting chance.

Part 6 Summary: Favor number two tests the patience of one and the mettle of another, leaving uncertainty about both in its wake.

Part 1 on  Tumblr / AO3

Part 2 on Tumblr / AO3

Part 3 on Tumblr / AO3

Part 4 on Tumblr / AO3

Part 5 on Tumblr / AO3

Part 6 on AO3

I swear to god if if I have to sit through one more meeting where I get voluntold to pick up another department’s slack in the same sentence as management trying to cut my intern’s hours I’m going to chug a two-liter of Surge and burp so loud I bring this whole mfer down with me.

Shouta stared at his phone, his sleep-addled brain trying to make sense of whether Yamada meant the text as a threat or not. He’d been catching a quick power nap in the back of his truck during his lunch hour and had been most of the way asleep when the rattle of his phone on the metal floor jolted him awake again. Not helping his attempt to dissect the meaningless hyperbole was Yamada’s follow up text of lmao it u along with a gif of a cat trying to jump from a bed to a dresser and falling halfway with the caption “parkour!”. He wouldn’t put it past Yamada to be the type to threaten in one breath and quote a meme in the next, but he couldn’t wrap his brain around why Yamada would be sending him incriminating evidence via text message during work hours.

Two new messages came in quick succession as Shouta was trying to puzzle things out.

Oh my god

Those were supposed to go to my sister holy shit

So not an admission or a threat, just an idiot with a cell phone. Shouta groaned, eyes rolling back in his head in disgust at how much energy he had wasted on taking Yamada seriously yet again.

forget it Shouta sent back.

Cute cat pic for ur trouble? Yamada replied along with a picture of a gangly black cat with bright yellow eyes. The cat was sprawled on its back in a pile of kibble and the shredded scraps of a cat food bag. Shouta snorted, grinning a little in spite of himself at the self-satisfied look on the cat’s fuzzy little face.

cute he texted, trying to distill as much exhaustion and disinterest into the single word as possible.

That’s Ai-chan. She’s a monster, but she’s my monster <3

So what are you up to? Break from work?

Shouta sighed, rubbing his temples. It was impossible to freeze out someone who was so willing to keep the conversation going without outside input.

trying to catch some sleep before afternoon deliveries Shouta replied as pointedly as he could.

Oof. Busy night?

do you need something? Shouta asked, stabbing the send key a little harder than he really needed to. There was a short, offended pause from Yamada’s end of the line; Shouta could picture him looking down at his phone with that little not-quite-pouting moue he always made when things weren’t going his way.

I guess not.

The curt punctuation seemed to signal Yamada had finally gotten the point, just in time to exhaust the last of Shouta’s free time before he had to get going again. Shouta put his phone into his pocket and made a point to not check it again until he was walking home. Waiting for him was another gif, this time of a pair of hands vigorously shaking a bottle of Surge, followed by a message that just said Oh goddammit. Shouta rolled his eyes and deleted the thread without replying.

The perceived slight only kept Yamada at bay for a short time, however. Now that he’d gotten a taste of the man’s texting habits Shouta had to wonder how Yamada managed to get anything done. No matter when his breaks were during the day it seemed like Yamada always had some new meme or gif or general workplace complaint to gift him with in the meantime, whether it was before dawn or after dark or occasionally both.

do you actually have a job or do they just pay you to bother me? Shouta finally asked as he waited at an interminable red light several days later. Yamada had been on a spree that morning, flooding his inbox with an illustrated play-by-play of Ai-chan’s newest misdoings while Shouta had four straight hours of back-to-back deliveries.

Excuse you, Yamada texted back loftily, I am an integral part of station management! Who occasionally may or may not take extra long bathroom breaks to avoid getting roped into being more integral than I already am.

my bad. clearly you’re just doing your part to prevent asahi radio from being razed via belch Shouta replied, snorting out a laugh before he could stop himself. He paused, frowning. That was both new and unwelcome.

Yamada sent back a long line of laugh-crying emojis followed by Look who grew a sense of humor just in time to drag me!

don’t act like you know me.

Yeah, yeah. Scout’s honor, I won’t tell anybody you’re actually funny.

Shouta scowled, dropping the phone onto the seat next to him and pulling through the light as it finally turned green. Despite the chilly weather he rolled his window down to get some airflow on his face. He hadn’t turned on the truck’s heater yet but his cheeks already felt way too warm.

Shouta spent his next day off drinking too much coffee at the cat cafe while he tried to reign in the chaos that his computer desktop had become. His phone buzzed on the table beside him and Shouta swiped in the passcode with one hand while the other was dragging a huge load of defunct backup files to his computer’s trash. He’d sooner walk into traffic than admit it to Yamada, but having a passcode on his phone was turning out to be less of an inefficient hassle that he’d always thought it would be and did make him less anxious about putting it places that weren’t his pocket or his hand.

As if waiting for the thought to cue him in, the alert was for yet another of Yamada’s early-morning memes. This time it was a gif of a kitten trying to stay awake before it wobbled and flopped out of frame. Yamada’s accompanying caption read That midweek feeling hitting hard today along with an emoji of a sleeping face with a snot bubble.

it’s monday Shouta texted back.

When you work 24/7 it’s always midweek, Yamada replied.

implying you work at all. still not convinced.

I resent that, Aizawa. It takes a lot of skill and determination to shovel this much shit and still have spare time to be a full-time pain in the ass.

Shouta almost allowed himself a laugh at that, but the air caught in his throat at Yamada’s next question.

So, do you do all of your important hero research on the public wifi at kitty cafes, or is today a special occasion?

What do you mean? Shouta asked warily.

Behind you.

Shouta turned slowly, dreading what he knew he was about to see. Yamada was standing on the sidewalk outside, grinning at him over the top of his cell phone. He gave Shouta a little wave before sauntering in and up to the counter. He chatted amiably with the baristas as they made his order. Shouta frowned to himself, trying to work out the quickest way to pack up his belongings while disturbing as few sleeping cats as possible. The moment came and went too quickly, however, as Yamada came over with two cups of coffee in his hands.

“Black with one sugar, right?” Yamada said. He slid one of the steaming mugs in front of Shouta. “That’s what they said anyway,” he added, nodding up towards the counter.

“What are you doing here?” Shouta asked coolly. Yamada frowned at him.

“I was on my way to the post office to mail a couple things and empty the station P.O. box and saw you in the window,” Yamada said. “I figured we could sit and chat since we both have a minute.”

“You just kind of assume you’re welcome wherever you decide to be, don’t you?” Shouta said.

Yamada snorted. “If that’s the worst thing someone tells me about myself today, I’ll count it as a win,” he replied, toasting Shouta with his coffee cup. He invited himself to sit down in the only chair not currently occupied by cats. “Wait, is that a spreadsheet with my name on it?” he added with sudden interest, arching his neck around to peek at Shouta’s screen. Shouta slammed the lid of his laptop shut, feeling his face heating.

“Do you need something?” Shouta asked, trying to redirect the conversation and get Yamada back on his way as quickly as possible.

“Just caffeine and conversation,” Yamada shrugged. “Is it illegal to ask someone about their day?”

“Implying you care about whether or not you’re doing something illegal,” Shouta replied curtly. To his annoyance Yamada just chuckled and shrugged.

“I mean, you’ve got me there,” he said. “So, what are you working on?” Yamada added, lowering his tone just slightly.

“Catching up on some things,” Shouta said, intentionally vague. “Organizing research. It takes longer when you’re doing it on your own.”

“I bet,” Yamada agreed. “Would probably save you some time and effort to have a permanent back door into places you’re not supposed to be, huh?” He said it with a too-even speculation that set Shouta instantly on edge.

“Sounds like you’re speaking from experience,” Shouta said.

“I know people who know things,” Yamada said with a broad, conspiratorial grin over his coffee mug. “Keeping your friends close and your enemies closer is a lot easier when you can tell which is which.”

Shouta felt a frisson of discomfort run up his spine at the implication of where Yamada considered him to be on that spectrum. “I think I liked it better when you were threatening me,” he muttered. “Don’t make more of that than there is,” he added quickly as Yamada’s smile grew cheeky and he opened his mouth to comment. Yamada did his annoying little not-quite-pouting pout and let out a quiet “hmph” at his joke being preempted.

“In any case, you probably don’t need me to tell you how to crack a secure password,” Yamada said. “Even when they’re clever they’re usually related to either the one who sets them or the thing they’re locking up, or they’re something pseudo-random cooked up by a number generator. Sometimes they get stupid-clever and try to do all three.”

“Mmn?” As bored as he was trying to sound, Shouta couldn’t help taking mental notes on what Yamada was saying. Yamada was a flippant trouble-maker from the word go but there were moments where he displayed actual talent for the things he claimed to be an expert in.

“Oh yeah,” Yamada said. “They’re trying for layers of security, but too many moving parts makes passwords way easier to out-think. Codes are only as smart as the people who write them, y’know?”

“And you know how smart they are?” Shouta asked, trying to keep his tone casual as he goaded Yamada into staying on a roll. Yamada caught his drift a little too well, however, and the sharp, meaningful grin came out again.

“I know people who know things,” he said again. “I’d be willing to let you in on a few trade secrets for the low, low price of a certain five-letter word beginning with ‘f’.”

Shouta snorted. “Hard pass.”

“Well, I tried,” Yamada said, shrugging. He checked the time on his phone and sighed. “That’s about my lot, I’m afraid. Gotta get back before the world ends.” He stood and stretched with a groan. “We should do this again sometime. Maybe talk less shop.” The offer seemed oddly genuine and Shouta wasn’t entirely sure how to feel about that.

He tried to get back to work after Yamada left, but his concentration had been thoroughly broken. He bought another coffee and turned on some neutral background music; his brain, however, was no longer in the mood to stare at a screen and try to riddle out what his new sub-folders should be called. Finally Shouta dislodged the many cats who had taken up residence in and around his lap and packed up his laptop to see if fresh air on the walk home and a change of venue might help get him back on task.

Shouta nudged his apartment door closed with his heel, scooping the mess of envelopes out of his mail bin. It was mostly the normal jumble of junk and bills, but amongst the shuffle was a thin white payroll envelope with his name and address on the front in too-familiar spidery handwriting. Just going to empty the station mailbox indeed, Shouta thought with a groan. Yamada was way too fond of theatrics. He tossed the envelope onto his sofa without opening it and delayed paying it any attention until he’d put everything away, showered, and had a lengthy play session with his cats. If it was unimportant enough for Yamada to not just hand it over when they were in the same room together, Shouta told himself, then there was no need for him to bend over backwards to pay attention to it the instant he got home.

Finally his excuses ran out and he tore the envelope open. Inside were two pieces of paper folded separately into sharp thirds. The first was a handwritten note on Asahi Radio letterhead that read:

Aizawa-

I need a favor. I have a line on something but doing it alone might be tricky. You’ll just be the go-between, nothing dire. Meet me Friday, 9pm sharp.

-M

Also included was another of Yamada’s meticulously notated hand-drawn maps, at the other end of which was a complex of storage units bordered on all sides by a spike-topped chain link fence. Shouta peered into the dark, abandoned-looking guard booth, wondering if the first step to tonight’s goings-on was having to find his own way inside.

“Hey, you made it!”

Shouta turned to see a dark-haired man slouching up towards him from the other end of the sidewalk. He eyed the man warily, about to say he had the wrong person, but stopped as he stepped into the light and raised his sunglasses with a smirk. Yamada had stuffed all of his hair under a short, spiky black wig and a black and green snapback, slicked down his mustache and covered it in a thin layer of skin-colored makeup to blend it in with his face, and buried himself in baggy jeans and a jacket that made him look both heavier-set and a few inches shorter than he actually was. The only things that gave him away were his sharp too-green eyes and his unmistakable grin, full of crafty smugness at Shouta’s open surprise at his appearance. Yamada did a full turnaround of the odd costume, ending the twirl with a dramatic pose.

“Not a bad look for me, huh?” he said, wiggling his eyebrows.

Shouta snorted. “You look like a washed-up pop star who’s trying to pretend he still has to avoid the paparazzi,” he replied flatly.

To his surprise Yamada let out a burst of full-throated laughter at the remark. Shouta wasn’t sure he’d ever heard Yamada laugh in genuine amusement before now, only the occasional mocking chuckle or triumphant snicker. He had a loud, whinnying kind of laugh that tapered off into short bursts of wheezy, hyena-like giggles behind his hand as he remembered himself and tried to tamp it down.

“Okay, cynical,” Yamada said, still coughing through the last of his laughing fit. “Everyone’s a critic.” He rolled his eyes and gave a flourishy “well, what are you gonna do” kind of shrug. Shouta scowled at him.

“What are we doing here?” Shouta asked, doing his best to ignore Yamada’s grandstanding despite the growing burn of annoyance creeping up his face.

“Just a quick jaunt into my evil lair,” Yamada said cheerfully. He punched an entry code into the number pad next to the guard house, then pressed his thumb to the scanner underneath. The keypad flashed green and beeped an affirmative, and a small portion of the gate swung inward. “C’mon,” Yamada said. He motioned for Shouta to follow him as he led the way through the rows of squat cinder block units to one in the very back left corner of the lot.

“People with money can afford secret basements and underground boltholes wherever they need them,” Yamada said over his shoulder as he bent down to unlock the door of the unit, “but the rest of us have to make do with what we’ve got.” He lifted the door just high enough for himself and Shouta to duck under, then set it back down with a clatter. The unit was pitch-black and humid inside and smelled like a mixture of burnt-out electrical parts, solder, and partially cured epoxy glue. “I’ll get the lights, one sec,” Yamada said. Shouta heard him scrabbling along the wall to find the light switch, then a click. A fluorescent shop light flickered and buzzed to life above them, flooding the unit in intense blue-white light. Yamada turned to Shouta and spread his hands wide. “Taa-daa! Welcome to the inner sanctum.”

It looked more like a high school shop room that had sublet space to a thrift store. The left wall had been covered in a cluster of flat-pack bookshelves, their shelves bowing under a jumble of storage boxes labeled things like “radio parts-LIVE”, “speaker wire”, “tape--sticky”, and “tape--magnetic”. The back wall was one long anchored shelf divided into slots that held overstuffed file folders bundled together with rubber bands and binder clips. The only wall not covered in shelving or projects was taken up with a butcher block work table and a cork board with scribbled notes and schematics pinned to it.

“Kind of rinky-dink, but it gets the job done,” Yamada said fondly. “Anyway. First things first, did you happen to wear the stab vest I gave you?” he asked over his shoulder as he ducked under the work table and retrieved a box marked with today’s date.

“Yeah.” The assurance that his part in tonight would be “nothing dire” had put Shouta on high enough alert that he’d forced himself to put pride aside and opt for personal safety instead.

“Thank god. So, basically what I need is for you to be my stand in while things get underway tonight,” Yamada said. “I’d go on my own, but the meeting place is kind of a...no-go area for me right now due to certain people who frequent it.”

“And you’d rather send me in looking like you instead?” Shouta asked, raising an eyebrow at him. Yamada stared at Shouta like he’d started speaking French.

“What? God, no, what gave you that idea?”

Shouta sighed, silently counting to ten in his head as his patience frayed. “You just said I’m supposed to be your stand in.”

“Oh. Okay, yeah, poor choice of words. Think stunt double, not body double,” Yamada explained. “I just need you to be a good-faith warm body, I’ll be handling the rest with this.” He reached into the box and pulled out something that looked like a cold weather mask had been extruded into a large funnel shape at the bottom edge. Shouta looked from it to Yamada, who was beaming in obvious self-pride.

“Which is…?” Shouta prompted.

“Which is your half of a two-way radio with a built in broadcasting speaker,” Yamada said, turning the top edge inside out to show Shouta the wiring and speakers sewn into it. “At first I thought maybe I could just have you memorize a script and I’d step in if things got too off-book, but you’re not very good at lying under pressure so I wasn’t sure that would fly,” he continued. Shouta wasn’t sure if that was meant as an insult or not. “So instead, we have this to work with. I can use this--” Yamada pulled up his sleeve to show a tiny microphone taped to the inside of his wrist-- “to talk to you or talk as you, depending, as long as I stay within ten or twelve feet of you at all times.” The last part he said in one of his uncomfortably accurate impressions of Shouta’s voice.

“And that’s why you’re dressed like that?” Shouta said.

“Exactly. I’ll have to be close enough to you that the receiver can pick up the signal, and it’ll be way easier to read the room if I’m, y’know, in the room.”

“If you were going to put on a costume and go anyway, why didn’t you just do that and go on your own?” Shouta asked.

Yamada frowned and waved a finger at him like he was scolding a child. “Eh-eh-eh. No questions asked, remember? You know as much as you need to know, and you don’t need to know any more than that. Now stand still so I can get you wired up.”

Shouta grudgingly stood with his arms straight out from his body as Yamada turned him into a human switchboard. With a combination of strategic placement and gaffer tape Yamada ran a long wire with an audio jack on one end and a battery connection on the other from Shouta’s waist up his left side to just under his collar bone. Another wire ran the length of his inner arm from shoulder to wrist and ended in a loop with a switch on it that fit over the first knuckle of his thumb. All he had to do, Yamada said as he taped it all down, was press the switch when he needed to talk to Yamada and let it go when he was finished. “Y’know,” Yamada said, “like those cheap walkie-talkies you used to play with as a kid.”

“I ended up making this a lot bigger at the bottom so that we can hide all of our crimes under it,” Yamada muttered as he slipped the mask over Shouta’s head. He was back in the extreme focus mode Shouta had seen him slip into before, attention laser-focused and the corner of his mouth between his teeth as he connected all the wires and power sources underneath. He pulled an earpiece up under the mask by its wire and stuck it in Shouta’s ear before reaching up to fuss with Shouta’s hair and make sure it was hiding everything sticking above the mask. Shouta shivered involuntarily at the touch, barely resisting the urge to pull away. “With the right top layer all of this should be more or less invisible,” Yamada went on, frowning appraisingly as he took a step back to examine his handiwork. He rummaged through a few things in the box and surfaced with a heavy black zippered jacket. “I had to guess sizes, but I think this one should be close enough.”

Yamada unzipped the jacket and held it out so that Shouta could shrug into it. Shouta eased the jacket on, trying not to disturb the network of wires all over him. Yamada zipped it up almost to the top, open enough to seem casual but still high enough to cover all but the face portion of the mask and its contents. It wasn’t a terrible fit other than being slightly short in the sleeves and restrictive around the shoulders. Shouta bent and twisted his arms, trying to stretch it out without doing damage to the electronic infrastructure. Yamada untied the audiojack end of the main wire from Shouta’s belt loop and stuck it into a small cheap-looking disposable cell phone.

“This should have enough battery to keep a recording of the whole thing,” Yamada said. “Can you give me a quick mic check to make sure everything’s hooked up?”

“Uh. Testing,” Shouta said.

Yamada seemed to like what he saw in the waveforms on the phone’s screen. He smiled in satisfaction before stretching a piece of tape around the back of the phone and carefully taping it into place in Shouta’s pocket. “If we head out right now we should get there early enough to do a few on-site checks,” Yamada said, checking the time. “Shall we?”

The two of them walked a few blocks from the storage unit to a cramped, dim little pub. Yamada walked at tailing distance behind Shouta the whole way, testing the range on the homemade gear by giving Shouta directions to where they were going. The audio was relatively clear if they stayed within Yamada’s estimation of ten or so feet; after they hit closer to the twelve-foot mark it got fainter and fainter until dropping out completely as they reached about fifteen feet. Again Shouta had to wonder why, if they were essentially going to be handcuffed to one another anyway, Yamada couldn’t have just gone undercover by himself.

“Grab a drink at the bar and go sit at one of the high-top tables,” Yamada said as Shouta opened the bar’s door and made his way in. “That’s where he’ll be expecting you.”

“Any advice on how to recognize whoever I’m supposed to be meeting?” Shouta muttered back under his breath.

“No idea, he said he would find you. That’s pretty standard for a meeting like this,” Yamada added before Shouta could protest. “Nobody wants to get jumped outside before negotiations even get underway. Think of it as a blind date, but nefarious.”

Shouta sighed loudly, making sure he hit the switch so that Yamada would hear him. Yamada’s never-ending supply of bad metaphors was the last thing he needed right now.

“Calm down, Aizawa,” Yamada said. “Remember, all you have to do is sit there and look pretty, I’ll handle the talking.” There was a short fizzle of static as Yamada entered the pub and made his way to a secluded booth in the back corner. “Still read me?”

“Yeah.”

“Excellent. What’s your poison?”

“Pardon?”

“Beer? Wine? Shot of whiskey to settle your nerves?”

“You really want alcohol anywhere near all this equipment?” Shouta asked, bewildered.

“It’s just for show, who goes into a bar and doesn’t order anything? You shouldn’t drink anything they serve here anyway, their bartending is a bad joke,” Yamada said dismissively. “I just need to test the audio output and make sure we’re good to go before the main event.”

“Then just do it,” Shouta said shortly. “Didn’t you just say you were going to handle all the talking?”

“Everyone’s a critic,” Yamada muttered again. His usual flippant chill had gained an undertone of cranky tenseness that was less than reassuring. “Can I get a bottle of Sapporo?” Yamada said aloud in Shouta’s voice. Shouta just managed to turn toward the bartender in time for the question to seem natural. The bartender, a smirking woman with long brown hair held back in a red ribbon, gave him an appraising once-over. She seemed to be unimpressed with what she saw.

“Sure,” the bartender said. She reached into a cooler under the counter and came back with the bottle of beer, popping the lid off before placing it on the bar in front of Shouta.

“Thanks,” Yamada said, far more cheerfully than Shouta had ever said the word. Shouta nodded his own thanks and went to go sit at one of the high tables in a cluster near the front. He drummed his heel on the bottom rung of the bar stool. The bar was basically empty and silent other than the bartender’s phone playing lo-fi swing music from a speaker dock behind the bar. Otherwise it was just Shouta and his undrinkable beer killing time.

“Ohshit.” The words came out as a single noise hissed violently in Shouta’s ear, making him jump.

“What?” he hissed back, avoiding the curious look the bartender was giving him.

“Remember how I said there were some people who made this place a no-go area because they want to kill me?” Yamada said, sounding like he was talking through his teeth.

“Yeah?”

“That’s them coming in. Don’t look at them! Have you never been undercover in your life?” Yamada whisper-shouted as Shouta turned to look over his shoulder at the door. Almost immediately he snapped his head back around, trying to be as casual as possible about pulling the jacket’s hood over his head as he saw Takeshiro and his wife coming in and sitting a few tables away.

“You know them?” Shouta asked, hopelessly hoping Yamada actually meant someone else who was still outside.

“Ye-ep,” Yamada said, distaste drawing the word out several syllables longer than it needed to be. “They’re still kind of sore about a certain scene in a certain alley you might be familiar with.” He scoffed, then hissed, “Wait, you know them?” as Shouta’s tone dawned on him.

The alleyway. Shapes in the dark played back in Shouta’s head, fuzzy from time and panic but falling into clearer place with the new context. A short, stringy figure barking orders and bailing when things got complicated; the other taller and stocky and silent with a plant-based Quirk protecting him. Shouta gritted his teeth, annoyed by how clear the connection seemed now that it was right in front of him.

“Takeshiro works on the night crew in package processing. Takes a lot of sick days now that I think of it. I’ve never actually spoken to his wife but I’ve seen her at office parties before,” he said quietly.

“His wife? Ew,” Yamada said.

“You’re telling me they’re villains?” Shouta asked, ignoring him. Yamada snorted.

“So-called. They work for an egomaniac middleman called Seguchi. Hebiko is Seguchi’s left hand, and Takeshiro’s hers.”

“What did you do to make them want to kill you?”

“Their boss did something stupid with information that wasn’t his and got busted. I had nothing to do with it,” Yamada retorted tartly.

“Right, sure,” Shouta said. “Is this going to be a problem?”

“Nah, shouldn’t be,” Yamada said, though he didn’t sound entirely convinced. “This is why I planned things this way. No reason to bail out before anything happens.” Shouta was about to protest that it made a lot more sense to leave before there was a problem rather than scrambling when they were in trouble, but Yamada spoke first. “Heads up, you’ve got company.”

“So you’re Null.”

Shouta turned to see a lanky man with brownish hair and a narrow, rattish face standing slouched behind him with his hands stuffed into the pockets of his grubby jeans.

“Potentially,” Yamada replied. “You’re Raimaru?” His impression of Shouta’s voice was dead-on, which was bad enough on its own, but there was something just slightly off about his intonation that made Shouta’s skin crawl.

“That’s what they call me,” the man said. ”Getcha a refill while we talk?” he added, nodding at Shouta’s obviously untouched beer.

“I’m fine, thanks.” Shouta fiddled with the neck of the bottle to make it seem less like a static prop on the table in front of him. Even if Yamada had been against the idea of giving him a script to follow, some guidance on what to do in general might have been nice. He felt stiff and awkward, like a puppet whose puppeteer only had a vague idea of how natural movements worked.

“Suit yourself,” Raimaru shrugged. He ambled off to talk to the bartender, seeming to be doing his best to chat her up as she mixed his drink.

“‘Null’?” Shouta muttered to Yamada.

“Short for ‘nullify’, like your Quirk. Get it?” When Shouta just sighed in reply, Yamada added defensively, “Well, I had to call you something, didn’t I?”

“Did you?”

“What did you want me to say, ‘oh by the by you’ll be meeting my friend Shouta Aizawa, he’s thirty, single, a Scorpio, and lives in a single-occupancy uptown with three cats’?” Yamada retorted.

He technically had a point and Shouta hated that the most out of all the things he hated about this evening so far. Yamada had no time to gloat over the win, however, as Raimaru came back and dropped onto the stool across from Shouta.

“Kind of a hassle, having to be the face of cleaning up all of your boss’s bad behavior, huh? From what I’ve heard he’s got plenty to go around,” Raimaru said. Shouta privately agreed with the sentiment, but Yamada snorted instead.

“I get paid to go where I’m told, not to pass judgements,” Yamada replied stiffly. Shouta resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the defensive bluster. Raimaru laughed for him.

“I dunno about that. There’s plenty of judgement to go around if you want some,” Raimaru said. “Seems like the only books he can get into these days are peoples’ bad ones.”

“You think he gives a damn about anyone’s books other than his own?”

“I’m just saying I know a glorywhore when I see one. He spends all of his time making deals and playing nice and then suddenly people higher than him start going to jail,” Raimaru said. “Happened to Fukawa, happened to Seguchi, happened to Iwata. Hell, everyone knows he snitched and got Hanajima back in the day but Hanajima got shanked in prison and all his men scattered so nobody talks about him anymore.”

Shouta squirrelled the names away to research later, though other than those names Raimaru had said precious little to convince him that he knew much of anything besides Yamada’s surface reputation. So far his assertions had been vague at best and his “work, am I right?” tone was suspiciously chummy, like he was trying to nudge “Null” into letting something incriminating slip out.

“Why is any of this relevant?” Yamada asked. He sounded equally short on patience with Raimaru’s unsubtle attempts at currying favor. Raimaru gave a slightly passive-aggressive shrug.

“There’s a storm coming. A big one, one that’s gonna hit hard and rewrite a lot of rules about who’s in charge and who’s got a boot on their necks. You’re not gonna be in a great spot if you’re working for the Bird, so I thought you’d wanna know there’s better options,” he said. It was the first thing he’d said that sounded like he actually knew what he was talking about and it was not a reassuring change. Yamada, however, seemed unfazed.

“What, some new jumped-up ‘super’ villain with big plans for a criminal utopia?” Yamada said, unimpressed. “Seen ‘em come, seen ‘em go, nothing of value was lost. You asked me to come here because you had something valuable you wanted to trade. Is that still the case, or should I head out and stick you with the tab for wasting my time?”

“So, that’s a ‘no’ from you?” Raimaru asked, still grinning like someone had wired the corners of his mouth behind his ears.

“I didn’t hear a question being asked, but…” All of a sudden Yamada’s voice trailed off in a fizzle of static. Shouta tensed. He glanced out of the corner of his eye at Yamada, who met his eye with a look that was not quite panic but was very, very close to it. Yamada tapped his ear questioningly. Shouta twitched his head to the side in a negative. He saw Yamada mouth “Shit!” before his attention snapped back to the problem in front of him as Raimaru let out a short chuckle.

“Never a good idea to use radio signals around me,” Raimaru said smugly. “They usually end up a little...dead.” He casually brought the hand that had been under the table to rest on its surface. It was holding a large pocket knife, which he casually flicked open and closed as he spoke. All of the plastic had been stripped off of the knife, leaving behind just the blades and metal guts holding them together. As Shouta eyed it, the blade began to glow a smokey orange around Raimaru’s fingertips.

“I think we’re done here,” Shouta said, trying to match the off-cadence way Yamada had been using his voice all night.

This only seemed to egg Raimaru on, however, as he cranked his Quirk up another notch. Shouta felt a static prickling like the kind before a huge lightning strike setting the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck on end. A tinny shrilling feedback noise whined through his earpiece, making him jolt and hiss in sudden pain. Shouta gritted his teeth and set his own Quirk on Raimaru instead. A hasty decision, it turned out, as a sudden crash of noise hit him all at once. Yamada’s voice half-shouting in his ear was interlaced with loud snaps of static as the equipment reconnected. Shouta winced at the onslaught, clapping a hand to his ear before he could stop himself. The moment of distraction was all Raimaru needed.

“So the Bird’s doggy wants to bark, huh?” In one fluid motion Raimaru threw what was left in his glass in Shouta’s eyes and hooked a foot under the bottom rung of Shouta’s stool, yanking it from under him. Shouta toppled to the floor, landing hard on his ass and elbows as he futilely tried to catch himself as he fell. He blinked hard, tears streaming as his eyes burned with whatever had been in that glass. Raimaru grabbed him by the front of his shirt and dragged him partially upright.

“Things could have gone better for you, but it looks like the Bird just likes making things difficult,” Raimaru said.

Shouta dug his fingers into Raimaru’s wrist, trying to wrestle himself free. Raimaru smirked, a violent shock sparking off of his skin and into Shouta’s arm. Shouta let out a bark of agony as his entire arm below the shoulder seized and went numb. Someone else’s hand, large and thick-fingered, ripped his back by the forearm, twisting his hand back and up between his shoulder blades. Shouta stiffened. He hadn’t heard Takeshiro or his wife approaching during the scuffle but it was obvious now they had him surrounded. He thought of the alley and the way they had closed ranks around Yamada, accounting for every avenue of escape except for a one-in-a-million outside intervention. Shouta darted a look over to Yamada. Their eyes met for a split second that lasted an eon. Yamada’s eyes were wide and his face had gone deathly pale as he took in the scene in front of him. He was frozen half in motion, caught between breaking cover to come help and his desire to steer clear of Takeshiro and Hebiko. Shouta’s stomach sank as Yamada dropped his gaze, hunching in on himself and pulling his hat down farther to hide his face.

“Last chance, doggy,” Raimaru said. “That signal was too weak to come from very far away. Point us in the right direction and we’ll let you go, no hard feelings. Otherwise we send you back to your master in pieces.”

He leaned in as he threatened, and Shouta took the opportunity to show him how close was too close. Shouta reared back, then rammed his forehead into Raimaru’s nose at full force. As Raimaru reeled back, Shouta slammed himself back into Takeshiro, sending the man spine-first into the edge of a table. Takeshiro grunted in pain and Shouta twisted away from his grasp as Takeshiro tried to catch himself. Raimaru sank his fist into Shouta’s stomach, knocking the wind out of him, but Shouta managed to activate his Quirk again before Raimaru could shock him. Shouta retaliated with a sharp hook, jamming his fist into Raimaru’s solar plexus with as much force as he could muster. As Raimaru doubled over Shouta grabbed a fistful of his hair and slammed him face-first into the table.

“All right, ENOUGH!” the bartender yelled. She was floating above the bar with a warning look on her face, a thin metal pipe leveled at Shouta’s head. Shouta looked from her to Takeshiro and Hebiko, who had backed off behind their table again, to Raimaru, who was staring up from under his hand with undisguised disgust as he bled onto the table. Shouta took a moment to catch his breath, then released Raimaru. Not bothering to see if Yamada would follow, Shouta took the moment of peace to walk out of the bar.

The night air was cold and made his face feel closed in and sticky under the mask. Shouta jerked it down under his chin, sucking in a hard breath. The adrenaline in his veins felt like a cloying, choking compulsion to just run, escape, flee as fast as he could in any direction that would count as away. His lungs burned nearly as badly as his eyes, every new breath feeling like a sharp stab in the chest. A strange itching slightly farther down his abdomen joined the pain in his chest as he half-sprinted down the sidewalk. Shouta looked down and froze mid-step. The bare metal handle of Raimaru’s knife stuck out of his stomach at an almost perfect perpendicular angle, jammed in so far that the tip was pressing the rough kevlar of his stab vest against his flesh.

“Ho-ly shit that was a whole bunch of something.” Shouta didn’t look up from the knife almost in his gut as Yamada’s voice crowed out behind him. He felt Yamada digging in his pocket and retrieving the cell phone. “Could have gone better for sure, but also could have gone worse.” Yamada gave Shouta a cheery smack on the shoulder. “You and I make a pretty good team, huh? C’mon, let’s go find a nicer place to grab a bite and hang out until things die down.”

He paused like he fully expected Shouta to agree and follow after him, but Shouta was barely listening. His mind was still trying to process the knife handle sticking out of his stomach. The night “could have gone worse”? Raimaru had almost made good on the threat to send Shouta home in pieces while Yamada cowered in a corner booth, more worried about being seen than being helpful, and Yamada was congratulating himself for a job well done.

“Aizawa? Earth to Aizawa? Hey, are you okay? You’re shaking.” There was a note of real concern in Yamada’s voice as he reached out a hand to steady the trembling in Shouta’s body.

The idea of Yamada making any kind of physical contact snapped the last bit of sane civility Shouta had left in him. True fury, hot and fast and scraped raw by everything that was running through Shouta’s head, boiled over in his chest. He swung wildly at Yamada, hoping to make contact but hoping more just to fend him off as violently as possible. Yamada yelped and jumped backwards, hands coming up to protect himself.

“Whoa! What the hell--?” Yamada began, but Shouta was already swinging again. He wanted to make Yamada bleed, make him feel even half as agonized and afraid as he did right now. Yamada stumbled away from him, eyes wide in shock and confusion. His back hit the brick wall of a building and Shouta got right up in his face, Quirk blazing and teeth bared in a hateful snarl as he spoke.

“Let me be clear with this, so maybe you’ll hear it over the sound of your own voice,” Shouta said between clenched teeth. “We are not partners. We do not make a good team. We are sure as fuck not friends who hang out. You are a problem in my life that I am trying to solve. Get that through your thick skull and stop acting like we’re in this together.” He pulled the knife out and threw it violently at Yamada’s feet before turning on his heel and striding away as fast as his legs could carry him.

As soon as he staggered into his apartment and secured every lock and deadbolt on his door Shouta stripped down, dumping everything he’d been wearing in a heap in the entryway. Ignoring his cats’ cries for attention, Shouta went straight to the bathroom and ran the shower as hot as he could stand it. He could feel himself shaking now, the dregs of adrenaline making his legs weak rather than holding him up any longer. He sat down in his tub with the scalding water beating against his back, arms wrapped around himself. He looked down and saw a long irritated scratch rising on his stomach where the knife had dragged against him through the vest. Shouta let out a long, unsteady breath and closed his eyes. He’d been a vigilante for long enough to know that it meant going without any kind of help when things went from bad to worse to potentially lethal; until now not even his worst cases had shaken him like this. But those times he’d known the risk going in and taking it on had been his choice, which made all the difference. Yamada had known, though. Yamada had known they should have bailed as soon as their worst case scenario walked in the pub’s doors and he’d used Shouta as a human shield to try to get what he wanted anyway. Shouta gritted his teeth, nails digging into his palms as his hands balled into fists. He shouldn’t have expected anything less from someone like Yamada.

Never again, Shouta thought as he roughly toweled off. Yamada could keep his favors and his trade secrets and all the rest of it. He’d need all the help he could get, because as far as Shouta was concerned Yamada was on his own from this moment on.

[kisskissbanggang]

Distracted

[~2K Words -- Jaehyun x Female Reader -- Minimal plot, All Smut -- Minor voyeurism, exhibitionism w/a surprise guest star 👀]

[All sort of adventurous and spontaneous Jaehyun for Anons💕💕💕]

You trotted after Jaehyun as he ran into your kitchen to grab a cup of coffee. He already missed his alarm this morning after how late you kept him up last night, but if he hurried he could still get to work five minutes early. He would've been annoyed when you hopped on the counter and pulled him over, your finger hooked into his belt, but he loved how you looked in just the hoodie you stole from him three weeks ago, some panties, and a pair of fuzzy socks. "No, no, no," he laughed, lunging away to grab at the coffee pot, but you wrapped your ankles around him and trapped him, "no, no, stop, you're cute and I hate it; I'm going to kill you if I'm late."

You lightly raked your nails down his chest. "Are you sure we can't hang out a little longer? I'm going to be so lonely without you." You pouted for effect, knowing he couldn't resist.

Jaehyun sighed loudly in exasperation, smitten with you but also mad at the bulge forming in his jeans. "What's with you lately? I can hardly keep up."

You shrugged, your nails on his chest digging in a little harder. "Hormones? Or I'm just really into you right now; more than usual." Jaehyun finally reached the coffee pot and filled up his travel mug, ready to make a swift escape. He kissed your cheek, screwed the lid onto his mug, and poked you in the ticklish spot on your ribs. You shrieked, letting your guard down to flail and kick him off. Jaehyun laughed and sprinted for the door, but you caught up to him. You spun him around, playfully slamming him against the door and taking advantage of his busy hands, his mug in one and his phone and keys in the other.

Jaehyun let his shoulders and head fall back against the door; all he could do was watch. "No, no, no," he was still laughing, "come on, yes, you're so hot right now, I'd love to, but I have to catch a train." He groaned as you wrenched his belt buckle undone, wrestling his jeans down and getting his hard cock in your impatient mouth. You took him all the way down to the base, making him moan loudly. He surrendered.

"Hurry up, hurry up, hurry up," he moaned. He slipped his phone and keys into his pocket so he could grab a fistful of your hair. You made quick work of him, alternating between sucking him into your throat and jerking him in both your hands. Soon enough he was changing his tune, tugging on your hair to get you to ease up.

"Slow down, slow down, slow down," he begged, but it was too late. You moaned, looking up at him through your eyelashes as you hungrily swallowed his cum. You stood up, wiping your mouth as he caught his breath. "Alright," he gasped, "I don't know how, yet, but I'll get you for this." Jaehyun gave you a peck on the cheek, a slap on your butt, and was out the door, his face still flushed and his belt still unbuckled.

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You slouched back on the chair at your desk, your right foot angling on top of the hard wood surface to hit a better angle with your favorite vibrator. You savored the pulsing vibrations as you browsed for more porn on your laptop before landing on something -- a tried and true favorite, one of the few straight pairings you liked, with the ridiculously ripped and vapid guy secretly fooling around with his vuluptuous lady under the covers of his bed right by his roommates. Jaehyun had been right; you'd been hornier than usual lately, but you were trying to keep up. You'd taken to masturbating multiple times a day when he wasn't around, and you weren't expecting him for a couple more hours today. You let your head fall back right before you hit your orgasm, then letting the natural clench in your body as it washed over you curl you forward. You enjoyed the pleasant headrush as you rode out your orgasm and got up to clean off your toy. You turned to walk to the bathroom, gasping and dropping your toy as you saw Jaehyun blushing in your bedroom door, his ears bright pink. You hadn't been dating terribly long yet, and this was definitely the first time he caught you.

You wanted to say something. So did Jaehyun. You both stammered, turning away from each other as you died of inexplicable embarrassment. You finally faced him.

"You're early," you said.

"I took a long lunch to come see you. I wanted to take you to the cafe down the street. Should I text you before I let myself in? I figured if I had a key now--"

"How much did you see?"

"Nothing I haven't seen before."

You nodded, quickly throwing on some clothes and fixing your hair. "Was it at least sexy?" You asked him, smiling as you kissed his blushing ears.

"Very." He offered you his arm before leading you downstairs.

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Though you found Jaehyun to be the actual prince of your dreams, you were still glad his roommate wasn't home, considering your fear of his presence being distracting. Jaehyun had lived with Johnny long before you began dating and they were best friends, so it was easy to feel intimidated by his good looks, rather than just charmed. You rested in Jae's bed, peeking through his journal and the books on the nightstand as you tried to become tired. You looked across the floor at Johnny's side of the room, wondering what Jaehyun would have to do to get a place of his own, or at least a place with his own room. You heard Jaehyun finish in the shower, just as you also heard the unexpected sound of the front door opening. Reflexively, you switched off the lamp on the nightstand, hiding yourself in the dark. You considered locking the bedroom door. You considered throwing on clothes or at least some panties. Instead, you froze, the sheets up around your chin.

The boys were talking in the hallway. Apparently Johnny volunteered for an extra shift early in the morning so he got off work sooner to come home and rest. Jaehyun softly padded into the room, wearing only boxers and a towel. You heard the shower turn back on down the hall; it must be Johnny's turn. Jaehyun crawled into bed with you, curling you up to his chest to spoon you.

"Johnny's back early," he murmured into your hair.

"I heard. He has work in the morning?"

"Or he got my text saying that you were coming over tonight-- ow!" Jaehyun yelped as you playfully jabbed him in the ribs. He responded by tickling your own ribs, combatting your struggling by pulling you closer. One arm snaked around your chest, the other closed in around your tummy. Soon, Jaehyun's hand wandered down between your legs, firmly cupping the warm skin there. You wriggled, careful to be quiet as you twisted in his grip.

"Jae! Johnny will be back any second," you laughed, gasping as Jaehyun began to rub you.

"I know. I wasn't kidding about the text. But for all he knows we're just sleeping."

"Wait, are you kidding?"

"Who knows? I said I'd get back at you." With that, Jaehyun punctuated his remark by finding your clit and circling the sensitive nub with his fingers. Your body jerked at the touch, instantly riled up. You suddenly weren't worried about Johnny being around, you were just worried about keeping quiet. Jaehyun rubbed your soaking pussy from behind you, occasionally pushing his fingers deep into you and pumping hard. You squirmed at his touch, surprised with how commanding he could feel.

You froze, petrified as you heard the shower turn off. You started batting Jaehyun off of you, but he wouldn't let up right away. Once you were thoroughly nervous he pulled out of you, keeping his proximity. He quickly kissed you, smiling evilly as he gently pried open your lips to momentarily lick his tongue against yours. You were sure you were done playing, but Jaehyun wasn't.

"I saw what you were watching the other day. I liked it," he whispered in your ear, "You obviously did as well. I thought this would be a nice surprise." You were mortified, but couldn't deny that the idea excited you.

Johnny opened the door, dressed only in a pair of sweats, his hair still damp as he climbed into bed. "G'night, guys," Johnny said, immediately rolling onto his side and slipping in his earbuds to listen to some music.

"Goodnight," Jaehyun replied. You weren't even sure if you followed suit or just thought it. Jaehyun reached for his phone, opening his white noise app. You quickly realized he was giving you the illusion that you even had a chance of not being heard if he started teasing you again.

And he did. Jaehyun immediately dove back into you, nibbling on your neck as he fondled your breasts. You attempted to get him to slow down, but to no success. You thought you heard Johnny rustle in his sleep, but you quickly brushed the thought aside, startled as you noticed Jaehyun kissing further down your torso, crawling further under the sheets. As flustered as you were, you still eagerly spread your legs as Jae settled himself between them. He left a trail of soft kisses down your hip, running down the slope of your thigh and nudging closer to your pussy. You shivered, trying desperately not to moan out loud.

You squinted across the room, the meager moonlight streaming in through the blinds making it look like Johnny rustled in his sleep again. Absent-mindedly, you curled your fingers in Jaehyun's hair as he finally ran his hot tongue over your spread pussy. Your hips bucked, your back arching as you struggled not to moan. Johnny's headphones would block out a fair bit of noise, but certainly not all the noise you wanted to make.

"Jae, okay, you made your point," you whispered harshly, unable to decide if you wanted to pull away or grind yourself against Jaehyun's tongue, "I'm sorry I made you late the other day, baby, I won't do it again." You wriggled, desperate to either get him to stop or get him to lick you harder.

"You definitely won't anytime soon," you heard him whisper from beneath the sheets, "but I'm sure you won't learn your lesson until I make you cum." You were surprised by this side of Jae, but excited to see how this would go. He absolutely loved eating you out, getting sloppy and making you wriggle even when he wasn't doing it with an agenda. Even so, this time he was ravenous, his tongue hitting you in every way you liked it.

This time, you were sure you heard Johnny, though you were thoroughly curious when it sounded like he groaned from his side of the room. Though you were struggling to stay quiet, he could probably hear you over his headphones, and definitely if he took them out. You were tempted to be louder, bolstered by the idea of Johnny getting turned on listening to you two. You had your chance, letting out a full moan as Jaehyun slipped his fingers into your wet depths. He quickly fumbled, finding your panties from earlier and reaching up to stuff them in your mouth. You were sure you heard Johnny quietly curse to himself.

Jaehyun pumped his fingers in you harder as he hungrily nibbled and licked at your pussy. He groaned as you clenched your fingers in his hair, your orgasm coming up fast. Keeping a firm hold on his hair, you couldn't stop yourself from grinding on his tongue, hushed moans and squeals escaping around the panties in your mouth. Jaehyun grabbed your hands, pulling your wrists into his grip to hold you down as you finally came, your back arching hard as you let out a muffled scream, but Jae didn't stop there. He kept going, licking you through your orgasm until you were nearly crying for him to stop. Once your overstimulation wound down a little, Jae finally let you breathe. He climbed back up next to you, pulling you close.

"Alright, you can take a break for now. Then it's my turn." Jaehyun kissed your neck and hugged you close as you caught your breath. You laughed, taking your panties and slingshotting them across the room to land on Johnny's chest. He also looked out of breath from what you could see in the dim moonlight. He grumbled, rolling over, but not giving up the panties. You liked this new side of Jaehyun. Maybe now you'd have to keep up with each other.

💋♥️💋♥️💋♥️💋♥️💋♥️💋♥️💋♥️💋

[ambssssssssss]

Don’t You Wanna Stay?

Fluffy Juliantina one-shot! 

Also read on AO3

Julian pulls her bottom lip between her teeth as she watches her girlfriend. They’re sitting on the couch in Val’s loft, Juliana with her back against the arm, knees bent and toes tucked beneath Val’s thigh where she had wiggled them earlier when they got cold. Her sketchbook is balanced on her thighs, a draft of her latest design slowly coming together over a likeness of the girl sitting next to her. Valentina has her laptop in her lap, her feet propped up on the coffee table and fingers moving quickly over the keys. They’d been sitting quietly together for the most part, each working on their own project with Netflix playing FRIENDS in the background as a kind of white noise as they work.

She loves these quiet moments with Valentina. They had been so few and far between they first got together, their moments ruined by family and cartels and so much pain. Sometimes Juliana was still surprised they had made it through so much, looked defeat and heartbreak and death in the eyes so many times only to finally come together in the end. The memories of the world trying to keep them apart make Juliana cherish the time she has with Valentina even more. She knows she almost lost her chance at having days like this. Days where it was just her and her love, enjoying the mundaneness of life together. Days where they can just be together without worrying about the outside world, just enjoying each other’s presence.

It’s day like this that Juliana has a hard time keep her eyes off of Val. One of Juliana’s favorite hobbies is just watching Val. The way her hands move when she speaks, how her shoulders shake when she laughs and her expression changes over the course of a conversation. The smile that breaks out when she catches Juliana watching her, which happens far more often than Juliana will admit. The way her face lights up when she sees Juliana. It doesn’t matter if they’ve about for two minutes or two days, Val is always ecstatic to see her. But it’s the quiet moments that really captivate Juliana. Simple things, like the way Val brushes her hair or the way she moves around the kitchen when she’s cooking. Her sleepy smile in the mornings when Juliana stays the night and her grumpy pout when Juliana leaves to sleep at her own house. The way she bites her lip when she wants to kiss Juliana, and that thing she does where she pokes the inside of her cheek with her tongue and pulls her lips to the side when she’s annoyed. Everything Valentina does leaves Juliana overwhelmed with affection for her, filling her heart until she’s sure it will burst.

Juliana has a small smile on her lips as she closes her sketchbook. She knows she won’t be able to focus on her assignment anymore, not with Val taking over her attention as she so often does. Juliana stretches her arms slightly, setting the sketchbook on the coffee table with one hand and covering her mouth with the other as she yawns slightly. Distantly, she wonders what time it is. She knows the sun has already fell below the horizon and her mother is probably expecting her back at their apartment across town soon. Although, Lupe seems surprised every time Juliana sleeps at their apartment instead of Val’s loft. She always looks at Juliana expectantly when she leaves with an overnight bag, like she’s waiting for Juliana to admit something.

Shaking off the thoughts of her mother, Juliana refocuses on Valentina. She takes a moment to admire her, eyes raking unabashedly over Valentina’s long legs, taking in the sight of the tan skin left visible by Val’s shorts. Her shoulders are exposed too, her torso only covered by a tank top, and Juliana’s eyes linger on the edge of Val’s collarbone before tracing over the lines of her neck and her sharp jaw. They’ve been together for a little over a year, but the sight of Valentina is still enough to leave Juliana breathless. Unconsciously licking her lips, Juliana focuses on Valentina’s face.

Her brows are furrowed slightly, tongue poking out the side of her mouth as she concentrates on her work. Her eyes flicker across the screen quickly, her fingers occasionally pausing in their movements as she considers what she wants to say next. A few times, her gaze rises enough to see the television screen where it will linger for a moment before she resumes typing. Juliana knows Val has already explained what her paper is about but she can’t remember the details. She knows it’s a part of her senior portfolio, a selection of papers she’s written while studying journalism that have to be read and approved before her graduation at the end of the next semester. She also knows the topic of the paper is important to Val, something personal that Val was excited to address in a term paper.

Juliana is content to sit quietly for a while longer, her eyes on Valentina, until her phone beeps. Juliana grabs her phone off the coffee table, noticing that it was later than she had thought, and read the text that came in. It wasn’t anything majorly important, someone in the groupchat for her advanced design class asking for opinions on their sketch. Juliana replied quickly with a suggestion to make the dress strapless before muting the conversation and setting her phone back down. Beside her, Val blinked slowly and her shoulders dropped slightly. Juliana smiles slightly, knowing her girlfriend is starting to get sleepy.

Valentina doesn’t react as Juliana shifts on the couch, moving her toes from beneath Val’s leg and scooting closer. Juliana folds one leg to tuck under the other as she moves closer to Val, her shin pressing against the side of Val’s leg. Juliana brushes Val’s hair off her shoulder, running her fingers through soft brown locks a few times before she cups the back Val’s neck. Her thumb rubs against the soft skin behind Val’s ear. Valentina inclines her head slightly, leaning into Julian’s touch as her eyes fall closed for a moment. When she opens her eyes, Val turns to look at Juliana. Her lips stretch into a soft smile that is immediately returned.

“Did you finish your sketch?” Val asks, lifting her right hand off her keyboard and resting it on Juliana’s leg. Juliana shakes her head.

“No, not yet.” Val quirks an eyebrow at that, knowing Juliana usually finishes the first drafts of her designs pretty quickly just so she has something to work with, but she doesn’t say anything. “How’s your paper coming along?”

“Slower than I’d like it too, but it’s getting there.” Valentina looks at her computer screen again. Her left hand moves against the mousepad for a moment and then she lets go of Juliana’s leg to type something. A few moments later she closes her laptop and sets it on the coffee table with Juliana’s sketchbook. Wanting to feel Val closer, Juliana shifts to her legs are across Val’s lap, her arm looped over her shoulders. Val still has that soft smile when she looks at Juliana again and Juliana can’t help but lean in for a kiss. She can feel Val smiles against her lips and it makes her heart flutter.

“It’s getting late,” Juliana says after they part, nudgin Val’s nose with her own. “I should probably head home.”

“No,” the word escapes Valentina as a whine, cut off slightly as she huffs a laugh, “stay with me.” Her arms wrap around Juliana’s waist and pull her more firmly into her lap. Val settles her forehead against Juliana’s neck, nuzzling her nose in the crook between her neck and shoulder. She feels Juliana’s fingers run through her hair and smiles.

“I told my mom I’d be home tonight.” Juliana says, the fingers of the hand not in Val’s hair trailing up her arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

“Text her and tell her you changed your mind.”

“I didn’t bring any clothes.” It’s a flimsy argument, Juliana knows, said mostly to continue the conversation because Valentina is absolutely adorable when she’s tired and clingy and doesn’t want Juliana to leave.

“We both know half of your wardrobe is here, anyway.” Juliana doesn’t have to look at Val to know she rolled her eyes. “Don’t you wanna stay?”

The question is punctuated with a kiss to Juliana’s neck, that spot under her jaw that Val knows makes her weak in the knees. Juliana hums slightly in response, head tilting to the side as Val continues to pepper her neck with kisses. Valentina’s hands tighten around Juliana’s waist, her arm flexing slightly beneath Juliana’s hand, as Juliana ponders her answer.

It’s not a difficult choice. Juliana always wants to stay with Valentina. She loves waking up in Valentina’s arms, seeing her first thing, cooking breakfast for the both of them. She sleeps so much better when she’s with her girlfriend, always feeling warm and safe and loved. She never regrets her decision to stay the night with Valentina and she knows Valentina feels the same way. She also knows that there’s more to Val’s question than staying the night.

It’s something they’ve both been thinking about, an unspoken question that seems to be moving closer and closer to an answer. It’s Juliana’s shoes by the door, her jacket handing next to Val’s, her floral scented body wash in the bathroom beside Val’s strawberry scented shampoo. It’s Juliana staying at home and unable to find the outfit she wants to wear because it’s tucked away in Val’s closet. It’s her favorite snacks in the cupboards and the extra key Juliana carries with her. It’s starting her day with a kiss good morning and ending it feeling cold in a bed that feels far to big.

Honestly, Juliana isn’t sure why they haven’t moved in together yet. She knows Val wants too, she knows both of their families are expecting it to happen any day now. She wonders if Val thinks she isn’t ready yet, if that’s the reason she hasn’t outright asked Juliana to move in yet. They had agreed to slow things down when they got back together. Juliana had been scared to rush into anything again, after everything that had happened with Sergio and Chino. She had expected Val to give her a second chance and she was determined not to waste it. Now, sitting in Val’s lap in her loft, feeling their bodies pressed together and soft breaths on her neck, Juliana knows she’s ready. She’s home.

Valentina has stopped kissing her neck, instead pulling back to look Juliana in the eye when no answer to her question comes. Juliana looks over at Valentina when she squeezes her waist gently.

“Don’t you want to stay?” Valentina asks, her voice smaller than it had been before. Juliana smiles at her, cupping her neck with both hands as she leans in for a kiss. She knows her answer. Afterall, she’s never been good at saying no to Val.

“I always want to stay.” She whispers against Val’s lips, pulling away just far enough to rest their foreheads together. “As long as you want me here, I want to stay.”

“I want you here forever.” Valentina says without a hint of hesitation. “I just wasn’t sure if you were ready for that.”

“I am,” Juliana smiles and presses their lips together again. “I love you.”

“I love you,” the words fall easily from Valentina’s lips, sure and certain the way they always are and spoken in a low tone that warms Juliana from the inside. “So you’ll move in? Officially?”

“Si, mi amor,” Juliana giggles slightly as Valentina releases an excited squeal and hugs Juliana tight. They kiss again, a deep kiss that leaves them both feeling dizzy from both excitement and love. They separate a few moments later, Juliana blushing slightly as her yawn interrupts their kiss. Val tucks her head against Julian’s neck again as she laughs. “Let me text my mom.”

Valentina hums in response, picking up her own phone from where it sat beside her on the couch and scrolling through her notifications. Juliana texted her mother her change of plans, Lupe replying with a thumbs up and unsurprised smiley face. “Ready for bed, my love?”

Valentina nods in response to Juliana’s question, tucking her phone into the waistband of her pants. Before Juliana can move off her lap, Valentina readjusts her grip so she has one arm curled under Juliana’s legs and the other wrapped around her back, standing up and easily cradling her girlfriend against her chest.

“Val!” Juliana exclaims, wrapping her arm back around Val’s neck as she begins to walk them through the living room. Val hums in response, pausing next to the wall so Juliana can turn off the lights. “I can walk, you know?”

“I know,” Val smiles cheekily at the woman in her arms, “this is just more fun.” Juliana rolls her eyes but doesn’t protest as they continue down the hall towards Val’s bedroom. Their bedroom, now. It’s not the first time Val has carried Juliana to bed but it always surprises her when it happens. Val is a lot stronger than she looks and she lifts Juliana as easily as she does a flower. It thrills Juliana every time.

Juliana is surprised to see the bed unmade as they enter the room, but she doesn’t voice it as Valentina gently sets her down on the bed. Val kisses her forehead before standing up straight again, taking both of their phones to plug in for the night. Juliana makes herself comfortable in bed, laying on her side to watch Val move around the room. She turns off the light in the hall and closes the door before climbing into bed with Juliana.

Their bodies slide against one another as the shift around, curling together with Juliana’s head on Valentina’s shoulder, face tucked against the crook between her shoulder and neck and their legs tangled together until their so intertwined, Val can’t tell where she ends and Juliana begins. It’s warm and comfortable. Val falls asleep first, her fingers slowly ceasing the stroking motions they made on the small of Juliana’s back. Her breathing deepens, evening out into the slow rhythm of sleep. Juls kisses Valentina’s neck softly, fingers creeping beneath Val’s shirt to rest on the warm skin of her stomach.

She relishes the way their bodies fit together, the softness of Val’s skin beneath her palm and the warmth of the hand pressed against her back. There’s a smile on her lips as she falls asleep, Juliana knows she’ll wake up happy, she always does when she wakes wrapped up in Val.

A promise of forever settles over them, the first of many, like a warm blanket. Their bodies rest as deeply intertwined as their souls, content in the knowledge that they were together, for that night and all the ones that will come after.

[blurry-fics]

Chapter Four

Pairing: None

Warnings: Annoying ex-boyfriend

Word Count: 1511

Author’s Note: Thank you again to everyone who has submitted a response to my survey! I’ll keep this author’s note short because the last one was pretty much as novel. Enjoy chapter four! 💛

You closed the front door and walked over to the couch, tossing your bag by the door as you did so. Today had been one of your extra long shifts, and you were looking forward to laying down on the couch and relaxing. Matthew wasn’t supposed to be home for another couple hours, meaning that you wouldn’t have to worry about him sabotaging your peaceful sleep.

The TV was the first thing you heard when you eventually woke up. Matthew was sitting in the armchair, holding the TV remote in one hand. The volume was much louder than it needed to be, and you knew that it was no accident. He had always been the one to complain that you needed the TV too loud, a result of frequently blasting music in your car as a teenager.

“Do you mind turning that down?” you asked, although the damage had already been done. You were awake, and you wouldn’t be falling asleep again anytime soon.

“Yeah, no problem.”

Matthew immediately turned the volume back down to a level that you would have had no trouble sleeping through. At least the two of you were talking now. He had been a lot more talkative since returning from his weekend trip, although most of what he said was insults and snarky comments. If you didn’t know any better, you would have thought you were the one who broke up with him.

You rolled your eyes as you reached over and grabbed your phone from the coffee table to check the time. Your attention was quickly redirected as you caught a glimpse of the familiar green color of the messages app on your screen. One look at the name was enough to put a smile on your face.

“What has you so happy?” Matthew asked as you unlocked your phone.

Your expression quickly faded, “Nothing.”

“Whatever.”

Josh: How’s the hair dye holding up?

You shook your head a bit as you typed out your response.

Y/N: Surprisingly well. I thought the orange would have shown up by now

Josh’s answer was almost instant.

Josh: It’s because you had my help in picking it out

You and Josh had been texting near constantly for the last few days. The two of you were quickly growing close and it was nice to feel like there was actually someone who had your back in the city. Plus it helped to keep your mind off of everything else that you should be worrying about, but had no control over.

Y/N: Sure it is…

Josh: Hey, you never sent me those photos you were talking about last night

“Damn,” you muttered.

You had completely forgotten about that. The two of you had somehow ended up on the topic of your photography business last night and you had promised to send him some of your photos once your laptop was done charging. Of course, it had completely slipped your mind.

Y/N: Oh right, give me a couple minutes

You got up and grabbed your hard drive and laptop from your suitcase on the other side of the room. When you returned, despite the fact that you had gotten up no more than ten seconds ago, Matthew had moved from his spot in the armchair and stolen half the couch.

“Hey, I was sitting there.”

“I can see the TV better from here,” he said, gesturing towards it. “Besides, you don’t get to steal the entire couch.”

“This wouldn’t be a problem if you hadn’t dragged me out here and broken up with me,” you muttered as you sat back down on the opposite end of the couch.

You plugged in your hard drive and began to cycle through photos, looking through the ones that you had been telling Josh about. They were ones that you had taken of Los Angeles the night before you left for Ohio. The sunset that night had been phenomenal. Once you found what you were looking for, you sent them to Josh.

Josh: Y/N! These are amazing! I had no idea that you were so talented

Y/N: Tell that to the people here, my photography business is failing miserably

Josh: Do you have any more photos that I can see? I’m just absolutely blown away

You continued to look through your photos, reliving memories as you selected ones that you thought Josh might like. There were some of your family, the town that you had grown up in, and just random ones that you had taken in your daily life. It was only making you miss doing photography more--you hadn’t really had a chance to do much since the move--although you were happy that Josh was taking such an interest in it.

The two of you talked for awhile longer until he eventually stopped responding. You assumed that he had gotten busy and you had to make yourself dinner anyway. Matthew was taking up most of the tiny kitchen, as he often did, although you managed to make yourself a nice meal with the room he had left for you.

“Can we watch something that we both like?” you asked as both of you sat down on the couch with your dinners.

“I’m in the middle of this show!” he said.

“Yeah, and you can finish it later.”

“If you want to watch something else so badly, you can watch it on your laptop.”

You held back an audible groan and made yourself comfortable, deciding that Matthew’s dumb show was better than watching nothing. Living with him was getting more aggravating by the day, which you were sure was intentional. Even though the two of you weren’t flat out fighting, he knew all the right ways to push your buttons and slowly drive you insane.

The only thing keeping you from giving up completely and moving home was Josh. You knew that if you moved home, things between you and him would essentially come to an end. There was no way a long-distance friendship like that would work, especially since you had met less than a week ago. You just hoped that you would be able to put up living with Matthew long enough to find your own place.

Josh finally texted you again about an hour after you had finished your dinner. Matthew had finally given up on TV and went into his bedroom, allowing you to catch up on the shows you liked.

Josh: Hey, can I call you really quick?

You felt a burst of adrenaline rush through you, but you were curious as to why he needed to call you.

Y/N: Yeah, go for it

You got up from the couch and grabbed your apartment key as you headed out into the hallway; you would rather that Matthew didn’t know who you were talking to. Your phone started to ring right as you closed the door.

“Hello?”

“Y/N!” It felt nice to hear Josh’s voice again. “How are you?”

“I’m making it through the week. How about you?”

You opened the door to the stairwell with your hip and took a seat at the top of the stairs.

“I’m doing pretty good. Just working on band stuff.”

“Right, how is that?”

“Good! I’ll have to introduce you to Tyler soon. I think you two would get along really well.”

“I would love to meet him!”

“Yeah. So, the reason I’m calling you.”

“Right.”

“I have an offer for you, if you’re interested.”

“What kind of offer?” you asked, trying to ignore the nervous feeling in the pit of your stomach.

“I can’t tell you that yet, but I can tell you that it’s definitely something you’ll want to consider.”

“When do I get to find out?”

“How about lunch tomorrow? It’s your day off, right?”

“Yeah, it is. And lunch sounds fantastic.”

“Perfect. I think Tyler will be able to come along too.”

“Ok! What are the details?”

“How does one o'clock at the pizza place on fourth street sound?”

“Josh, I moved here just over a month ago. Do you really expect me to know which pizza place you’re referring to?”

This caused him to laugh, “I can text you the address, but does one work?”

“Yeah, one is great.”

“Ok, I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

“Tomorrow, yeah.”

“Ok, I’ll talk to you later.”

“Bye.”

You quickly ended the call. Your mind was swarming with possibilities of what offer Josh could possibly have for you. The answers seemed endless.

Matthew was in the kitchen when you walked into the apartment. He was scooping ice cream into a small bowl.

“Where were you?”

“Doesn’t matter,” you shrugged, walking back over to the couch. Matthew just shook his head, grabbed his ice cream, and walked back into the bedroom.

You were feeling somewhere between excited and nervous. Josh’s offer could be about anything, although you were pretty sure it was a positive thing. After all, he would have no reason to sound so excited about something bad, right?

All that was left to do was wait.

Tags (Let me know if you would like to be added!)

@svintsandghosts @a-stumpsexuals-world @ohprettyweeper @jigglypuff1999

[shootwinterfest]

Let It Snow

Shoot Secret Santa by @spicycheeser!

*_*_*_*_*

The whole situation feels really weird and the fact that she agreed to it means… well it doesn’t matter now, because they’re already here.

She pushes open the door to the cabin, knocking the excess snow off her boots before heading inside.

“She says a light switch  on the right,” Root says, entering just behind her and dusting the snow off the shoulders of her coat.

Shaw slides a hand along the wall until she finds the switch. The lights flicker on and they get their first look at the place they’ll be spending the next four days.

The living room is open, all high ceilings and exposed wooden beams, everything you’d expect from a “luxury ski lodge”.  To their left is a fireplace. A couch and armchair sit around it, with a soft looking rug and coffee table between. Bookcases and a few paintings line the walls. The kitchen is open to the living room, only separated by a breakfast bar, and there’s a staircase to the second floor loft that winds up and around (to the bedroom, Shaw assumes).

Slipping off her boots, Shaw leaves her duffle bag by the door. Padding to the kitchen, she begins rummaging and finds both fridge and cupboards to be fully stocked. Recently too, if the expiration dates are accurate.

“She says there’s a freezer in the basement with extra food as well,” Root says, leaning over the breakfast bar. “There’s sports equipment down there. Skis, snowshoes, that sort of thing.”

Shaw grabs a banana from the bowl of fruit, peeling it down. “Looks like Robot Overlord thought of everything.” She takes a bite, enjoying the minut flinch of annoyance Root makes at the nickname.

“Even if this wasn’t her idea, She likes to make sure we’re taken care of.”

Shaw rolls her eyes, takes another big bite of fruit so she doesn’t have to respond to that. It’s true though. However serious or not Shaw’s comment about going on vacation together was, it was Shaw’s idea. And now here they are, fully stocked cabin in the middle of nowhere siberia, four days to kill until their job in Moscow comes up.

“I’m going to take my bag upstairs and unpack,” Root clicks the ‘k’ at extra hard and attempts a wink before sliding away.

With reluctant sigh Shaw finishes her banana, tossing it before heading back to grab her bag as well. Ascending the staircase she follows the thin banister around to the one and only door and heads inside.

The loft bedroom is... fair-sized. She might be ill or something because “cozy” was honestly the first adjective that came to mind. There’s a dresser on each side of the room, a small bookcase, and a door that probably leads to a bathroom. Most of the room however is taken up by the enormous bed and now, as Shaw stands at the foot of it, she’s struck by just how little thinking she did about this whole vacation thing. What it might entail, for example. Not a vacation in general but a vacation with someone. With Root. It’s a thought exercise made infinitely harder to since she’s not exactly sure how to define what being “with Root” means either.

They’ve fucked (once) and kissed (twice) and spent plenty of time together flirting and shooting at people. All of that happened on the job though so downtime like this is completely undefined. Shaw’’s not sure what Root expects and not what sure what she wants from Root either.

Tossing her duffle in the corner, Shaw flops back onto the bed. There’s a skylight above, currently featuring a perfect square of grey-blue winter sky. She feels the bed dip beside her and hears Root release and over exaggerated sigh.

“What are we supposed to do now?” Shaw wonders outloud.

“I can think of several things,” Root hums, teasing tone not o be misinterpreted. “But vacation is about doing what you want to do.”

Shaw sits with that for a fw long minutes. She’s still not sure what to make of it, even when she feels Root roll off the bed and head towards the door.

“I have a project I want to work on,” she says by way of exiting, and Shaw is alone once more.

Propping herself up on her elbows, Shaw looks out the small window. There’s a fresh layer of snow out there and more forecasted for the evening as well.

Four days of this, Shaw thinks, wondering what on earth possessed her to even entertain the idea, much less suggest it. She conjures up ideas of what ‘normal’ people do on a snowy vacation and finds herself with a barrage of media stock images that involve people snuggling together for various activities.

Suddenly the idea of staying inside makes her itch.

Shaw heads downstairs. Root is on the couch, curled up under a blanket, laptop in lap. “Leave it to you to manage to find a WiFi signal in the middle of the woods.”

“She and I are well practiced at creating our own hotspot,” Root hums.

“Ew, okay, I don’t wanna know,” Shaw says, waving hand and making her way towards the basement.

Descending the stairs, she’s actually surprised by what she finds. The basement is tidy, well organized, and labled. It reminding Shaw of something she’d expect to find in White Suburbia rather than the frozen tundra. She heads for the sports equipment mounted and displayed towards the back and shuffs on a pair of snow pants (surprisingly just her size). She grabs the cross country skis, having watched enough Winter Olympics to know that if she wants a good burn that’s a good bet, and heads back upstairs.

Root’s still staring at the computer and Shaw can tell from the faraway look that the Machine must be talking to her. Fingers flying across the keys and Shaw wonders who is dictating to whom. Though, remembering Root’s prior innuendo ,maybe she’d rather not know.

Shaw walks behind the couch and pulls on her jacket. Peeking over Root’s shoulder she sees lines of code growing of across the screen. It’s a language Shaw has no desire to learn, and a lifestyle she has no interest in adopting. The contrast between her and Root sits odd in her stomach and propels her out the door even quicker.

Outside, the sky is still bright grey and she’s thankful she remembered to bring sunglasses for  the glare off the snow. Strapping into the skis it takes a few minutes to figure out how to get moving, but it’s not long before she’s gliding along at a good clip.

The trail near the cabin excellent, challenging. A good rhythm going now, she feels confident enough to push a little harder. She loses herself in it, letting concerns and thoughts from before fall away and shifting attention inward to the way her quads burn or the bite of the cold air at her lungs. The world around her is crisp and quiet, the only sounds are the swishing of her skis and the hiss of her breath. Every once in awhile she’ll stop and take in the serene woods. Watch the way the light glints off iced branches, or examine some animal tracks she crosses. She spends a few hours like that and by the time she gets back, the waning light has taken on a golden hue.

Back inside, Shaw is almost thankful not to find Root where she left her. Instead, she’s in the kitchen, starting at the open cupboards in thought.

“Problem?” Shaw asks, grabbing a beer from the fridge.

“Just reviewing dinner options. Decisions, decisions.”

Shaw pops the top off the beer with her belt buckle, taking a long swig. “Kinda assumed I’d be doing the cooking, you know, considering.”

“Considering?”

“Considering half the time I have to remind you to eat,” Shaw huffs, taking another sip. “Food’s not really your thing.”

Root looks at her and it feels heavy somehow. She tries not to squirm under it, changes the subject. “Look, don’t blow a microchip- let me shower and I’ll make something,” she shrugs like it’s nothing, even though Root is still looking like it's anything but.

Shaw moves towards the door, before Root’s voice catches up with her, “Need any company?”

The tone is light, the weigh from before evaporated. “I think I can handle it,” Shaw deadpans back.

Back upstairs, she takes a few extra minutes in the shower, letting the hot water defrost the cold ache from her bones. After, she finds that Root seems to have taken it upon herself to unpack their bags. All their clothes are neatly folded in the dresser to the left of the bed. Shaw’s extra ammo clips, gas mask, and other gear is organized in her duffle bag, tucked under the bed.

It’s annoying in its efficiency, annoying because it’s exactly how Shaw would have done it. Totally unnecessary. Could have done this myself, Shaw thinks. Helping herself to her favorite pair of worn USMC sweats and a hoodie, she pads back downstairs.

“You look cozy,” Root says. She’s kneeling near the fireplace depositing another log on an already roaring fire.

“She help you with that too?” Shaw asks.

“Fire setting happens to be one of my skills actually.”

“Somehow not surprised,” Shaw states and heads to the kitchen.

Cooking has always been luxury when she had the time to indulge, so she’s happy to seize the opportunity. The cabinets are still open from Root’s rummaging and Shaw browses those and the fridge before settling on a meal. There’s a whole raw chicken which she helps herself to, spending a few minutes of collecting seasonings and other essentials before setting to work. She dresses it the way she remembers her mother doing years ago and makes sure to grab and chop an assortment of veggies to lay underneath the roasting bird too.

Root could use the friggin’ nutrients, she thinks idly.

Shoving the whole thing in the oven, she sets a timer before heading back to the living room. Root is back on the couch, feet on the coffee table and afghan blanket wrapped around her legs like a mermaid tail. They have about an hour before dinner so Shaw makes her way to the bookshelves. Perusing the titles, she can’t help sneaking quick glances back at Root. The woman is typing away oblivious, brow furrowed in concentration. It’s a sight Shaw finds to be a weird comfort normally, but here it makes her slightly unnerved. Not because of the action, but because it leaves Shaw to her own devices. It’s the ‘what’s next’ anticipation that’s bothered Shaw since they got here, and it seems like she’s the only one.

Eventually she selects a book, a popular title she recognizes from a few years ago, and is then faced another choice: Where to sit. The armchair, the other end of the couch? Root’s words about Shaw doing whatever she wants on vacation mock her and it pisses her off enough she bypasses the couch and chair, opting to flop down on the rug in front of the fireplace.

Root doesn’t look up from her typing but states, “The bear skin rug was the owner’s Great-Great Grandfather’s. He killed the bear himself and fed his family for 6 months off the meat. It’s a family heirloom and the owner apparently takes a eat deal of pride in it.”

“So sex on the rug is out?” she jokes, enjoying the way Root’s glitches excitedly. Shaw doesn’t bother waiting for a verbal response, simply rolls over, faces the fire, and cracks open the book.

Time flies after that. The book is good, but the wafting smell of roasting chicken and subsequent stomach grumbling buoys her to the present. Shaw portions dinner for them, Root watching ruefully as she very purposefully places roasted vegetables both plates. They eat at the small wooden table in the breakfast nook. Root takes her time, cutting her entire meal into tiny pieces before even taking a bite. Shaw has more of an eat-as-you-go style, which is why she's half done by the time Root finishes cutting. Shaw tries to slow her pace.

Companionable silence is one of her favorite things about Root. The quiet never feels pressured or uncomfortable. Even in the midst of this odd situation, it still feels right. They finish up and before Shaw can say anything, Root clears dishes. She returns to the table with a tumbler of whisky for Shaw glass of water for herself.

“She says I need to drink more water” Root says.

“She’s not wrong ,” Shaw chuckles, taking a sip of her own drink. “But She doesn’t mind if I’m dehydrated?”

Root smiles over the lip of her glass. “She thought you might appreciate a good buzz at the moment.”

They sip quietly, watching the snow starts to fall through the window.

“The owner’s hunting gear is in the basement as well. If you're wondering what you can do for tomorrow.”

Shaw was, in fact, wondering that. “What kind of gun?”

“Compound bow, actually.” Root says. “Game fowl season is in full swing right now.”

“Sounds fun.”

What about tonight? lingers heavily after but Root smiles lightly ,diffusing it. “I have a few more things I’d like to work on. Unless you have something in mind for us for dessert?”

Shaw makes a ‘after you/don’t let me stop you’ motion with her arm towards the couch like and Root heads back to her spot from before. Shaw stays, finishes her drink in her own time, but eventually returns to her spot on the rug as well.

It’s late when she finally lays the book down, the fire fizzled out to its final embers. Now the blue light of the computer screen is the only illumination and the creepy way it lights Root’s face, the strung out tiredness there, brings to mind an entirely different type of snowed-in scenario. The Stephen King kind.

All work and no play, Shaw thinks. Standing, she moving behind the couch and touches Root’s shoulder. “She going to remind you to take a break any time soon?”

“She avoids redirecting me when unnecessary. Doing so when you’re around seems redundant.”

“Fine. Then this is me telling me you look like shit. Be done for the night.”

Root smiles sleepily, closing the laptop and placing it beside her. “As you wish.”

Shaw ignores the reference and heads for the bedroom. She changes, brushes her teeth, and passes Root on the stairs coming up as she heads down to find a glass of water. By the time she returns to the bedroom, Root has changed into her monogrammed PJ’s and bunny slippers and is sitting on edge of the bed, odd expression on her face as she stares at her phone.

Shaw pauses in the doorway, not sure what she wants to do or what she’s going to do (two different things).

They've always slept separately in the past. She could still sleep downstairs but that’d be stupid when the bed up here is big enfor three or four people. She watches Root discard her phone, giving Shaw a open, content look before shutting off her bedside light.

It was neither invitation nor declaration. Another thing Shaw likes about Root- there’s never any pressure.  Doesn’t make this any less confusing.

Shaw makes her way over to the bed despite the continued indecision, and slides under the covers. When she rolls over, she’s facing Root who blinks back at her in the dark.

Fuck it, Shaw thinks. “What is this?”

“It’s call ‘rest’, I think.”

“You know what I mean. This. You. Me. “ Shaw pauses “Her too I suppose- it’s a package deal right?”

Root beams at that, “Very much so.”

“So yeah, what is this?”

“What do you want it to be?”

“Can you just answer my question. I asked you first.”

Root shrugs, nuzzling her head further into her pillow. “I haven’t thought much about it.”

“Bullshit,” Shaw bites. “You always have a plan.”

“She always has a plan. I…” Root trails off. Shaw can tell it’s Root thinking rather than listening, so she waits.

“I enjoy you Sameen,” she says, quietly. “Whatever that is, day to day.”

“And Her?” Shaw asks, referring to the Machine. “She just along for the ride?”

“Mmm, on the contrary, she has always been quite invested in us as a pair.” Root smiles small, like it’s an inside joke. “She likes you too.”

“That is…” Shaw searches, but comes up with nothing. “Whatever. It’s fine, I guess.”

“Glad to hear it.”

Shaw rolls onto her back looks up at the skylight. Stars wink above, dots of bright in crisp, dark blue.

“I’m not good at this,” Shaw starts. Root doesn’t reply but Shaw doesn’t have to turn to know the woman’s attention is tuned in. “Not sure how it’s supposed to go.”

“On the contrary, you’re quite good at it. You make sure I eat, sleep-“

“So does the omnipotent FitBit in your ear,” Shaw grumbles.

“You talk to me, and listen,” Root continues. “And if I'm totally honest you're the first person, maybe in my whole life, who has thought about me. About my safety. About my health.” Root says it plainly, as though they’re discussing the weather.

There’s a pressure in Shaw’s chest at the words, like the air is compressing around her slowly, the weight of it clenching under her ribs. Something demanding attention, something stirring.

“It doesn’t have to be like on TV,” Root offers. “Or like what the rest of them, any of them have. Because we're not like the rest of them, are we?”

Shaw snorts, “Fuck no.”

“So forget them. Forget ‘should’ and ‘supposed to’.” Root adds, propping herself up on an elbow. “What you're not good at isn’t applicable. It’s a language you don't ever have to learn. Not with me.”

The pressure reaches combustion and that something that’s been building, building all day and even before, finally explodes. Without thought, Shaw pounces on top of Root, pinning her to the mattress.

Only anger usually moves her like this, but the sharp and familiar satisfaction that usually follow a snap is missing. There is relief, as she looks down at the other woman whose hips she was straddling, but she’s not sure where to go from here.

Root, by contrast, doesn’t seem unsure. Doesn’t seem surprised either. She simply looks back up at Shaw, and smiles knowingly. “Ditto.”

Shaw rolls her eyes, and dismounts, shuffling to her side of the bed once more, and letting the warm afterbuzz of that stirring thing, settle in her gut.

“Keep your freezing feet to yourself” Shaw says without malice, as she snuffles down further into the covers. “And tell Rosie the Robot to wake us up for 5am. I wanna shoot some stuff, bright and early.”

“Mmm, goodnight Sameen,” Root contently from the dark.

It’s odd, to have someone know her better than she know herself sometimes. To have someone who understands, who seems to hear the whispers within her like they were as clear as day. Maybe Root can help her hear them a little better too. Maybe together they can have their own language.

Shaw chuckles, into her pillow despite herself. The whole thing is so weird. So unexpected.

Inconceivable, she thinks as she drifts off. She falls asleep smirking at the reference and how ridiculous and maybe cool being ‘with’ some can actually turn out to be.

*-*-*-*-*

[themoonandotherslikeit]

The Look in Her Eyes- Chapter 9

***While on a case, Dean and Sam meet a beautiful woman, Ava. She makes a large impression on the brothers, and ends up convincing them to take her on the road with them. It isn’t long before the shared experience, car rides, motel rooms, and risky cases pushes Ava and Dean together in an unlikely story of love, family, fate, and friendship. ***

Chapter Nine, Tonight

Ava

The four of us were cramped in Bobby's car. Dean sat in the back with me and Sam sat up front, claiming the back seat was hard for his long legs. I guess he didn't listen to me after all. I had my bare feet up in the seat, and I was braiding and unbraiding my hair over and over again, trying not to stare at Dean. Which was hard, considering he was only wearing that white T-shirt. Droplets If sweat were on his neck, making his skin glisten.

"So what's the plan when we get to town?" I asked, leaning forward, ripping my eyes from the muscles on the back of Deans neck that connected in to his shoulders, under that thin cotton shirt.

"We will do our suits routine." Sam said, "interview the locals."

"Fake FBI agents?" I asked, eyeing Dean. "Like the shit you pulled on me?"

"Works most of the time." He grunted, avoiding my gaze.

"Great. I have practice being, ya know, actual law enforcement."

"I think you, and I will be doing research, kid." Bobby said from the front seat. "We don't need all four of us surveying the town."

"So, why do I have to be on research?"

"The boys are good at what they do, and I'll need help hitting the books"

I laughed. "I found Dean out in under ten minutes, no offense." I said eyeing Dean.

"Yeah, well most locals we meet aren't like you." Dean said smoothly, almost sounding annoyed.

"Thank god for that or this car would be pretty full." I snapped, moving my feet back to the floor board. "I just don't want to be benched, because you're all afraid I'm going to get hurt."

Sam glanced back at me. "We aren't benching you. Someone has to do the research, and usually it's me. It's important to know what we are up against."

"I thought we knew..."

"We assume." Bobby said. "But we don't know. We need to know how the Vic's are connected. You're good at putting the pieces together. That's why I want you to research."

I crossed my arms and looked out the window. "Fine. You got it."

I could feel Deans eyes on me, but when I turned he was looking out the window, too, still snapping the band on his wrist.

We pulled up to the motel. "I booked you a single." Bobby said with a grunt, tossing me my key card. "I assume that's how you've been traveling."

"Yup." Dean, Sam, and I said at once.

"I'll bring my stuff inside." I added, clearing my throat.

"I'll meet you in a minute and we can start in." Bobby said with a nod.

Dean

When Ava was out of sight Bobby turned to me. "What were you two thinking?"

I groaned and shook my head. "Come on, Bobby. What do you want us to do, throw her out?"

"No you idgit. You're stuck with her now, but I swear if something happens to her I'll kill ya."

"Trust me, Bobby, if something happens to her I'll let you." I said seriously.

Sam and I made our way to our room and I fell back onto my bed with a groan. From me and the old mattress.

"Want to talk about it now?"

I didn't bother looking at Sam. I closed my eyes. "No, Dr Phil. I don't want to talk about it."

"Well then get up. We have a case to work."

"You're a thorn in my side, Sammy."

"Yeah, yeah."

We got into our suits. I tied my tie, buttoned my sleeves, and strapped myself in. The real Dean camouflaged into Agent Jacob Sampson with the FBI.

Sammy and I decided to go to the morgue first.

We held up our badges. "I'm Agent Sampson, and this is Agent Rogers. We are here investigating the deaths of Rob Thompson and Ali Becker."

"The FBI is interested in an animal attack?"

"Could be a part of a fighting ring." I raised my eyebrow at him.

"Man, in this town?"

"Can we just see the bodies." Sam said giving me a look.

The coroner slid out the trays, and sure enough their hearts were missing. Their bodies torn at as if by an animal. "Is there anything else suspicious about the case?"

"Other than their hearts being eaten?" The coroner asked.

"A simple no would do it pal." I said annoyed. "Come on, let's go."

We pushed out of the morgue. "Definitely our kind of thing." I told Sam.

"Sure looks like it."

We crossed the street back to the Impala. We had lost valuable daylight getting stuck, and waiting for Bobby. It was getting close to feeding time. I dialed Bobby's number. "Hey bobby. This is definitely our thing. Do you have anything connecting the victims?"

"Other than them being dog chow, not much."

"Great. We will look around. Call if you find anything."

"Nothing?" Sam asked.

"Nada. Let's go ask some locals."

"Which is Dean for visit a bar?"

I shrugged. "I could use beer."

Sam laughed. "Just one, we are working."

"We are always working, Sammy."

We pushed through the front door of the bar and sat at the bar rail.

The busty blonde bartender leaned over and smiled brightly at me. "Hey, cutie. What can I get you?"

"That's Agent cutie." I said, flashing my badge.

"What can I do for you Agent?" She asked, pushing her cleavage together with her arms.

"You can start by covering that up." I frowned, gesturing to her exposed chest.

"Sorry." She said standing up.

"We are wondering about these people. Have you seen them around here?" I asked, laying out the images of the victims.

"Actually, yeah." She said picking them up. "They were regulars here. I don't understand, though, I already talked to the police about this."

Sam and I exchanged a look.

"Because they were found out back?" She asked, looking between us. "That's why you're asking, right?"

"Right." Sam said with a grunt. "Let's go check it out." He whispered to me.

I nodded and we stood. "Thanks for your time."

We walked toward the back exit of the bar. "What was the deal with you asking her to cover up?"

I looked at him. "She shouldn't be half naked serving drinks." I shrugged. "It's unsanitary."

"I've seen you have a girl grab money out of your mouth with her boobs, Dean. I don't think that's ever been a problem before now."

"I'm getting older, Sam. I can't risk herpies like I used to."

"Uh huh."

We pushed through the back door, causing a ding.

The back alley looked, and smelled like a regular back alley. Dumpster, rats, the whole nine. "Anything look suspicious to you?"

Sam was crouching. "No." He frowned. "I don't remember the article saying they were found here. Do you?"

I turned and squinted into the darkness. "No. I don't." I turned to see a flash of blonde before pain, and darkness.

Ava

Bobby had left an hour ago, saying he needed to check out a lead since Dean and Sam weren't answering. I was laying on my stomach clicking through the victims social media. I sat up and pulled the laptop into my lap when I saw that they both had a mutual friend. Holly Barnes. She was Rob's ex and Ali's friend. It was pretty obvious that Ali and Rob we're together. Every picture of them together was kissing. Except for one of the three of them, but in that photo Holly looked enraged. Her hands were fists at her side despite the fake smile plastered on her face.

"Looks like a motive to me, and hearts? Could be symbolic." I took out my phone and rang Bobby. It rang five times before rolling to voicemail, I tried Sam and Dean with the same result. "Come on, boys. Where are you?"

I exhaled and slid into my shoes and coat and headed to Blue, the bar Holly worked at. I pushed through the door and looked around the room for the slutty blonde. If she was a wolf she would be changing at any time, the moon was high in the sky. My silver knife, and gun felt cool against my bare skin.

She was nowhere in sight. “Excuse me." I said, waving down the bartender. "I'm a classmate of Holly's, and I was supposed to pick up my half of our project. Is she here?"

He shook his head. "She was sick so she left a few hours ago."

"Do you have her address? I'd love to drop by and get the homework. We will fail if we don't get it completed."

"Sure thing." He said, and he scribbled it on a napkin.

"Thanks!" I said, taking the address an putting it in my pocket.

I jogged out the back door and immediately noticed the droplets of blood near the dumpster. "Damn it, boys." I said, before running to Hollys house Thankfully it was only a few blocks away, and I was still in pretty good shape from working on the force.

The house was small, and I didn't see any lights on, but part of me knew they were there. I circled the house and stopped at the storm shelter in the back corner of the yard. Bingo. I jogged over to it, watching my back. The yard seemed empty, quiet.

There was a light coming through the cracks in the door. I crouched down and listened for any kind of sound. No one was talking. That's either good or bad. They're either alone, or they're dead.

I pulled a bobby-pin out of my hair, and after a minute the lock on the doors clicked open. I opened the door and slowly descended the stairs, taking care for the creaks.

They were definitely alone down there. The three tied in opposite corners of the room. Bobby and Dean were knocked out, but Sam looked like he was gaining consciousness.

"Sam." I said, going to him. I cut through his rope restraints, and tried to pull him back awake. "Hey, good morning.” I smiled at him, hoping to keep him from panicking.

He blinked a few times. "Ava."

"Hey big guy, we have to hurry." I said patting his cheeks. “Can you get Bobby? I'll cut Dean loose." I handed him my extra silver knife.

"Yeah." He nodded standing. "Ava it's the bartender." He said quietly, weakly.

"I know."

He went to Bobby and started to untie him. I went to Dean. I cut his hands and feet free and patted his cheeks. "Dean." I said, my face close to his. "Dean wake up." His eyes fluttered a little. "Come on, wake up." His eyes opened slowly, but he looked groggy, his eyes glazed over.

"Am I dead?" He mumbled.

"No. You're fine. I'm here to save your ass. You and the boys club." I grinned. His eyes fluttered again, like he was about to pass out. "Nope. Get up." I pulled on his arm, flinging it over my shoulder. "Guess it's my turn to stay up all night with you."

Bobby stood up, able to shake off his sleep pretty quickly. "Let's get out of here." He said.

"Not so fast." A voice said from the top of the stairs.

"Holly." I said looking up at the blonde. I looked to Sam for help with Dean. "You did it because she hurt you, right?" I asked, trying to stall.

"You don't understand." She said slowly walking down the stairs.

"I might." I grabbed for the gun in the elastic of my jeans.

"The two people I loved most in the world betrayed me. We were supposed to be together and he left me for her."

"So you turned and you killed them."

"I didn't mean to, not really. My wolf must've felt the hate." She held her chest.

"So why did you kidnap them?" I gestured to the guys.

"He basically called me a slut." She pointed past me to Dean, slumped against Sam.

"Doesn't sounds like him."

"People can surprise you, trust me. Killing him will do you a favor."

"I can't let you do that." I said, resting my finger on the trigger, ready to pull it on her if she moved.

"It's not really up to you." She said with a growl, lunging forward off the stairs. In a second I pulled my gun up and shot. She landed, limp at my feet. She died instantly there, blood coming out of her mouth.

“Good shot, kid.” Bobby said quietly, his mouth hanging open.

Sam looked to Bobby. "Let's get rid of the body." Then he turned to me. "Can you manage to get him back to the motel? We can meet you there."

"Sure, can you guys help me get him to the street? I'll call a cab." I said, sliding myself under him. "Dean." I whispered.

Sam took his other side and we got him to the street and into a cab. His head rested on my shoulder as we got back to the motel.

"He drank too much?" The cabby asked, eyeing him.

"Something like that." I said, handing the cab driver some cash. "Come on, Dean." I said, pulling him along with some difficulty. I was strong, but he was over two hundred pounds of dead weight, making my shoulder scream out in pain.

He groaned and opened his eyes. He was awake, but obviously foggy. He continued to lean on me until we reached my room. I realized I didn't have his key and I wasn't about to search through his pockets while he was so unstable. I helped him sit on my bed and I sat next to him. "How're you doing?" I asked him, shining my flash light in his eyes. His pupils were responsive. That was a good sign.

"Ow." He complained, waving my light away.

"You're like a drunk girl." I complained.

"You are a girl." He countered.

"What gave it away?"

"You're pretty."

I smiled and rolled my eyes. "I wish you were more with it. It'd be nice to rub in this save."

"I am with it." He whispered. "You're just pretty. Thought you should know."

I stood up and took a beer from the fridge, avoiding his heavy eyes. I could feel heat roll up my neck and onto my cheek bones.

"Where'd she get you?"

He patted the back of his head, and I pressed the cold bottle to it. He winced but nodded. "Thanks."

I crouched in front of him, resting my hands on his knees. "I saved your life."

"You did."

"Don't ever underestimate me again." I stood, pushing off of his knees. I grabbed another beer and opened it. I took a drink.

I looked back at him after a moment. "Why didn't you go for Holly? From what I understand it isn't like you to turn down a busty blonde."

He shrugged. "I guess I just want more."

"Hm." I said, finishing the beer. I cracked open another, eyeing him.

"Do you ever feel like the world is screwed up?"

"Daily." I said.

"Ava, I.." he stood and started to fall, I reached out to grab him, but ended up shoving him back down. I came down with him. His weight was heavy on me, and his lips were near my face causing my heart rate to raise rapidly.

"Dean! You're crushing me." I said, gasping.

He propped himself up, still hovering over me. "Sorry." He breathed. His head slumped a bit before meeting my eyes. "It hurts, ya know."

"Yeah." I said, touching his head. "She knocked you good."

"Not that." He sighed. "Being this close to you and knowing I can't kiss you."

"Dean..."

"I know you don't want me to talk about it, but when I was tied up in there. Before she hit me again I just kept thinking I may never see you again, and I couldn't think of a shittier way to die."

"You don't even know me." I whispered, cupping his face.

"Maybe, but I want to know more."

"This is just the head trauma, isn't it?"

"You tell me."

I bit my lip.

"You're so cute when you do that." He groaned. "It's torture, you know? Being around you. Everything you do is just so... fucking cute."

My nose winkled in annoyance, and I shoved him off of me by his chest, causing him to land on his back on the mattress. "There you go again! Treating me like a little helpless girl. I just saved your ass, ya know!" I stood up, poking his chest.

"I didn't say you were helpless. I said you were cute." He propped himself up on his elbows. "You are. You're also smart, daring, and unbelievably sexy, Ava." He drawled our the word sexy, and then my name rolled off his tongue like it was meant to be there. Holy shit.

"And what if it is a fever dream?"

He sat up all the way. "Then we can forget about it when we wake up."

"You say it like it'll be easy."

"It won't. But one night is better than nothing. If you want it."

I bit my lip again. I definitely wanted it. "Until the sun comes up, Winchester. Then things are back to normal. No more flirting. No more fighting. No more keeping me off cases." I walked to him.

"I like it when you're bossy." He said with a grin. He seemed to be feeling better.

"Shut up." I said resting my palm on his chest.

"Yes mam." He said pulling his arms up. He cupped my face and pressed his lips against mine. I melted into him, my lips parting, allowing his tongue to touch mine. He moved his hands from my face, and ran them down my back, gripping my thighs and ass in his hands. I groaned against him and I felt his mouth turn up into a smile. His hands slid into my shirt, feeling over my stomach and around to the skin on my back. His fingers were like electricity.

He kissed from my lips on my jaw, and down my neck. He nibbled against my skin but not enough to leave any marks. There would be no breaking our rules. I tugged at his shirt and he lifted his arms so I could pull it off of him. I pulled my face back to examine his chest. He had a tattoo, a circle with a pentagram design in the center. It was surrounded by deep black flames. I touched it with gentle fingers.

"It's so I won't get possessed." He explained.

He was strong. It was obvious by the muscles that rippled below his skin. By the scars that littered his chest. From cuts and bullets he won in battle. I reached forward to press my lips against them. He shivered against my lips and I smiled.

He ran his fingers along the hem of my shirt, and pulled it up and over my head. "You're beautiful." He commented, taking in my body.

"You've seen me before." I said shyly, thinking back to him pulling my stitches out.

"I was being respectful then." He said with a devilish grin.

My heart fluttered at the idea of him being disrespectful. My stomach was doing flip flops.

He pulled me against him and with one flick my bra was loose around my breasts, hanging. I wiggle out of it and pressed my bare chest against his. He pulled me closer, needing me as much as I needed him.

The job was exhausting, it was painful, terrifying. I got the feeling that he's been lonely for a long time. Not tonight. I can break my rule for tonight.

He flipped me over and hovered over me, taking everything in. I wanted to feel self conscious, but there was nothing but desire and adoration in his eyes. He kissed from my lips down my chest, and stomach. He unbuckled my jeans and pulled them down.

I eyed him, and he grinned unbuckling his own pants. We were on equal ground he climbed on top of me our bodies touching. He reached a hand out and brushed a hair out of my face. "Thanks for saving my life."

"Ditto." I said with a smile.

"You're not gonna thank Sam like this are you?"

I pursed my lips. "Are you?"

"Let's stop talking about Sam."

"Good idea." I said with a smile, bringing his lips back to mine.

I knew it was a bad idea. It could mess up everything. It probably would, but his hands and lips on my skin made me feel more alive than I'd felt in a long time.

My back arched as his hand slid under the black lace. He chucked low. He was unbelievably sexy. He rolled my underwear away and tossed his next to mine. I opened my eyes, and I knew in that moment that he would never hurt me. I could see it in his eyes. He was a killer. He fought monsters, shot first and asked questions later, but he was gentle, too. The people they love die. Bobby's words echoed in my head. Love.

"Come back to planet earth." He whispered in my ear. "You're here with me." He smiled, and leaned into my lips. Our lips pressed together tenderly. It was slow, and gentle. Not what you'd expect from Dean Winchester. I opened my eyes and nodded to him. He put his hand under the small of my back, arching me upwards as he slid into me.

I wrapped my legs around his waist and stared into his eyes. I knew we could fight it all we wanted, but something changed between us. It was more than sex. It was more than the threat of death. Maybe it didn't have a name, or maybe I just wasn't ready to say it out loud yet.

"Dean." I whispered, pressing my forehead to his.

"Ava." He whispered back.

"I..."

He cut me off with a kiss, not letting me set fire to our moment. He was right, after all. One night was better than nothing.

—————

Chapter Ten, Family

Get caught up!

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What do you do when you can't sleep? I pick something to watch. Usually the background noise works in making me feel sleepier. Have you ever been threatened before? Physically, verbally, emotionally... I’ve had the full package. Don't you hate being labeled? I hate if it’s done in a mocking way or to reinforce insulting stereotypes, like Catholic Filipino boomers saying all atheists are evil and in need of ‘saving.’ But there are some labels that can be a source of comfort and give me a sense of identity, like if my friends can correctly remember my sexual orientation. Are you one of those people who says sorry too much or doesn't say it often? I do say it a lot. I also get reprimanded for it a lot. Have you ever had a cute doctor/dentist/nurse? No, and I mostly don’t think of them in that way... if I’m at the doctor/dentist, that just means I want to be healed lol.

Do you swallow your gum even though it's bad for you? I’ve never done it on purpose. The few times I accidentally swallowed gum I was worried it’d fuck up my stomach, but nothing bad has ever happened. Don't you hate it when you go to the bathroom & there's no toilet paper? I mean my parents always buy tissues in bulk, so we’ve never run out of them. If I catch the roll being empty, it’s easy to replace. ^When that happens do you ever just sit there & read shampoo bottles? We have bidets in our bathrooms. For houses with no bidets, the pair of tabo/balde would do to wash ourselves, at least for Filipino culture. Going into TMI territory over here but the idea of some countries/people only using dry toilet paper to wipe their ass has always been so odd for Asians. Do you wear jelly bracelets? Do you believe in the sexual meanings of them? I wore them a few times during childhood but I wasn’t obsessed nor did I collect hundreds of them. I didn’t know they had sexual meanings – that would’ve been my last thought as a kid. Are you good at guessing things? Not guessing, but I’ve had a decent track record of picturing and predicting worst case scenarios that end up happening close to the way I imagine them. Have you ever gambled? I played Bingo when I was like 9. There was a period when my late grand-aunt’s friends would come over at her place (we lived in a duplex, so I knew whenever a game was starting and it was easy to walk over there) and play Bingo, and it lasted for a few months. When your stomach growls do you ignore it for awhile or immediately get food? I like waiting for a while before deciding I’m *really* hungry and looking for food. Have you ever thrown up on someone in front of you on a amusement park ride? OMG, never. Have you ever thought you were dreaming so you had someone actually pinch you? No. I only ever saw this in cartoons, too. When you get nervous, does your heart pound extra fast? Isn’t that kind of an important sign of being nervous though? If my heart wasn’t beating fast I’d think that everything was under control. Have you ever mowed your lawn? Do you find it fun or annoying? Our village has a staff member that’s in charge of mowing everyone’s front lawns, so we don’t really have to. Do you have a garden at your house? I wouldn’t call it a garden. We have a couple of tall trees but that’s it. Do you like making puppet figures with your shadow? I don’t hate it, but like I don’t actively seek this out. When you're on the internet does time go fast or slow? When I was 10 and the internet was still fairly new to me and there were still a billion sites to check out, time was definitely fast. I’d be on the laptop all day and suffice it to say I was addicted, which wasn’t the healthiest situation for a 10 year old. These days time just feels normally paced since we’ve grown used to the internet now... it’s literally a part of everyone’s lives and is everywhere from phones to TVs to fucking lightbulbs, so it’s all just part of everyday routine. When you're angry do you take it out on other people? I make it a point not to do this but sometimes I’ll crack under pressure and end up snapping at someone. What's the key to true happiness? Key’s different for everyone. Who do you look up to for your style? For the longest time it was Audrey Hepburn, which is why I have a ton of little black dresses piled up in my closet to this day. More recently though I’ve been wanting to dress up like Rachel Green from Friends. What was the longest phone conversation you've ever had? Ugh it’s so cringey now but when Gab and I were newly dating we once had an 8 hour Viber call. Never did it again.

How many pillows do you sleep with? Two big ones. What's your life philosophy? “You don’t have to be blood to be family” ngh I say this on surveys a lot. Soz, questions like this make me repeat it. Have you ever played strip poker or would you ever? I’ve never played it. I don’t even know how poker works and it’s so annoying cause my favorite shows tend to make at least one episode focused on a poker game, and I’m left not understanding any of the dialogue. Would you still go out with someone even if you thought they would cheat on you? These cheating questions can be so tricky but generally I wouldn’t consider dating someone who I know to be a past cheater. Would you date someone who didn't want to have sex until they were married? Yes. I mean I was already this kind of person with Gabie anyway when we started dating; she was just able to change my mind which I’m super ok with because I’ve never regretted it. How much cash do you have on you right now? I have a little over P2000 in my wallet. My school has since ordered to end the semester by April 30 so I had no idea that the P2000 my parents gave me last March was gonna be my last allowance from them ever :’( What's your favorite thing to order at a Mexican food restaurant? I haven’t really had Mexican food that’s purely Mexican, i.e. not Tex-Mex. Idk if it’s right to say fajitas and chimichangas since Google says they’re Tex-Mex, but they’re my usuals. If you got to magically make somebody disappear, who would it be and why? Can I make a virus disappear instead? Do you prefer to cook or eat out? Eat out. Because I can’t cook. Have you ever peed yourself while laughing? Never. When you don't like someone, do you let them know? I mean obviously I don’t confront them directly just to say I don’t like them, but I’ll make extra effort to avoid them and I just wouldn’t interact if we happen to be in the same room. How would you build your ultimate sundae? Not really a sundae girl so I wouldn’t know what combination works. McDo’s hot fudge sundae is satisfying enough for me. Would you date someone who went to church on a regular basis? If it came to that, and especially if I really like the person, I might give them a chance (that’s a billion plus points for my mom, anyway) on the condition that they don’t force me to attend with them, and they don’t try to convert me. What is your favorite curse word? Fuck. Would you rather see a movie at the theater or at home on DVD? Egh it depends. There are movies I can be excited enough about to wanna catch it in the cinema, and there are some that I’m not invested as much in and that I could wait for to show up at an illegal film website lol. If the police came to your door & said "you're under arrest!" what would it be for? The police in this country are the Devil and will arrest and kill anybody. That said, I can be attacked in my own home, arrested for absolutely nothing, and they will get away with it. Are you good at giving massages? Nope. What movie do you know just about every line from? Your basic white girl movies – Titanic, The Proposal, White Chicks. Oh and also my favorite Two for the Road, of course. Do you prefer cupcakes or muffins? Cupcakes. If I absolutely have to eat a muffin it has to be chocolate, otherwise I’m not touching it. I’m all about the sweet. What are the three "nevers" of your life? Doing hard drugs, drunk driving, eating fruits. What lifts your spirits when life gets you down? Good food, good movies, good friends. My dog. Is sometimes being silent more effective than having to say things? Yes. Do you smile a lot or not enough? I think I do it enough.