#I would have passed but I was pulling out of a parallel park and immediately came to the intersection right before the end of my test

[mostly-natm]

I did not pass my driving test today!

[chocochipsushi]

𝐌𝐲 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐥 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞'𝐬 𝐚 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐠

SFW

🌸Word count: 6.4k words

🌸AU: your soulmate is a huge, grumpy fart who shows you and only you affection, and though he hates his best friends, you think you've found soulmates in them too

🌸Pairing: Toji x reader, SatoSugu

<< Prequel | Part 2 >>

You always catch guys staring until Toji walks up to you with a hand on the small of your back. Then, the guys start to panic internally, looking away to avoid trouble with such a huge man. But their gazes will always return to watch the both of you. Everyone is always intrigued by your relationship. 

You’re the tiniest little thing next to Toji, just standing nestled at his side, your hand resting on his beefy arm, his rugged body pressed up against yours. You’re not even that small to begin with. But his body is so big, chiseled and intimidating, that you‘re like a doll next to him. He looks so much like a guard dog whenever you’re together, because of how he towers and hovers over you. 

“Can you help me get that, Toji?” 

He looks up to what you’re pointing at and immediately lets go of you to step closer to the shelf. “This one?” 

He easily reaches for the pair of scissors that is barely even touchable for you. He turns his head to see you grinning up at him as you bob your head. Toji grasps the package and brings it down to pass it to you. 

“Gojo needs a new one because he misplaced his,” you explain, taking it from him before wrapping your arm around his. 

“Shitty bar owner,” Toji mutters under his breath. 

You laugh as you go up to the counter to have it paid for. As you pass the scissors to the cashier, you look up at Toji and scold, “He is your best friend, Toji!”

Immediately your boyfriend pulls out his card from his back pocket to pay for the item. The cashier is watching the both of you quietly. Toji shrugs at your reminder. “So? What kind of bar owner can’t even keep a pair of fucking scissors?”

Once the payment goes through, he snatches the new pair of scissors out of the cashier’s hand. The poor boy is so terrified and surprised by Toji’s roughness that he is surprised when you thank him with a sweet smile, and start walking out of the line. The amazed cashier is watching you lead the way, and he cannot help making parallels to you walking your scary guard dog that only listens to you and no one else. 

The power you hold over such a huge and fearsome man could possibly make you easily twice as scary as Toji is. Because even the blind could tell that this crude and stoic man would do anything just to see you happy and safe. There is no other reason for the soft spark that ignites in his eyes every time your name is mentioned. 

“Where’s The Grump?” 

You hop up the bar stool and place the new pair of scissors on the counter. Grinning at Gojo, you answer, “Parking his bike. He’ll come.”

“Oh, damn, thought it was just you.” Gojo blows a raspberry as he snatches up the stationery. “I could really do without his stale attitude today.”

“Or ever,” his partner next to him chimes in. 

Gojo points at Geto with a nod and an eyebrow raise in your direction. “I feel so bad you got him as your soulmate.”

Geto stops mixing whatever drink he is making to give you a look. “How do you even live with such a cranky old fart like that? Seriously.”

You laugh. “He's not that bad.” When you see the both of them giving you the same exact look, you laugh even harder. “Really! He’s actually very nice.”

“Yeah, maybe to pretty girls,” Gojo scoffs. 

Geto makes a face and disagrees with his partner, “Actually… no. Have you seen the way he looks at girls that try to hit on him?”

Gojo thinks about it for a moment before he nods. “You got a point.” He looks at you. “So it’s just you that he's nice to. How does it feel to be God’s favourite?” 

You giggle. “Toji is not a god!”

Gojo stares at you for a moment, then turns to his soulmate. He wonders, “Oh, is he nice to her because she’s an airhead?”

“Hey!” You stand on the leg rest on your stool to reach over and snatch the new pair of scissors off his hand. You frown at him. “That’s mean! I’m not dumb!”

Geto leaves from behind the bar counter with the freshly made order and before he makes his way to the customer’s table, he pats your head and bumps your cheek with the back of his fingers. “Yes, you are, but in a cute way.”

“Yes, so cute,” Gojo coos, reaching over to ruffle your hair. “Can I have my scissors back, my pretty baby?”

“I’m not a baby,” you huff, though you thrust the stationery in his direction anyway. 

He grins as he takes it from you, using the back of the scissors to tap the top of your head lightly before he retracts his hand. You’re huffing and complaining about the two bar owners bullying you while Satoru simply laughs endearingly at your grumbles. You are still frowning at him when you suddenly hear a commotion behind you, so you turn around, only to see your boyfriend standing next to Geto with their broad backs to you, looking at a spot in the corner, perplexed and frustrated. 

As if sensing your gaze, your soulmate turns around and spots you at the bar counter. Even from afar, you can see the way his eyes light up. He holds his arm out in your direction and makes a come-hither motion. So you jump off the stool and walk over to the two men. Suguru has now turned to watch you make your way over. 

“Geto slapped me on the back with the stupid tray and my keys flew in there. Pick it up for me, will you, baby?”

You immediately nod your head. Suguru and Toji are too broad and muscular to fit into a small space like this, and it is always your job whether at home or at the bar to squeeze into nooks and crannies to retrieve a lost item, just like how it is Toji’s responsibility to reach for anything that is out of your reach (which is usually things in the overhead cupboard). You’d once been so afraid of his size but now you’re comforted by it, and your dynamic that used to be a mystery and a worry to you now works so well that either of you wouldn’t know what to do without the other. 

Without another word, you get down on your knees and hands. You hear some rustling behind you and when you check, you see Geto pulling the apron from around his waist and Toji doffing his black leather jacket, the both of them holding their respective materials to conceal your behind since you are in a skirt. You look away and return to crawling closer to the tight space. You go lower and stretch your hand out into the darkness, at the same time sliding almost half your body into the cranny.  

You reach around for the bunch of keys and easily find it. You fish it out and sit on your heels, grinning up at Toji as you hold his keys out to him. He is only looking at you as he takes them from your hand, his free hand already reaching down to yank you up. Once you’re standing in front of him, Toji reaches behind you to pull down on your skirt and brush it down. 

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he murmurs before bending to brush the dirt off your knees, the side of his neck bared and close to your face. 

“Okay, move outta the way, I have more customers coming in,” Geto grumbles, staring up the stairs where some people are walking down to the underground bar. 

You grab Toji’s arm and pull him to the bar counter where you had been sitting. He helps you up on the stool and goes around the counter where Gojo is making some cocktails, to wet a piece of tissue. He returns and stands in front of you, wiping your hands and knees with the wet tissue. 

“Thank you, Toji,” you mumble, watching him take care of you. 

He simply shakes his head. He goes behind the bar counter again to bin the tissue and wash his hands. At that time, a couple of guys come over to stand next to you at the bar counter. Gojo has gone to the kitchen, so Toji decides to help out for a bit. He dries his hand and stands before them, placing his hands on the counter, his broad shoulders looking more intimidating than ever. 

“Yes?” he gruffs out. 

“Two whiskey sours,” one of the men orders. He turns to you and gives you a flirty smile. He orders again, “And a mojito for this beautiful lady, please.”

You are surprised. You take a quick glance at Toji, only to be even more surprised that he is already making the order. He is always so protective over you and hates when guys so much as turn their heads in your direction. 

Quickly, you turn back to the guys and decline the drink, “Oh, no, thank you but that’s okay!”

“No, please. A pretty girl like you shouldn’t be sitting here alone with no man and no drink,” the other one of them chuckles. 

You look at Toji again, and though he is concentrating on mixing the drinks, you can clearly see the tick in his jaw. You swallow and shake your head. Smiling politely at the two men, you say, “Oh, no, I came with my boyfriend.”

“Well, he's gone, isn’t he? We can still be friends.”

Just then, Geto returns to man the counter and you see him glancing between you and the two men, then you hear him asking Toji to stop what he's doing. But Toji is quiet and somber as he simply shakes his head. Suguru looks at you and quirks an eyebrow, looking quite perplexed. He knows just how protective Toji can get when it comes to you. This reaction of his is totally new. 

“So what's your name?” the guys prod. 

You give an awkward chuckle. “I have a boyfriend,” you reiterate, hoping they get the hint. 

“We’ll leave when he gets here.”

“Yeah, and you can tell him that you got yourself the drink.”

You’re simply staring at the two men, speechless at how disrespectful and pushy they are, when two glasses are slammed on the counter in front of them. They jump a little and turn back to the bartender in annoyance, only to drop the arrogance when they see that it is Toji. 

“Two whiskey sours,” he grunts. He then gently places a cocktail, that is definitely not mojito, in front of you. 

“Hey, we asked for a mojito for her.”

Toji looks them dead in the eyes and spits out, “I know my girl more than you do, and she doesn’t drink mojitos. That’s $50 for the three drinks, card or cash?”

The two men’s eyes widen into the sizes of saucer plates. Their eyes flicker between Toji and you, and when Toji quirks his eyebrows at them, they pull out their card in a nanosecond and scurry off the moment the drinks are paid for. 

When they’re gone, Geto turns to Toji with his hip leaning against the counter and his arms crossed over his chest. He looks amused. “Wow. Toji Fushiguro is a changed man. No more punching men in the face whenever they speak to your little girlfriend?”

Toji washes his hands and dries them as he mutters, “I would have. Just figured since they wanted to pay for her drink, I’d just hold back.”

You giggle while Geto makes a face jokingly. “Stingy ass.”

Toji comes round to the front again where he sits next to you, bringing his chair close to you. He spreads his legs so that you’re between them, and rests his foot on the footrest of your stool, almost like he is protecting you. 

“Whiskey on the rocks,” he tells Geto, who is already pulling out the bottle of his favourite whiskey. Toji always gets the same thing. 

You take a sip of the cocktail in front of you and turn to your soulmate, who is already watching you. “Mm. Apple pie!” He nods his head, quiet with his eyes still on you. You beam at him. “Yummy!”

He still doesn’t say anything. He simply watches you for a few seconds before reaching a beefy hand out to cup your face. Before he even gets to stroke his thumb on your cheek, Geto slaps a coaster down on the counter in front of his best friend and places a full cup of whiskey on it. 

“Stop being gross,” is all he says. 

Gojo pushes through the door of the kitchen with two plates balanced on his palms. “Suguru, table 17 and 4, please.”

Geto is already taking the plates off him as he mumbles, “Got it.”

He goes off to bring the food to the tables so that it is just Gojo in front of you and Toji. He grins at you. “Wanna go to a party when we close tonight?”

You glance at Toji, who has dropped his hand from your face to pick up his drink. You turn back to his friend. “Sure. Whose place?”

“Shoko’s.”

Toji is out of his element. He hates socialising, especially at a party. People just drain his energy, even Satoru and Suguru are no exception. The only person he doesn't mind— or rather, wants to be together with all the time is you. But you are the opposite of him. Everything about the both of you are opposites. 

You enjoy being with people. You’re loud all the time, and you attract people like moths to a flame. You could be standing there minding your own business and yet still have someone approaching you. You’re just a people person and Toji is not. Which is why, Toji grabs onto your wrist when you start to drift a little too far from him. 

“Where are you going?” he questions quietly. Only you can sense the mild panic in his voice. 

You smile. “I was gonna go get us a drink.” You pat his hand that is still holding onto you. “Wait here, okay?”

His eyes dart around the place and as if a saviour has appeared, he quickly lets go of you and stands up to grab a hold of Gojo who had been walking away. Satoru stumbles back, surprised and confused. 

“Get us a drink on your way back, will ya,” Toji mutters. 

Satoru frowns at him. “I’m going to the bathroom, dickhead.”

“Stop by the drinks station on your way back and get us something, then.” 

“Why can’t you do it yourself?”

Deciding to end this bickering, you place a hand on each of their chest. The two men huff at each other before turning to you. You tell Toji first, “Let’s go get the drinks together, okay?” Then you turn to Gojo. “And you can come find us when you’re done.”

“What for—”

“She said come find us when you’re done,” Toji repeats in a grunt. 

Gojo turns to you wide-eyed like he is saying, “Did you see what he just did to me?” But you simply grin up at him and pat his chest before turning around and flouncing off in the direction of the drinks station. Toji follows behind you, but not without a flick to his ear by Gojo. 

“What do you want to drink?” you question when you’re standing in front of a whole bunch of different alcohol types. 

You’re reaching out for a cup when Toji interjects and pushes you away gently as he takes over your spot. You look up at him and he says, “I’ll mix you something. Just go to the fridge and get me a beer, will you, sweetheart?”

You do as he asked you to and when you’re back, he is pouring cranberry juice into your cup. You exchange your drinks once he is done with the concoction and you mix the liquid in your cup with your finger. You’re about to put it in your mouth to lick your finger clean, but your wrist is caught in Toji’s grasp. You look up at him, surprised and confused. But he simply brings your finger up to his mouth, where he sucks on your soaked digit. 

“Yep, you’re gonna like that,” he compliments his own drink mixing skill with a cocky eyebrow raise and a smirk. 

You immediately erupt in flames but you take a sip of your drink quietly. He is right, of course. Toji knows just how you like your drinks. He knows you too well. 

Toji takes a sip of his beer as he leans against the kitchen counter. Just then, Gojo and a bunch of his noisy friends come streaming through the kitchen door and head over to your group. The two bar owners have really good alcohol tolerance but you know that they’ve definitely drank a bit too much by how loud they’re being. You move closer to your boyfriend, somehow managing to stand between his legs and be engulfed in his body. 

“We’re going to the club. Wanna join?” 

You frown at Gojo as Toji takes a swig of his beer. “Now? We just got our drink,” you whine. 

“Chug it, then.” Suguru raises his brows at the man behind you. “You have a bodyguard to take care of you.”

You turn and look up at Toji, who simply stares back at you. He is not the most sociable person but if you wanted to socialise, he’d step out of his comfort zone for you. 

“I don’t know…” you mumble, turning back to your friends. “I’m not feeling it—”

“Oh, you’re a lightweight!” Satoru snarks. “Down that cup and you’ll be feeling it in a minute!”

“Drink, drink, drink!” 

Your friends start chanting and suddenly you’re pressured by a group of four to skull an entire cup of alcohol. You feel Toji standing straighter behind you, probably ready to snap at them for being a bad influence. Quickly, you instinctively down the drink and all your friends start cheering you on. 

“Baby!” Toji hisses. He snatches the cup out of your hand but you’ve already finished three-quarters of it. “We could have just gone home,” he groans. You simply stare up at him as you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. “You’re so stupid.” Your lips fall into a pout and he immediately softens the frown on his face. “Baby,” he sighs, this time concerned. 

A hand lands on your shoulder and you’re suddenly pulled away from Toji. “Oh, stop worrying, lover boy,” comes Satoru’s taunt. “We always take good care of our little baby, don’t we?” he coos as he leans down to press his cheek to yours, grinning annoyingly at your soulmate. 

You are having so much fun and you’re so glad you came. The club is packed, the music is good, and the energy is electric. You’re dancing and singing along to all your favourite songs with all your friends, the whole bunch of you loud and having the best times of your lives. 

Except for Toji. 

He is standing by the bar, keeping his eagle eyes on you so he doesn't lose sight of you, as he sips on his fourth glass of whisky. If you’re a lightweight, you’d best bet that your soulmate is the opposite. Someone has to be sober enough to take care of you. 

It isn’t about his sobriety either, actually. Being the soulmate to a young girl who is over 10 years younger than he is, Toji just finds it refreshing to see how much energy you have in your little body. He is way past the age to be drinking just to party but he doesn’t want to rob his soulmate of this time in your life where you can party all night long and still not suffer any consequences the next day. 

It is your third time being approached by a boy, trying to dance with you. But like what you’ve done with the previous two, you point to Toji, who tips his glass in your direction with a quirk of his eyebrow. And just like the previous two times, this boy is frightened by how intimidating your boyfriend is and immediately takes his leave. 

It’s been an hour and a half in the club, and you’re starting to feel partied out. Leaving your friend group, you squeeze your way out to find Toji, who meets you halfway, not wanting to have you alone in the club even for just a few seconds. You immediately hug his arm and lean against his warm body. 

“Ready to go home?” Toji shouts. 

You nod your head. So he downs his drink and leaves it at the bar counter before finding his way out of the club with you latched on him. When you’re out, Toji takes his arm away from you to doff his leather jacket and hold it open for you. You wear it and you’re suddenly drowning in the jacket. You go back to hugging Toji’s arm. He has just fished his phone out to book a ride home when someone ruffles your hair. 

Toji’s body stiffens and he looks up to glare at his possible victim when he notices Satoru grinning at the both of you. You rest your temple against Toji’s bicep as you look up at Gojo. 

“Where is Sugu?” you mumble. 

He throws his thumb over his shoulder. “Drunk.”

You rest your hand on Toji’s chest so you can tiptoe and take a look behind Gojo. While you’re watching Geto sitting on the pavement curb, head hung and propped up on his hands, Toji slips his arm out between the both of you to wrap around your body, pressing you to him. You circle an arm around his waist and rest your head on his chest. 

“Are you guys going home now?” 

You bob your head. “Tired,” you murmur.

Gojo groans as he glares at Toji like your boyfriend has offended him. He complains, “You’re so lucky your soulmate is half your size and easy to carry.”

Being the people pleaser that you are, you look up at Toji. “Oh, Toji! Why don’t you help—”

“No.”

You frown at him. “But why? You’re so strong.”

“Yeah, Toji. You’re so strong,” Satoru joins in, grinning. 

“Shut the fuck up,” your boyfriend grinds out as he sets a deadly glare on his good friend. “Stop acting like you’re so weak.”

Gojo, now dropping his mockery tone, runs a hand through his hair in frustration. “You know Suguru is heavier than he looks. He's going to be hard to move around.”

“Baby,” you try again. You’re always so nice to your friends. “Help Toru get Suguru home. Or they could come over—”

“No,” Toji snaps. 

You shut up, surprised at his tone. Hurt, you drop your hands away from Toji and take a step back, crossing your arms. But you know that you probably don't look intimidating at all, especially in your boyfriend’s huge jacket. 

“Princess, you’re drunk and I’m tired—” he tries to say as he reaches out for you. 

But you dodge his hand. “You’re so mean to your friends, Toji. I don't like it when you’re mean to them. And then you get mad at me.”

Toji’s gaze softens. “I’m not mad at you, sweetheart. You’re my priority. I want to take care of you.”

“But I’m fine!”

“You’re drunk, sweetheart.”

“I’m fine!” You stomp your foot. 

Toji rubs his face tiredly. He locks his phone and shoves it back into his pocket in defeat. He stares at you. “Okay. What do you want me to do?”

“I want you to help Satoru!” you huff. 

Gojo, while you were squabbling before him, is just staring at you in admiration and awe. He has never seen Toji so docile and tame, and nice before. You have a chokehold on him and it is so apparent who holds the upper hand in the relationship. 

But Satoru suddenly feels cold and he just knows that Toji is glaring at him even before he turns to look at his best friend. Gojo smiles nervously. “Yes, Fushiguro?”

“You’re paying for the ride back home.”

You hold the door open for Toji and Satoru to lug in an unconscious Suguru, where they dump him on your couch. Satoru groans and Toji immediately leaves to go into your shared bedroom. You take off Toji’s jacket and hang it up, just in time for Toji to come back out to hand Gojo some extra blankets you don't use. Finally, the two men turn to you. 

“Are we good now?” Toji mutters. 

You bob your head meekly and he immediately goes into the bedroom. You look at Satoru, who gives you an encouraging look. 

“Thanks, doll. Think you should call it a night.”

You nod your head and rush into the room where you hear the water already running in the bathroom. You quickly undress and join Toji in the shower. You watch him clean himself up silently, entirely ignoring you when he would normally be all over you. 

“Toji?” you call weakly. He doesn’t answer you. You move forward to touch his torso as he rinses his hair. “Toji, can you wash my hair for me too?” you try. 

He opens his eyes and lands his steely gaze on you. The moment he sees the kicked puppy look on your face, he feels his heart softening. “C’mere,” he mutters. 

You’re excited at his invite, and you move to stand in front of him and turn your back to him. He takes the shower head and you tilt your head back so he can rinse your hair. Turning the water off, he starts lathering your hair with shampoo. In the silence, you feel even more nervous with this Toji. So you speak up. 

“Are you mad at me, Toji?” 

The question hangs in the air for a long while. Unable to take his silence anymore, you turn around so that you are facing him and his arms are stretched out to massage shampoo into your hair. Toji sees the small pout on your lips. He sighs. 

“I just don’t understand why you have to be so nice. You were drunk and tired, too. It just pisses me off that you don’t ever think for yourself first.”

“But Satoru needed help…”

“What do you think he did before he even knew you? He’s just fucking with us.”

“What do you mean?” You frown at him. He's just so mean sometimes. 

Toji stops massaging your scalp now and uses the remaining shampoo on his hands to wash his own hair. “I mean, he carried his fucking boyfriend home drunk plenty of times before. Might have taken him a while but he did it fine. He just makes use of you to get me to help him because he knows I would do anything you asked me to.”

You hear nothing but the last bit. You completely forget that you had thought he was mean. “Would you actually do anything I ask you to?” you murmur. 

Toji narrows suspicious eyes on you. “Within means.”

You throw your arms around him at once, smushing your cheek to his firm chest. He grunts in surprise, quickly resting his hand on your shoulder blade. “I’m sorry I got mad at you for being mean to Toru,” you mumble. 

Toji takes in a deep breath. “Yes, you should be.” You gasp and tilt your head up to pout at him. He has a cheeky glint in his eyes when he says, “You were going to get lucky in the morning but now you have two dumbasses in the living room.”

“What do you—” The innuendo behind his words finally hits you and your face glows red. “Princess fucked up?” you try to give him a cute pout. 

Toji only laughs, his scarred lips stretching wide. He cups your chin and leans in to peck you on your lips. “Princess fucked up,” he agrees. 

Despite Toji’s declaration last night, you still woke up lucky this morning. Not only because of Toji’s “Princess Treatment”, but also because Suguru and Satoru wanted to thank the both of you for letting them crash your place by cooking breakfast. Using the ingredients in your kitchen. 

“Steak? For breakfast?!” Toji shouts. 

Your soulmate buys at least 5kg worth of beef every week for his protein intake. It is expensive and he definitely would not be eating it as hangover food. 

You giggle as you go over to Suguru’s side, hugging him as he cooks up a ton of sunny side up eggs. Satoru and Toji are bickering in the background. Suguru places a hand on the top of your head and leans down to kiss your hair. 

“Thanks for getting Toji to help Satoru last night,” he murmurs. 

You look up at him with a beaming smile. “Thank you for staying friends with Toji.” 

He laughs and pats your head. “We stay only ‘cause of you, sweetheart. Now go prep the table. Breakfast’s almost ready.”

You do as he says, bringing out plates and cutlery for everyone. Before you even struggle with the weight of the ceramics, your boyfriend floats past you and picks them up instead. You follow after him like a duckling, standing there uselessly while he goes around the table to set up. When he’s done, Toji stands next to you as the both of you watch Gojo set glasses of water at the table. You stare up at Toji, who immediately looks down at you. 

“I’ve never had steak for breakfast before,” you admit innocently. 

Toji lets out a strangled groan and slumps over your body as he wraps his arms around you like you are his pillar of strength. “I fucking hate them, baby,” he confesses in a fake cry. 

It makes you laugh because if anyone could ever get Toji to be so dramatic, it would definitely be his best friends. It is a side of his you never get to see when it is just the two of you. 

You reach behind him and pat his back. “There, there, baby. We’ll buy more today.”

“No,” he says seriously now as he stands upright. You look up at him in surprise. “Satoru and Suguru are buying more today.”

Just then, the man with long, black hair walks towards the dining table with a plate piled with all the eggs you had in your fridge, all cooked perfectly. “We need to get groceries for our place anyway,” Suguru says. “We’ll buy yours too.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Satoru sings as he skips over and drags his chair out to plop down on it. “Double date!”

You move to sit next to him as you laugh, amused. “At the supermarket?” 

“Double date at the supermarket!” Satoru announces as he throws his arm around you the moment you get to the doors of the huge establishment. 

Toji rolls his eyes next to you. Suguru comes over now and holds a basket out to your boyfriend. But he rejects it and insists, “I’m going to need a cart.”

So you’re walking down the condiments aisle next to Toji while Suguru and Satoru are discussing about sauces they need for a recipe they are planning to try out for the bar. You slip your arms around one of Toji’s and walk close to him. He moves to rest his elbows on the cart handle so that he is almost at your same height even though he has to basically walk with a hunched back. 

As the both of you watch the two males in front of you squabbling about the qualities of brands, you briefly wonder, “Do you think we have soulmates for friends too?” 

Toji hums and shrugs a shoulder. “Why’d you ask that?”

You guys halt when Gojo and Geto stop for a condiment. You let go of Toji and turn to him. Returning to his full height, he gazes down at you. “If we do, I really hope Satoru and Suguru are our soulmates,” you sincerely say. 

Toji makes a face. “Those clowns?” You bob your head innocently. He turns to watch his two best friends throwing a sauce bottle back and forth as if it is a dynamite that might go off in the next minute. Toji finally turns back to you with an incredulously confused look. “Seriously? Those clowns?”

You reach out to thump his chest as you laugh. “I know you love them, Toji. You know, if we ever have kids, I want Toru and Suguru to be their godfathers.”

“Hell no, I’m not letting those idiots near my babies,” your soulmate immediately declares, shutting down all possible arguments as he turns to push the cart again. 

You follow after him and grab hold of his shirt. “You’re so mean to our childrens’ godfathers, Toji.”

He glares at you, which only makes you giggle. He pushes your hand away from clutching onto his shirt and you are offended for a second before he slips his palm against yours, his fingers sliding between yours. He pulls you closer until you are bumping against him. You stare up at him, wondering why he did that. 

“Should we ditch them?” he whispers as he eyes the two grumbling men. 

You giggle. “Who’s gonna pay for our groceries then?”

He groans and sets his eyes on you. “Ugh. You’re right. They’re—”

“Hey! Who wants some cake and ice cream?” Satoru shouts in your direction. Immediately, you grin and raise your hand eagerly. He smiles back happily. “Let’s buy ingredients and make a strawberry shortcake at the bar!”

“We’re making them?” you groan at the same time Toji almost yells, “We’re spending more time together?!”

You’re watching the three men across the kitchen island. You’re given the easiest job, which is to cut up the strawberries, so you have plenty of time to watch Toji whip a bowl of cream while Suguru helps to pour in sugar at intervals, as Satoru mixes the cake mixture. You think it’s so cute how they’re gossiping about a mutual friend one moment and then bickering the next because flour has flown everywhere. 

“Gojo!” Toji snaps as he stops mixing and looks down at his black shirt now dusted with flour. 

Satoru goes over to him and fakes gasp, “Oh my God, I’m sorry!” He then dips his finger into Toji’s bowl and scoops up a dollop of whipping cream. He puts it into his mouth and moans. “Mmm. Yummy!”

“Satoru!” Geto scolds with a disapproving look on his face. 

The white-haired man is making eye contact with an annoyed Toji who is glaring at him. He grins obnoxiously and lets his finger go for another dip. He then holds his finger out to his boyfriend. “It really is yummy.”

Despite the side glare that Suguru gives him, he still takes Satoru’s finger into his mouth and sucks on it. He flickers his eyes over to Toji, looking just a bit surprised. “Oh, it’s actually good.”

Your soulmate is just glaring at them and you just know that he is so close to blowing up. So you go over with a strawberry and dip it into the cream. You look up at Toji, who is squinting at you. You take a small bite from the side of the strawberry and let out a happy squeal. 

“Mm!” You hold out the rest of the strawberry to your boyfriend. “Try it, Toji.” 

He keeps glaring at you. So you bring the strawberry closer and bump his lip with the cream. He finally parts his lips and allows you to feed him.

You, Gojo, and Geto are standing there, staring up at the green-eyed man expectantly as he chews slowly, savouring the flavour. There is not a single hint from Toji if he enjoyed the whipped cream as much as we do. That is until he swallows and Satoru breaks the silence with a whisper, as if afraid to enrage a beast. 

“So…? How is it?”

Toji is silent for a moment. Then he mutters, “It’s not bad.”

Satoru and Suguru let out relieved breaths. Gojo rounds the island to bring over the remaining uncut strawberries. He dips a strawberry into the cream as he says, “I dunno why you’re always so grumpy. Fushiguro.”

Suguru follows suit in eating strawberries covered in whipped cream. He adds, “Yeah. Can’t you just let loose a little?”

Satoru is now eating his third strawberry. His mouth is still full when he mumbles, “You’re like an old man in a young man’s body.”

Suguru is on his second strawberry now, making sure the berry is completely covered in cream as he comments, “Though he’s not that young.”

You watch Toji’s face turning darker by the second. Especially when Satoru agrees, “True. The only thing young about him is his cute little girlfriend.” You blush when he winks at you. 

Toji decides that this is his final straw as he slams the mixing bowl down on the island and snaps, “I’m only four years older than the two of you, fuckwits!” As his two best friends gape at him in surprise at his outburst, he snatches Satoru’s fourth strawberry out of his hand and grunts, “And stop eating all the fucking cream if you’re gonna make a fucking cake. Dumbass.” 

Then, he holds the berry out to you. Shyly, you take it and thank him. He steps out from between Geto and Gojo to go over to stand by your side, brushing your hair back so it doesn't get in the way as you munch on the strawberry. Satoru and Suguru are observing the both of you, and you can see Satoru glaring at you. 

“You’re a bitch for stealing my best friend and pitting him against me,” he spits. But he is only eyeing at the strawberry in your hand. 

You laugh. “Toru, just give up on the cake and eat the strawberries with the cream. We can make the cake another time.”

The suggestion sparks a glint of hope in his bright blue eyes and he immediately grins at you. “You’re the smartest bimbo ever. I love you as much as Toji loves you.”

Toji blows a raspberry and rolls his eyes. But you smile back at him. “I love you as much as Toji loves you too, Toru!”

Your soulmate immediately mumbles, almost concerned because he knows how much you love his best friends, "That's not a lot, babe."

At the same, Suguru also dramatically laments, “Oh, if only hate was love and bimbos were smart.”

<< Prequel | Part 2 >>

-

© chocochipsushi 2024 all works are mine, please do not rewrite/plagiarise

[corporatefrog]

꒦‧₊ ꒷ HEADCANNONS: Going on a Road Trip with Craig, Tweek, Jimmy, Tolkien, and Clyde (Separately) ✧.*

✧.* tags: college au, road trips, ✧.* Characters: craig tucker, tweek tweek, jimmy valmer, clyde donovan, tolkien black a/n: the stan's gang version got so much love that I thought I'd do the headcannons with the others too!

masterlist

Craig

Thinks everyone is a terrible driver except for him

(he can’t parallel park for shit though)

You guys make up stories about the people you pass

“Oh he’s going through a messy divorce”

“Yeah but it’s his fault for sleeping with Miss America”

“Well if he didn’t, she was going to release the tax documents revealing he was an illegal immigrant from australia! And he can’t return to the outback!” 

He’s a pretty good road trip buddy if you don’t mind silence. 

He kind of zones out when driving so it’s not an awkward silence, just a comfortable silence

Very picky about podcasts and music though, he gets aux because he’s the one driving

PODCASTS ABOUT SPACE!! 

doesn't have Bluetooth in his car so he uses one of those connectors that plug into the cigarette lighters LMAOOO 

"bro it's 2023 why are you living in 2006" 

"because it has great mileage. shut up or walk" 

Jimmy

This will go one of two ways depending on how much you enjoy stand up comedy

Because you’ve bought yourself a ticket to the 6 hour Jimmy-athon

Every billboard is a joke

Every car you pass is a joke

Every gas station you walk into is at least 5 jokes

You’re actually probably driving to a comedian convention

you listen to the material of the panelists to figure out where he'd want to go

he makes you laugh so much you need to pull over

he probably takes a nap halfway through 

looks like a little cat curled up in the passenger seat

honestly such a good drive

whenever you get bored all you need to do is make a comment about a weird road sign and you've got entertainment for at least 30 minutes

if you don't like his comedy…

just don't. 

you will not survive.

(and you're probably a terrible person)

Tweek

There’s no way he doesn’t get car sick.

Like just absolutely demolished

You think he’s dying for a little bit because he’s just leaning against the window whispering prayers to whatever god will listen

Then you buy some medicine from a gas station and i swear it’s like you’ve opened a new conspiracy for him

“But if these have existed for so long, why hasn’t anyone told me about them?! There’s got to be something wrong with them! DID YOU JUST GIVE ME POISON!”

“Do you still feel like blowing chunks all over my windshield?” 

“Well no, not right now.”

“Then I really doubt it can be poison dude”

Don’t let him drive. 

Just don’t. 

He gets freaked out enough when you drive down a busy street. More than 3 lanes and he’s absolutely screaming

“WHY ARE THEY DRIVING SO FAST?! THE SPEED LIMIT IS 55”

“That’s not how the midwest works, tweek. We’re going 87 right now”

“87 THATS 32 MORE THAN WE’RE SUPPOSED TO- OH GOD WE’RE GOING TO GET INTO A CRASH AND FLIP THE CAR AND RUN INTO ANOTHER CAR AND THEN THAT CAR WILL EXPLODE AND NO ONE WILL FIND OUR BODIES-”

he's surprisingly good at mental math when it comes to calculating the possibility of his death

Clyde

He’d much rather fly than drive

He gets bored so fast like what are you supposed to do in a car? Sit there and… sit there?

Does not want to be in the car for more than 30 minutes

“Are we there yet?”

“We’ve been driving for an hour, Clyde”

“Okay and how much longer do we have?”

“5 hours.”

“WHAT”

Definitely had to use the bathroom every hour because he CHUGS monsters to stay awake then immediately crashes and sleeps for half of the ride

He sets up his phone so a movie can play but it’s really just him watching the movie because you have to keep driving

“You know, if we fly back then you can watch this with me”

“Well then my car would be stranded in the Chicago.”

“Can’t you just get someone to drive it back?”

“I will leave you at the next gas station and make you hitchhike home.”

“ITS A GENUINE QUESTION”

Tolkien

Oh he absolutely loves to drive

But who wouldn’t when you’ve got a fucking TESLA

(he totally has a tesla, no way he doesn’t have a tesla)

Will NOT allow chips in the car

If you do, you’re vacuuming the seats at the next gas station

“You’re not bringing those in here”

“But you can’t go on a road trip without corn nuts” 

“You can and you will.”

“Can we at least get coffee then :((“

“Well duh we’re getting coffee”

Will buy you a little drink and give you a blanket

He makes YOU a passenger princess and it’s absolutely amazing

Another podcast listener, but he likes to space them out with music so you’re not both sitting there silently the whole road trip

You’re going on the trip to hang out! You’ve got to have some random chit chat time too!

“There is no way Kuroko’s Basketball is better than Slam Dunk.”

“That’s just because you’re a snob about sports anime.”

“No that’s just because i'm right about sports anime and you spend too much time talking with Wendy”

[ahundredtimesover]

Belong (3.5: Rewind) | MYG

Pairing: Yoongi x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: exes-to-lovers-to-exes-to-lovers; actress!OC x basketball coach!Yoongi; summer romance; “long” distance relationship; parallel timelines; angst, fluff, smut

Chapter (Series) Warnings: foul/explicit language; alcohol consumption & passing out, family drama, sport injury; dreams & moving away; implied depression; basketball and acting talk; 2014 and 2022 Yoongi; shy and nonchalant cocky whipped Yoongi; almost drowning, explicit sexual content (kissing, fingering, oral, penetrative sex) (18+)

Chapter Word count: 7.5k

Series Masterlist

Status: Complete

Series summary: Being an actor has always been your dream. Pursuing it meant many things - leaving the town where you grew up, distancing yourself from your family that had fallen apart, and saying goodbye to the man who made you feel what home was like. When you decide to finally return after being away for so long, you meet Min Yoongi again, and you’re reminded of the summer romance from 8 years ago with the college basketball superstar whose broken dream pushed you away. As you find yourself spending time with him, you’re left to wonder if love changes, if it gives second chances, or if it’s just another illusion that will hurt the both of you the second time around.

Listen to: Oceans Apart by Secret Nation; Let it Go by James Bay; Already Gone by Sleeping At Last; All I Want by Kodaline || Playlist 🎶

A/N: This one’s a pretty hard one. Please take care and reach out to anyone if it gets too much. So Far Away and Snooze would be good companions for this chapter as well.

7 years ago 

You stand in front of the mirror and gaze at the woman looking back at you. Donned in a blush dress, pearl earrings, and a cream-colored scarf as a headband on your hair, you think you look pretty great. Elegant is a word you could use; you always took after your mom’s style and people described her as such. Some of your instructors think the same, but all that matters is what one specific man thinks. 

Your phone beeps to tell you he’s arrived, so you grab your bags and head out the door. 

“Going out again?” Your father’s voice stops you, but you sense only curiosity in his tone. 

“Yup, and I’m sleeping over at Tae’s,” you lie; he’s the perfect alibi, really. “Bye!”

You turn away and skip outside, towards the car that’s parked across the street. Routinely, Yoongi drives away immediately in case your father decides to check who’s picking you up, and it’s on the first stoplight right as you exit your neighborhood that you turn to the man next to you and kiss his cheek. 

“Happy anniversary, baby,” you smile. 

Yoongi’s eyes trace your face and your body as he smiles back. “Happy anniversary, jagi. You look really beautiful.”

You feel the heat rush to your cheeks. Your boyfriend usually compliments you when his head’s buried in your neck since he tends to get shy, so when he says those words while he gazes at you, you can’t help but feel flustered, an effect he just has on you. 

It’s been a year since you both admitted your feelings for each other and you get to celebrate that today with a stay-in movie afternoon and dinner at the restaurant where he took you on that first fancy date. 

Yoongi says he was supposed to cook for you for lunch but decided instead to go to the cafe you went to after that spin-the-bottle make-out session. 

“It’s where it all started,” he says as he pulls up at the place. 

“Where it started was actually Jungkook’s apartment,” you correct him. 

“Technically, it started in the gym where we had our game,” he counters. 

“Right. Where you got hit by the ball because you were so smitten by me,” you tease. 

“Yah,” he pouts. “You have broken my trust because you told Taehyung about that.”

“It makes me giddy, I couldn’t help it,” you giggle. 

You go through lunch with your usual stories and banter and then head to his apartment, which looks much cozier than you remember it being 2 days ago when you were last here. There’s a vase with marigolds on the dining table, throw pillows on the floor, and comfy blankets on his tiny couch. There’s even a popcorn machine and mood lights that he got for the occasion.

“Baby, what’s all this?” You smile, pulling him close. 

Wrapping his arms around your waist, he shrugs. “Just thought I’d clean up a bit.”

“It’s perfect,” you say, embracing him for a deep kiss. 

You make yourself comfortable on the couch as you curl into him. You finally decide your choice of movie to be Love and Other Drugs, which makes you bawl your eyes out, and that’s followed by Yoongi’s choice of Love and Basketball, which makes him quite emotional. 

Once you’ve both sorted your feelings out and kissed until you ran out of breath, you head to the restaurant for dinner and eat something fancier than what you had the last time. When Yoongi asks for the bill, the server informs him that one Mr. Min has settled it. 

“My dad?” He wonders out loud. 

“Yes,” the server replies. “We just called him as instructed and it’s all been paid for. He wishes both of you a happy anniversary.”

Yoongi smiles to himself and sends a message to his old man. A simple thank you would do even if there’s more for him to say. 

“That’s so sweet,” you gush. “I’ll visit him tomorrow and give him the biggest hug. I just love how supportive he is.”

Yoongi agrees and thinks of the times his dad let him off work early or not at all to be with you when you’d visit or when he’d go to Seoul for you. He remembers the small smiles and words of encouragement when you’re mentioned. He remembers all the ways his dad has shown that he’s happy for his son who’s found someone who loves him the way you do. Yet even then, there’s a bit of sadness at the thought. 

“He’s like that with my brother and his girlfriend, too,” Yoongi shares. “I think he’s just happy that we get to have a relationship like this, you know? Maybe it reminds him of what he lost. He constantly tells us not to screw it up.”

His mom grew up at a farm and worked hard at their family’s business. But she always dreamed of the big city life as a career woman and always wanted to be somewhere at the center of things. She wanted the fast pace and glitz and glamor and little luxuries that she couldn’t have here. She put those desires on hold when she met his dad; fell in love immediately and made a life here that seemed to override whatever dreams she had. 

He did his best - worked extremely hard at the shop, built her a house she wanted, took her to Seoul regularly for the thrill she sought. She did his best, too - returned his love and affection, took care of the family they created, and stayed every time he asked her to, even if she wanted more. He didn’t want to let go of his life here. Neither did he want to lose her, but he eventually did, after the last time he asked her to stay and she said she no longer couldn’t.

Yoongi doesn’t know why his dad didn’t do more, but then again, he thinks he shouldn’t have asked her to stay that first time. If she wanted him at the end of it all, then losing her temporarily would’ve been better than trapping her in this life where she wasn’t completely happy. Being with someone while dreaming of another - better - life just isn’t sustainable, and Yoongi wishes he was old enough to tell that to his old man. 

“Well, if we’re adding to your dad’s joy, then that's wonderful,” you say. “At least we’re not the only ones happy.”

You finish the sumptuous meal and head back to Yoongi’s apartment to continue the celebration. There’s a gift you want to give, you say, and he says that so does he. 

You sit on the floor with him and retrieve the Yamazaki whiskey from your bag to his confusion then delight, saying that you snuck it out of your dad’s liquor cabinet and it’s one of many. 

“This isn’t the gift though,” you say, as he pours each of you a glass. “This is.”

He opens the box that you hand him and softly smiles. He stares at it for a while before feeling the material, smelling it, and then unfolding it. 

It’s the vintage Allen Iverson jersey he said he’s been saving up for, and you’re glad that your few months’ salary from acting and being the assistant to the production assistant of the show you did an extra for were enough to afford this. The way his fingers trace the threading and the hem tells you he likes it. 

“I love it when you talk about basketball even if I don’t always understand it,” you smile. “I hope you keep sharing it with me.”

“Thank you, jagi,” he whispers, feeling like there’s more to say that he can’t find words for, so he kisses you tenderly instead. He knows he’ll be wearing this as often as possible. “Now, I went a bit personal with my gift,” he says, placing a box on your lap. 

You excitedly open it to find a floral silk scarf that looks incredibly elegant, and you squeal in joy at how pretty it looks. 

“Baby, this is so beautiful. I’ve been looking for something like this.”

“Good,” he giggles. “There’s one more thing, though.”

You remove wrapping paper and see a notebook underneath. The cover looks pretty ordinary, but you feel the tears form once you flip through the pages. 

It’s like his diary for the past year, with as little as one-sentence entries to as long as a whole page. 

We watched A Moment to Remember for the 5th time and she cried again. Wish I got to hug her 

She fell asleep on video call and talked in her sleep. Cute 

She spent our whole drive to Busan talking. Some stories she’s told me already but it’s okay. I can listen to her talk everyday and not get bored 

I arrived at her apartment late and she was upset with me even though she kept denying it. I knew because she didn’t kiss me until the second hour. But I should’ve kissed her sooner 

She rushed from her filming to get to my graduation on time. I wish I knew the right words to express how much it meant to me. I’ll always remember it 

I told her I love her first and she giggled. Yah, I couldn’t stop smiling! 

You use the notebook to cover your tear-stained face; you’re ugly crying by now and you’re too shy to show him, but he’s why you’re like this in the first place. 

“Jagi, that gift is supposed to make you laugh because it’s cringey,” he says, pulling your arm so he could see you. “Is it really that embarrassing?”

“What are you saying?” You cry some more. “It’s the sweetest thing ever. Baby, you don’t tell me these things.”

“Exactly,” he chuckles. “I get shy and weirded out so I just write them down. Being away from you is hard and I don’t know if I get to express enough when we’re apart and even when you’re here, so… yeah.”

“Baby, you express enough in other ways,” you assure him. “But this is so, so special. I will read this everyday and imagine it in your voice and your soft, shy smile.”

Yoongi groans. “Just don’t show Taehyung, okay? That’s a super-secret, for-your-eyes-only, once-in-a-lifetime thing.”

You laugh at the way he pouts, and it prompts you to position yourself on his lap and wrap your arms around his neck.

“You won’t be doing this for our second anniversary?” You ask. 

“Well, my plan is to say more this time,” he mumbles, “and not just write them. I… I know you need to hear the words, too.”

“However you want to say them is however I need to know them,” you respond, kissing him deeply. “You love me, that’s what matters. Whether I hear it or read it, as long as I feel it,” you continue. 

You nibble his lip as the tension starts to build. With desire in your eyes, you kiss his cheek down to his jaw. “And I really wanna feel it.”

The words affect Yoongi immediately, and he pushes against your clothed cunt to tease. “Well, do you feel it?”

You giggle your yes in his ear, a sweet sound he likes hearing no matter how turned on he is. 

Yoongi lays you on the floor, ensuring there’s a blanket to rest your head on. Propped up on one arm, he kisses you, soft and teasing the way he likes, while he unbuttons your dress. He cups your cheek like he always does, his thumb detouring to your mouth for you to suck gently, and his dick throbs at the sight. But he pushes on - pulling down your bra, flicking your nipple, and smirking when your back arches already when he hasn’t even done that much yet. 

His fingers reach your sopping cunt and they play you like his favorite game - skillfully, confidently, revealing that cockiness that only comes out when he does something he knows he’s good at. 

You smile through the pleasure, pulling him for a kiss in between your moans. You try to reach for his dick, mumbling how you want it in your mouth so he switches positions, kneeling to your side to be swallowed by you while still pleasuring you with his hand. 

The sounds you make are obscene while he maintains his groans and hushed curses. He just wants to ingrain this image in his mind to remind him of how perfect you are for each other. The way you make each other feel isn’t something that can be replicated. Even with barely any words, he knows that you know how he feels, especially once he shifts again to enter inside you now, letting you feel how hard you’ve made him. 

It’s slow but intentional at first. He wants it intimate, with him hovering over you and kissing down your jaw. But as your moans intensify, so does his pleasure, so he gets on his knees and pulls your legs apart, giving him the perfect angle to thrust into you roughly. 

“Fuck, baby, ye—” you keen. “Don’t stop. Fuck, don’t stop.”

Yoongi doesn’t. He lets himself get lost in the feel and sound of you, gripping your waist as he pushes deeper and deeper. Your shaking legs signal that it’s close to too much, and with a few flicks of your nub, you come crashing, and at your pleas for him to come with you, he crashes as well.

He lays next to your side and pulls you in his arms. 

“Oh, baby. You’re such a freaky romantic,” you tease, cupping his cheek this time and planting a soft kiss on his lips.

His look softens. “Day 1, year 2. We came so hard and then she giggled and kissed me,” he narrates, causing you to laugh again. “She’s so adorable when she looks so soft. I love her so much.”

Summer ends too soon for you. By the middle of it, there were less of the lazy days at Yoongi’s apartment and more of the cafe runs before his training with a developmental team. It’s the usual next step, as the draft for the professional teams is still a few months from now, and this is where players get scouted. It’s basically their time to show the big league what they’re made of; the media hypes the players up as well and that adds to the anticipation of their eventual debut on the national stage. 

Your support for Yoongi didn’t waver. Once he passed the tryout for the best team in the area, he spent a lot of time on the court. You’d wake up to an empty bed next to you because he’s off to morning training; some afternoons were spent in another city where the game was being held. But whenever he was back at home with you, it was all cuddles and kisses and inside stories and excitement from him.

There’s this joy he has whenever he plays. It’s not as obvious because unlike his teammates, Yoongi doesn’t react much. But since you watch him and not really the game, you notice how he always looks around the court before every match. You see the tiniest of smiles whenever he makes a shot or a good pass. You feel his focus when he’s seated on the bench, watching his teammates and then whispering something to them after. 

He was their college team’s captain not because he was the most vocal, but because he was the most observant. He knew every team member’s individual strengths and highlighted those, and this time was no different. He always said he’s a student of the game and would spend entire days just watching play-by-plays and analyses. 

But you enjoyed every day you got to watch him train or play. You snuck in a smirk or two when you’d caught his attention, and he took his revenge by gazing at you after a made-shot until you felt hot all over. He really is a confident one when he’s on the court. 

You left in tears as you did the year before. You knew it was gonna be harder this time - he’d be more focused with training and getting drafted while you’d be in your final year of university. But you promised you’d still see each other as much as you could and you stayed true to that.

Months pass and though less frequent and shorter, the visits continue. So do the regular calls and texts, even if your exhaustion shows more and his frustration over losses hits harder. But the care and love remain.

He assures you of being fully with you after he gets drafted - wherever that may be; he said he hopes he’ll be based in Seoul - and you assure him the same after you graduate. The life you never even thought you’d want is slowly shaping up. You imagine the nice house in the big city and days of his basketball games and your movies. You imagine the mornings and evenings together, all the talks and the lovemaking, and all the hurt from your past being let go. 

It was all good until it wasn’t. All it took was one bad fall, a broken kneecap, and a shattered dream to change everything.

6.5 years ago 

The bell over the door rings, signaling a customer, and Yoongi smiles at the sight of you entering.

“Hey,” you greet, kissing him as you walk behind the counter, careful not to hit his casted knee. “I’m sorry I’m late. The agents took a while to inform us on who got the extras for this series. Couldn’t leave until then. Are you okay?”

“Did you get a role?” He asks, wanting to know how you are instead of him constantly saying how he’s been, which is pretty much the same this past week.

It’s been 3 months since the injury. He got a steal and went for a fast break, got inadvertently hit by an opponent, and then fell on his knee. It was a serious one, he’d been told; it would require weeks of bed rest and more of physical therapy. The mental side of it wasn’t something the doctor warned him about, though, and Yoongi thinks it’s been the worst.

He spent \days in bed with nothing to do, wishing he was on the court to train and play as draft day neared. He had this crazy thought that he’d still make it on time, but when his coach visited one day and told him bluntly - as Yoongi requested - that no professional teams are willing to contract an injured player, he felt his life crash down. It didn’t help to learn that the Seoul Thunders planned on signing him; that would’ve been the perfect path for him so he could be with you. 

He moved back with his dad, a knot forming in his heart every time because Yoongi doesn’t like being taken care of, especially when as an adult, he feels like it’s his job to watch over his old man. 

He loathed himself for not being there for you, too. Agencies usually start getting senior acting students, and you got rejected from your first 4 choices. You tried to mask your dejection during your video calls, asking instead how he’s been doing. He shrugged things off, saying he was okay, the same thing you were doing, and he felt that both of you were just trying to protect the other, or even yourselves, knowing that the comfort you both badly needed wasn’t an arm’s reach away. 

When you finally got that call from a small agency, which you became ecstatic about after learning that they really seemed to care about their talents, he celebrated with you through the screen. He felt you play it down, though, and he knew you didn’t want him to feel bad. The restrained smiles hurt him more than he could say, though, and he wanted badly to just see your joy again.

“I got a role, just a small one,” you smile now. “And you, Mr., why are you out of the house? Being in a cast and cleared to move doesn’t mean you should be doing it all day.”

Your crossed arms and pouty face endears him, and he can’t help but chuckle. 

“I’ve been stuck in my old room for months, jagi. I’m sick of the bed and staring at the NBA posters on my wall and all the awards I’ve won,” he says, his voice and his face falling. “It’s… it’s not a good place to be.”

“I’m sorry, baby,” you say, kissing his hand. 

The front door opens and Mr. Min enters, who’s just as surprised to see his son manning the shop. 

“What are you doing here!” He scolds. “You’re supposed to be resting at home!”

“I’m trying to get the business going so we could earn and pay for my medical bills,” Yoongi answers, his face hardening now at the reminder of the sacrifices of his dad just so he could get the best care. 

The developmental team and the insurance could only cover so much. Jungkook and Namjoon even gathered their friends to raise funds just to help, and much as Yoongi didn’t want to accept it, he knew rejecting the offer would bury his dad further in debt.

“That isn’t your job, son,” Mr. Min counters. “It’s mine.”

“It is, after I made that fast break knowing I’d get fouled. It was unnecessary. I shouldn’t have.”

“It’s a play you’ve done so many times before. You wouldn’t have known how it would end. There’s no one to blame for this,” his dad huffs.

You can tell this conversation has happened before, and as you look at Yoongi’s dejected eyes, you know that he’s feeling much more than he’s been telling you, and you curse at yourself for being too tired and preoccupied to see behind his smiles. 

“I just…” he starts, then shakes his head. “I just wanna do something else that isn’t lying down and feeling sorry for myself. I need to be productive. I’m just sitting here on the counter; I can stay here while you work on some pieces.”

“Fine,” his dad sighs. “But you’re off by 5.”

You stay with Yoongi until then, talking about how your days have been. He insists you tell him stories and you do, indulging him for now. Mr. Min drives both of you to their house and prepares dinner, and you notice that as time passes, Yoongi gets more quiet.

You remember the date and your heart breaks for him even more.

“Mr. Min, I’m sorry to ask but is it okay if I stay with Yoongi tonight?” You say, as you help him clean up in the kitchen. “It’s draft night and I don’t want him to be alone.”

The man stops his movements and glances at his son whose eyes that have lost the life in them stare at the ceiling. As a father, there’s no such pain like this. He thought that witnessing his sons lose their playfulness after he couldn’t get their mother to stay was hard enough, but it wasn’t as painful as seeing his child lose his drive and passion over a crushed dream. He knows there’s not much he can do but you do, so he agrees.

“Of course, my dear,” he smiles sadly. “Thank you for being patient with him. I know it hasn’t always been easy.”

“It’s all I can do,” you hum. “I just wish he doesn’t keep all the pain to himself.”

“I remind him that he shouldn’t, but it’s something he just does,” Mr. Min sighs. “Just give him some more time.”

“I will,” you nod, walking back to your boyfriend who smiles faintly when you say you’ll be staying the night. 

You watch a rom-com and curl into him the entire time, laughing against his chest, intertwining your fingers with his, and nuzzling his neck to give him some form of comfort and distraction from what’s going on in some hall in Seoul. Wrapped in his arms as you prepare to sleep, you whisper words of love and encouragement, relaying what his dad had told you - that it isn’t the end, that he’s too young to think it is, that he has time after he recovers, and that he’ll be back strong soon enough.

Yoongi hums, kissing your forehead to tell you that he appreciates your positivity, that he wants to believe in your words, that your love has been the only light during these past 3 months of darkness. He lets your soft breaths sing him to sleep and he kisses you again - in apology this time, for keeping all his pain from you, for letting you see him suffer, for not loving you as he should, and for thinking that despite all the support you’re giving him, he’s not quite sure how to get through all this.

6 years ago 

The pain from a broken dream is something that’s hard to comprehend. You tried to understand it once, when your mom told you about her own injury that had her retire from ballet early. It wasn’t just the physical pain, she said; the way the heart and soul hurt is indescribable. It wasn’t as simple as trying again after recovering; the fear of a re-injury is paralyzing, the missed opportunities are haunting, and the unwanted encouragement was jarring. 

“It crushes something inside of you and you’re just lost,” she told you. 

You think about her words as you look around Yoongi’s room, void of the love for the sport that used to burst out of him. You’ve just arrived from Seoul after a day of celebrations after your graduation yesterday, a milestone that your boyfriend wasn’t a part of because he hadn’t been feeling well; he’ll celebrate with you back home where it’s just the both of you, he’d said, not feeling like he’s ready to be around other people.

He's been feeling that since the injury, you sigh to yourself. Even after he removed the cast and could walk and run again, you two have barely gone out of the house every time you’ve visited, which is almost every week. Never mind the auditions you missed and the late nights; you had to go see him every time because he couldn’t, and you’re not sure if he was more upset that he’s not able to go to you, or that you were the one who had to see him every time. You can’t really tell; Yoongi hasn’t been open and expressive in a while.

The walls are now bare, with tape markings from the posters that were once displayed. There’s a trash bag next to his bin, and you find all his trophies and medals thrown inside. You fold the clothes on his bed and put them in his cabinet, finding that all his school and NBA jerseys are messily placed at the back, including the Allen Iverson one that you gifted him over a year ago, the one he once wore almost everyday.

“You don’t need to do that,” he hums, closing his closet door. “It’s fine.”

“Is it?” You bravely ask. “Are you?”

“I don’t know how else I can answer that differently from the way I did last week, or the week before that, and before that,” he says too dryly. “You ask every time and I answer the same way.”

Yoongi watches your eyes lose their sparkle that was already faint in the first place. It’s been like that for a while. He supposes it’s the exhaustion from having to take the long trip every weekend to see him; once, you even came here for just a day because you learned he had a breakdown and wouldn’t stop crying. He doesn’t tell you that it still happens every few days, knowing that it would worry you even more. 

You’re also probably just tired of having to deal with him - of missing out on the little things that he used to pick up so easily, of not telling you much about his empty, monotonous days, of not initiating or barely returning your affection. He can’t blame you, and though he knows of the extent of your love that would weather all this for and with him, he also knows you don’t deserve this broken version of the man who’s been unable to love you the way you’ve been needing him to. 

It wasn’t always like this. He was optimistic at one point, but the hope of getting back on the court slowly faded when the healing process took longer than expected, as the presence of his friends and family became too suffocating, as the love he once had for the sport turned into fear. 

He was cleared to move around and do light physical activities the other day and he decided to head to his favorite court at the park for a shoot around. Everything was unfamiliar. The feel of the ball in his hand didn’t feel the same, the movement of his legs were off, the open space made him claustrophobic. 

But he pushed through. He tried to take shots but would freeze whenever he had to jump. It’s like he couldn’t move, and that’s when he knew that the fear had taken over - he’s afraid he’s no longer the same, that he’ll get injured again, that the sport he committed himself to no longer has space in its world for him. 

The breakdown wasn’t intense like the first few times. It was silent but heavy, controlling his limbs to go back to his house, rip the posters from his wall, throw all his trophies in a trash bag, and hide everything else that reminded him of basketball. He slept well that night, thinking that it’s how it is to let go of a dream, but he woke up the next day feeling all the pain and fear and regret and sadness over something he’d lost, and all he wanted was to be able to hold you.

But he’s hurting you and he knows it, and he doesn’t know how to stop. He doesn’t know how all the broken parts of him could comfort and love you when he’s hurting himself. He doesn’t know how his broken dream could support you. You loved him for his passion, for his kindness, for the way he looked at life; he doesn’t know what’s left after all of those have gone. 

“I’m sorry, I just don’t really know what to say,” he continues after the tense silence. “But you’re here and we’re celebrating your graduation. This is all about you. I had food delivered. It should arrive soon, let’s go.”

“Okay,” you whisper, turning away and walking ahead. 

He sees you try to engage but your smile fades quickly. You feel distant at night when you don’t curl into his body like you normally do and he knows why, as he sees through the light from outside - you’re crying in your sleep, and for the first time, he doesn’t think he’s enough to make all your hurt go away. 

The next few weeks fly by in a blur. After the trip back home where you tried to celebrate your graduation with Yoongi, only to feel helpless at not being able to comfort him like you used to, you’re unable to visit until the next month. The roles you’ve been trying to scoop up just to get exposure and build networks have been taking much of your time, including the hostess job at a restaurant that you decided to take just so you could pay the bills.

Yoongi doesn’t seem to mind though; he doesn’t look for you the way he used to. You’re unsure if it’s the time spent apart, if it’s him getting tired with this arrangement, or if it’s that part of him that’s still suffering that’s why your relationship is suffering, too.

Much as you want to just confront him about how everything’s affected the both of you, he doesn’t seem to be open. He’s detached most times, disinterested in what’s going on in either of your lives, and just drained of energy. It’s hurting you more than you’d like to admit because this can't possibly be more difficult for you than it is for him. 

So you keep it all in - how you miss his smile and his kisses, how you wish he could let you share his pain, how you want to just pause your life in Seoul so you could be with him until he’s better, until he’s able to love himself again, until he can love you again the way he used to.

You cry on the morning that his dad calls to tell you that he’d found Yoongi at 3AM, asleep in his car that was parked near the court where he used to play. Mr. Min had been so worried and drove around town to find his son who wasn’t picking up his phone, and Yoongi had only muttered an apology and barely spoke after they got home. 

You take the first train you could back to Daegu, rushing to his room once you arrive. You hug him tightly, tempted to express all your anger and disappointment and apology and desperation over how things have been for him and for both of you. 

“Talk to me,” you beg, looking at him with tears in your eyes. “Baby, talk to me. Tell me what’s going on. It’s been hard tiptoeing around you, guessing what you’re feeling and not knowing how to comfort you. Let me know how I can help.”

Yoongi merely looks away, seeming as if even as you plead for him to let you in, he just doesn’t want to. 

The silence is deafening; it never felt this heavy, this scary, nor this painful. 

“How did it get so hard to love you?” You finally cry out, feeling your heart burst out of your chest at the words that have been swimming in your head. 

You never thought it would ever get this bad. You know he needs you and you’re willing to be there even if there’s so little of you to give, but the distance has gotten too much; no matter how hard you reach your hand, he’s just not willing to take it. 

“Then stop,” he says pointedly, surprising you. “You’re not the only one having a hard time.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do.”

He does, in ways he can’t explain. Maybe in ways you won’t ever understand. It’s hard to love someone when he knows he’s lost himself; it’s not easy to believe he still deserves you when he can’t give you everything you deserve. 

“It’s hard but you still do. You still love me, I know it,” you argue. 

Yoongi looks away. That’s how you know you’re right. It’s in the longing in his eyes that he doesn’t want you to see. His quivering lips tell you he’s holding back, that there’s more of that pain in the rubble of the dream that was once so strong and so real. 

“This hasn’t been working out,” he says, a thought you’d only let live in your head for fear that voicing it out would signal that you’re giving up on a love that’s meant the world to you. “It’s a miracle we even made it this long after what happened. I had plans for us - playing for a team, living with you, sustaining us… But all that’s gone down the drain and I can’t… I can’t keep living like this - being so far from you, worrying about you worrying about me, waiting for the day that I’ll get over myself just so I could give you a fraction of what you give me. The distance has just made everything so fucking hard.”

“So ask me to stay,” you tell him, walking towards him so he could see in your eyes how serious you are, that you’re willing to give things up for him so you could love him better, so that could make him heal faster. “Let me stay here with you. Let me be with you.”

Yoongi gazes back at you and so many memories flood his mind.

He remembers the first time. The first conversation he’d overheard when his dad asked his mother to stay. And how she did. 

He remembers the second time and the third. 

He remembers how the joy was fleeting, and how miserable she looked days later, like something was missing. Like the people in the home they built stopped being enough. 

And he remembers the last time - the last time his dad asked her to stay, and how for the first time, she said no, and she took her bags and walked out the door. Yoongi remembers the tears in her eyes and her whispered apology, but that she looked like something he’d never seen until that day. That day, she looked free. 

“I can’t ask you that,” he says in a hushed tone as he looks away, like the words aren’t his, like the words hurt just as much. “I can’t ask you to stay. I won’t let you.”

“But you’re here. I belong where you are.”

“Not here. You never belonged here.”

“If you think that pretending you don’t want me anymore will convince me that you don’t, then you’re wrong. I know that’s not true. Just ask me to stay. I need to hear that you want me to stay.”

“I’m not pretending. I do want you. So much. But so will the rest of the world, and that’s what you deserve,” he answers. “There’s nothing for you here, ___. One day, I’ll stop being enough and it will be too late.”

“You don’t know that,” you insist.

“I do.”

“I’m not your mother, Yoongi. And you’re not your dad.”

“Exactly. You dream of something more than just living in the big city. You dream of something you can and you will achieve because you’re destined for it. You’re not her. And I’m not him. Because I’d never ask you to give up anything to keep you here.”

“Then come with me,” you plead. “Seoul is big enough for the both of us.”

“It is. But you’ll be bigger,” he says, cupping your cheek now. “You belong there while I… I have my own broken dreams that I need to piece back together. And I can only do that here. I won’t let them hurt you like they’re hurting me. I can’t love you right with the broken parts of me. So please, ___. Don’t stay. You and I both know you won’t be happy here.”

You remember your mom’s words as she described what emptiness felt like after she stopped dancing. Not only did she lose her capability but she lost her drive, too; she lost herself in the pain of it all. And that haunted her. It was like a ghost that she let live with her even after you and your sisters came along, and you all had to suffer because she forced herself to be okay and love the people around her even if everything else hurt.

You’ll never know what it feels like but you understand. And so you concede, dropping your head to rest on his chest and hugging him as you sob.

“I’m so sorry, jagi,” he whispers in your ear. “I thought I was strong enough for this but I’m not. What’s left of me just can’t… it just can’t love you the same way anymore.”

You hold onto him tighter in response, not able to say just how much it hurts, but that you’ll suffer through it on your own and let him go like he wants. 

Maybe this is what he needs. And loving him the way you do, maybe giving him up is how you could love him even more. 

5 years ago 

The start of spring usually brings with it new beginnings, with the colors coming back and the sun shining a lot brighter this time. You’re finally able to take a day off from your hostess job at the restaurant after working there for 6 days, with your last acting gig having wrapped up just last week. It’s still tough starting out, and while your extra role had you in ⅔ of the season’s episodes, it’s still nowhere near the break you badly need.

You’re looking forward to today though, as Jungkook and Namjoon promised to treat you to a fancy lunch after their game against each other; they were drafted by the Seoul and Incheon developmental basketball teams respectively, in time for the draft in a few months. You’ve seen them at least 3 times since they both moved out of Daegu, and every time has been full of laughter, with both of them asking to be set up with your actor friends.

The topic of Yoong still comes up, with you asking how he’s been doing. He’s been fine, they say. He showed up at their graduation and joined the celebration after they got drafted. It’s a far cry to how their captain was not long ago - distant, angry, and completely rid of anything that reminded him of the sport. 

Both men show up at the restaurant with their usual smiles, and after ordering so much food that you wouldn’t have been able to afford, you have your usual chat - about life back in Daegu, about your friends, and about basketball.

“And Yoongi?” You ask. “Is he still doing okay?”

Jungkook blinks at you repeatedly before nodding and downing his soda. “Uh-uh,” he hums. 

He doesn’t follow it up and instead nudges Namjoon, who adds that yes, their captain is doing better; they visited him the other month after they both went home for the weekend. 

You eye both men as they hyper focus on their food and try to change the subject.

“You’re both terrible liars, you know that, right?” You frown at them. “I know we’ve been broken up a while but I’d still appreciate it if you told me how he’s really doing. Is… is he feeling down again? Did something happen? Is it his dad?”

“No. Yoongi’s, uh,” Namjoon sighs. “He’s doing really well, ___. He’s just…”

“Namjoon,” you huff, “you’re scaring me.”

“He has a girlfriend,” Jungkook blurts, earning him a shove from his friend.

“You could’ve softened the blow,” Namjoon groans.

“You were stuttering,” Jungkook argues. He turns to you and gives you a sad look. “It’s… it’s been going for like, a few months. She’s a local musician and she’s nice. She seems to be treating him well. I’m… I’m sorry.”

“Hey, nothing to apologize for,” you smile, meaning it. “As long as he’s doing okay, though, right? And I’m really glad that he is.”

The men sigh in relief, perhaps thinking you’d take the news worse than this. 

You try to maintain your composure and control the tears that are about to fall as the meal goes on, a skill you’re close to mastering. You’ve wanted nothing more than for Yoongi to heal and feel alive again and he seems to be; maybe finding someone who could be there for him physically and emotionally was what he really needed. Clearly, that wasn’t you. And clearly, it wouldn’t take long for him to realize that. You have no doubt that your breakup hurt him, but you also didn’t think he’d move on from it like this and this soon, considering how it ended. 

Hoseok, your agent, calls and cuts your lunch short, as he says he got to book you a walk-in audition for a supporting role in a mini-series, with the directors wanting someone new and having a certain innocent, youthful look about them.

You bid your friends goodbye, with them hugging you a little more tightly than earlier, saying that they wish you all the happiness in the world and that maybe, this audition will get you closer to what you’ve always wanted. 

You wait a few hours for your turn to audition, reining in all your emotions so you could translate it during your few minutes of time in front of the panel. You’re not sure if it’s the best thing for your heart that the scene is one where you’re watching the man you want to be with be with someone else, but after you put in your all and notice the small smile of one of the woman in front of you, you think that maybe allowing yourself to be this vulnerable wasn’t so bad.

Hoseok treats you to a late dinner and tells you that it seemed like you did well. Maybe the payoff to the hurt from today will materialize one day, maybe it won’t. But nothing changes the way your heart breaks at the thought of Yoongi moving on. 

You cry yourself to bed and decide that it’s time for you to move on, too. You wake up the next morning and tear the photo of the both of you that’s still on your bedside. 

What’s left of you has nothing left for him, too. You hope you’ll get over this soon enough.

Series Masterlist

Permanent Taglist: @sherlynxx​​ @di0rgguk​​ @thequeen-kat​​ @fan-ati--c​​  @cravingforhotchocolate​​ @adoraminie​​ @helenazbmrskai​​ @weasleyswizarding-wheezes​​ @gukssunshine​​ @nch327​​ @kookxin​​ @petuliii​​ @yoursthv​​ @libra04​​ @fancycollectormoon​​ @twixxxpie​​ @ignoretheskies​​ @ohmydarlin-g​​ @bids97​​ @minyoongiboongi​​ @bangtansmauyeondan​​ @bora-bae7 @investedreader​​ @petalsofink​​ @moonchild1​​ @jvngkooker​​ @starbtslove​​​ @jungoomoles

Series Taglist: @wobblewobble822​​​​​ @shydestinyyouth​​​ @nk01119888-blog @ktownshizzle​

[kahztiy]

Flash Memoir 8min Read Chapter YD6~05 Incidental, A Secretary's Little Girl

It would have been John Gregory, in Aticon’s fleet Volkswagen Golf, driving up in Fourways, peri-urban’s small holding’s greenhouses, and stepping out with a sloppy gait, rolled shoulders in a flimsy business jacket and pants heading toward a potential client’s invitation by a step back with the hinging door — I followed up on an inquiry, and prepared with a booklet I picked from the Mercedes’ leather passenger seat, swagger to a handshake. Followed the potential client’s hand, waving, closing the door behind. I crossed the hallway toward a woman across the room, lounging amidst cushions on the sofa. The latent tomato grower, far from a farmer and Germanic features, in dress suit pants and long sleeve open collar shirt, as he invites me to sit. with handing him a booklet, saying. “It’s four Rand fifty.” I pinched a nerve, and he turns away, pacing across the flat archway’s opening to sit in unison, triangulated, onto chatting and raised an industrial intonation. I couldn’t imagine foreign currency, and value in shipping tomatoes by airfreight, as he says. “… All my tomatoes go to the overseas market.” After a while, we rose from our chairs, and I daren’t insist, leaving the booklet with him, as the conversion leads me to the front door, to a warm, ‘_Goodbye._’ handshake.

I’m driving away, pursuant of the country roads — to our teen years with Igor, riding to bicycle race meetings. Far from an access road onto the western concrete bypass, but parallel, I pondered, sinking my ego’s learned spread mortar and embed brick, in admiration of John’s inmate Cancer, dealing with people. I reach the Old Pretoria Road, to Southway’s gateway into the suburb of Kelvin, to an immediate branching left into Fairway. Martin Knowles’ double story house, sprout after the cornered filling station, passing the adjacent church, behind a front row of villas. Since the court ordered, I vacate the house for Jean. The car rocks across through the gutter to the dirt street. At the first gateway, the heel of my hand spins the steering wheel past the gates, to the brick paving. counter spinning the porch, rotating by the car windows to a halt. I turn the ignition off, alight the car. By the trunk’s contours, I head toward the waffle panel door, pick the lock, turn the knob. With the door swings, Echo whispers a homecoming chill jilt emptiness - Thwock - closing the door behind.

I sidestepped through the wide opening, deviating from the hallway in the left wing toward the distant rear window’s glow, gleaming bulk plastic wraps. one elongating tread, I descend to a sunken conversation pit, an architectural fashion. From the pile of dormant booklets, I turn away, my business on crutches, past a vacant secretary’s desk, to the shiny filing cupboard. I kick a hip around my desk to sit, grabbing the White Page. Shift the keyboard back against the Central Processing Unit box, beneath the Personal Computer monitor. Paged the top corner index, repeating to myself, ‘_Rand Easter Show…_’ My finger trails the listed family names, until my index finger underscores the phone number. Pick the handset hook by my shoulder to my cheek, piano on the keypad, to hear the distant ringing. A woman’s voice answers, and to my surprise, accommodating. My heart warms with a sense of achievement. Eager to follow up, I’m asking. “… Where are you people?”

With a hand wrist, I flipped and flopped my wallet’s flaps, but the Rand Easter Show moved, since the Milner Park across the campus of the University of the Witwatersrand. I pull an abnormal small ball-point pen, slippery in my fingers, to note in my 7-Star pocket miniature agenda at a random date, while in mind churned her direction to a location on the outskirts of Johannesburg. She hung up the phone, reminding myself. ‘_Just in case_.’ I noted the number dialed and rose from my chair, tucking my wallet into my trouser’ back pocket. track my way across the black slate floor, to the hallway, my mind arises ruminating for a sales speech winning over the unbeknownst, apart grant to access a flood of people. I stepped into sunlight, my ripe orange Mercedes in sight car stationed on a purple-beige-brown solar brick paving - thwack - closing the door behind.

With long strides, keys jingle in my hand, with a hip swing I round the Mercedes’ trunk, pick the lock to for the awakening pneumatic wheeze - Pop -. I pull the handle, step in my door swing - smack - pick the ignition and tweak. Under the hood, the alternator whirs, moody fatigue pistons struggle with the compression to fire the aging engine to motion a purr. My fingers brush the soft steering wheel to fall on the gear knob, toggle into reverse, release for an elbow poke the backrest, my body twisting after an eye slew over my shoulder. Steer with a rear windshield view past the pair of garage doors to a halt, uncoils toggle the gearshift into drive, pulling away by the hinged back iron gates, into the dirt Roseway. I’m steering the car onto the asphalt, from the corner villa and amidst wild thin spread bark sloughing eucalyptus, into Fairway’s leafy prolongation, peered at the translucent red and white Esso fascia cantilevers --. 

I’m recollecting calculating the amount of fuel for the day and a single journey in the morning, to drop off at Westbank’s warehouse their recalled leased Audi. pulled onto the driveway to the high plinth, to a halt alongside the far gas pump. Search alongside the gas station storefront, two figures dressed in mousy colored suites, with purple streaks, until one rises from the bench to step out the cabin approaching. I stepped out of the Red Audi to stand by the driver’s window. Across the Audi’s roof, I nod at the attendants crossing the driveway, and by the rear fender to the fuel tank’s cap, I’m saying. “Today, only Ten Rand!” 

The Black man’s reach clang the gas pump nozzle to retrieve, when a motion in the corner of my eye calls to glance. He trails the black hose swag to a handhold to fuel tank neck. I repeated glimpses with nothing to see from the shaded forest of eucalyptus flank. niggled, I stared across the station’s concrete driveway, to a lawn girdling a flowerbed with bushy cycads. the converging and evanescent asphalt streets, to a yield road sign, judicious rose a silver radiator grill, to extreme headlights sneak from the shadows. While across the red Audi’s roof, the attendant's cautious eyes rolling a mounting rand display. From the shadows waxes and heighten orange ripe, the Mercedes muzzle coasting, besides the fuel pump attendant’s nozzle - clang - as the hose retracts and he besides the pump hangs up the nozzle. 

The orange Mercedes cuts through the splitting streets, for the cornered driveway to halt short of the cast shade lining up to the driveway median’s paired gas pumps. The driver’s figure behind the windshield in the shadows remains. until the figure wiggles, the orange door swings out, with Brian rising tall, with a hunter’s eyes up the driveway, after his staff or property. He paces around easing door closing, approaching the front fender, a car pulls into the driveway, coming around the Mercedes, passing the fuel pump to a halt on the exit way. Brian, In his strides, pauses. Against the brown rustic brick backdrop. I recollected a car on a lift, with the workshop entry door in Southway, around the corner. I hailed. “Hi Brian — You wouldn’t have, or know of, a car for sale. Would you?”

Brian’s eyesight sweeps, rolling his head, fixing the Mercedes behind him, insinuating. ‘_I have this_.’ I’m surprised, without an instant for reflection, to doubt and never decide. Telling Brian without speaking. ‘_ Yuck! That’s a diarrhea-ish color!_’ Back to myself. ‘_You’ll be driving a rich old man’s car? — Good! You’ll break your impatient driving style._’

“Brian, how much?”

“It’s got a new engine!” Brian answers, to which I’m thinking. ‘_The car will come with a good neighbor’s guarantee. Holds a resale value, but I have no choice besides been within twenty-four hours without means of transportation._’

“OK! I’ll take it.” I’m saying. “Brian! I’ll bring you the cash over right now.” 

We parted ways. I stepped to the pump attendant with a hand in my back pocket. In a wrist roll flip and flop wallet doors, bring a 10.00 Rand from the purse, handing to the attendant. Climbed into the red Audi, pulled off draining my stress, the incidental luck, U-turn on my way to keeping my part of the deal. I drove home to Sunnyway, to jump out of the red Audi. climbed the stairs into my office. Turned the dial, entered the safe room, and piano the shaved safe, within which I counted 7,000 Rand. I returned to the filling station, stepped up to Brian, handing him the wade of 100 Rand bills.

The attendant filling my Mercedes’ fuel tank, to a greater capacity than my series of Audis’ subsisting on my impatience, sportive and need to be revving the engines. With a bird's-eye view, but destined to circumvent Johannesburg’s inner-city network of streets attaining the Rand Easter Show, I’m creeping along the driveway to Fairway’s Yield sign. Foot feathered the throttle engaged in Southway. Break into the cast shade’s flocculent barrel vault a property deep, remainder’s bicentenary eucalyptus’ spread. I coasted by the hydraulic gears drive up to the sunlight clearing highway’s silver security screen, to the yield sign, changed by indecisive road security engineers to a Stop sign back-and-forth. 

Reminded earlier sunlight crept under the Mercedes’ tail ousted night, shine tires tracks wearing smooth. With that in mind, I approached the sun flooded apron, panned the slope to the service road, and way finder on the historic Old Pretoria Road, to Voortrekkers’ trail planted saplings to shade from the scorching sun. I glanced right, and left for upcoming traffic, couldn’t help but slam the throttle, the gear kickdown, the engine roar, storming the steep engage of the Old Pretoria Road, to an appeasing purr along the highway’s glitter trickling traffic. The breeze’s hands waving golden grasslands, scythed, heavy scarifiers ripped open the belly to the ground, bulldozers leveled with aggregates until asphalt’s bands steamrolled. Kelvin’s cornered and from my upper floor office desk, the distant whooshing sunk into quicksands. On Tuesday nights’ South African Broadcast Corporation diffused Dallas to the households in front of their television screen, and on weekdays, after midnight, the skies opened starry nights. vacuumed the day’s residual sunlight dusted across my arboresque brain, open to the upcoming day, my mind piggyback the dancing spectrum of light, to rush downstairs to catch a needed sleep. 

My way cast in doubt, short of the Buccleuch interchange’s shadows to monstrous, shining concrete pillars. I’m engaging the old branching Kyalami road to a spaghetti of roadways across the Pretoria highway, and converging to a trickle of traffic along the Western Bypass, and cruising. The Mercedes’ tires wheezing along the white concrete highway. Refrained from my adolescent’s home backyard playground, I’m eager for a peek at how fared, the Richter Architect’s designed flat roof laminated beams, to rough-hewn face brick, modernism glass, among bright pitched roofed wayside development. But the white circulation bands sag across the valley, overpass the gateway to Rivonia, and to a farmer’s supply town. I’m hanging onto the parallel country roads, Igor, and I cycled. 

In my face, bright overpass parapets approach and multiplying shortened distances, plowing the car on a stipplechase in a blink break through the cast shade. After the Northern Wheelers’ road race circuit, from the Randburg’s outskirts’ Start and Finish line, past the Velskoen drive-in, to Fourways, a countryside loop. I’m cruising past Randburg’s Afrikaner leafy green suburbs to Igor’s parents-in-law. landmarks of construction sites, to John Gregor, his brother’s thatched roof house, an intermediate to Igor’s Richter designed house. The last overpass blinked at Randburg’s straggling houses, to shaggy grassland. As I’m cruising alongside wasteland sloping away between shallow hills, the shallow valleys regurgitate blurry and dusty, a matchbox housing grid herding behind a billboard exponential over-sizing. 

A Nordic naïve white couple heading the wasteland up-slope, trail half a dozen black street young male zombies, with eyes to their enlightenment approaching the billboard’s three flicked cigarette from a Lexington’s red and white pack. To a cheerful golfer’s smoke puffs, fingers clipped a smoke trailing cigarette, cheek-to-cheek with a woman companion. The man shouldering a long lens camera on a tripod, in pursuance of a woman, clear of the billboard’s stilts framework, and wind struts to the overhead advert underscoring. “After action — Satisfaction.” the billboard masks dusty farmed houses, where locals daren’t venture. I cruised by, broke away from the media activists, and lured a mobster agitation for a lucrative anti-apartheid propaganda. 

The woman I had earlier on the phone, her instruction, lay open on the passenger seat. I’m pondering over a strategy to focus on meeting responsible people, as along the highway’s inner periphery resembles her instructions. forthcoming clustered bright and shaded industrial sheds. The road shoulder sprouts the Rand Show on a road sign, and again superseded by a pointer. I eased the throttle to ride the diverging ramp from the highway’s dark underpass. I ramped to the yield sign. I steered to crawl the corner onto the deserted thoroughfare from Soweto, looking for signs, and led to a jagged street grid spiraling by industrial sheds inland. I counter steered the car right turn, by hinged back security gates into a glowing delusion, to a courtyard complex’s squatted office facades. Shaded under the corrugated iron guttered eaves. With the heel of my hand, spin the steering wheel coasting, I’m pursuing the flank facade’s row of small administration windows without access. In the corner’s depth, turn to the street facing fenestrated facades, while off sight I’m picking my open diary off the passenger seat, with wallet’s flip the flaps close to my scribbled notes, to step gazing at a milky glass door in the shade, to a shining plaque alongside affixed the wall, saying to myself. ‘_That must be it?_’

Scouting, I step out of the car - Smack - the door closes, approach a Rotary Club’s resemblance copper engraved shield, since I met members by the donated to building the Alexandra Montessori school. I lay fingers crank the door handle, slow-pacing with the hinging back door, to clearing a burly man. With a gay man’s gaze fixing on me, standing in a gray suit, flimsy lapels, white shirt, and open collar bathing in the luminescent interior, I overlook crossing the doorstep. Latching the door behind, sweeping an eyesight behind the figure glued to a carousel’s skirted mannequin quilt’s expansive glossy leaflets, the man’s fingers pick from the stacked without lending an eye.

I’m passing the stranger’s lizard eyes, stalker’s eyesight heat piggyback, I presume, fearing losing to me, his place in the queue. To the petite woman in a loose long dress draping from the stretch counter, stretched on raised heels from slippers to the ball of her feet. I lend sight, scrutinizing the life-size poster sticking out from behind the eerie burly man on standby. depicting frisky staff members serving and jumping the flank wall’s blank column onto the cheerful faces with pearly smiles. I short slow-pace from the deep angle circling from reaching the facing wall, while gazing at trade booths plastering the rear wall, kitchen crowd amid dressed tables for the restaurant opening, I end a discretion space away from the woman.

Patient, and surveying atop the facing plain wall, the calling sunlight’s glow waking in a strip across the room. Windows dropped a yellowish streak along the stretched countertop. Eager to relieve my lower back pinch, I advanced as the woman behind the counter rushed away, leaving her customer in attendance, planting my elbows on the counter, to do a discreet spine stretching exercise to relieve an itching pain. I let my eyesight wander the void to the aisle behind the counter from the corner of my eye, beyond the petite woman’s head. The customer attendant at the end wall seems to traverse the wall’s changing door shade, with a glimpse of a peeking office desk’s corner, further back a photocopying machine, vanishing behind the wall shading an embossed doorjamb. My eyesight wandered in retrieve, discrete in the corner of my eyes, to the petite woman’s mane, flowing over her shoulders, hard-pressed neck deep propped on her elbows, slink in her flimsy floral garment butting and leaning far over the impeding counter. 

My temple’s glow, I trail across the enchanting petite woman, neon plasmatic staffs to the burly man’s calling lizard eyes sneaky overs his unfolded trifold leaflet masking his face, and shouldering a spin hold of the carousel’s pamphlets. I’m rolling back my eyes from the weird burlesque man, my eyes brush off the woman’s dark-blonde hair, locks shielding her facial profile, falling on the counter.

The earlier customer attendant frozen in front of the wall, to the secret door’s glitch, her eyes raising from the sheet of paper to glue in space, dancing away in strides at hand fluttering the leading sheet of paper, which glides as she slew, landing on the countertop. While she squares up herself, the customer attendant lie her palm onto the volatile paper still, and onto shifting closer to her customer’s eyes. I repeated, glimpsing over my shoulder, wondering. ‘_What’s the matter with that creep_?’

The petite woman myopic lowers her eyes to the printed form, to black printed tick boxes, and paragraph of text, her confusion to fingers crawling. The customer attendant frowns. ‘_What don’t you understand_?’ lowers her eyes to a serious gaze on the form. Both women’s head low, manes shielding their profiles, as the customer attendant realized something amiss, her fingers spider crawl the sheet of paper swiveling around.

In the angle behind the petite woman, the burly man dithers in his suit, bugged eyes, fingertips smothering the rifled racked leaflet, exposed to his obsession, feign picking another leaflet, his eyesight extended a fixation shackled the petite woman’s ankles, while the corner of his eyes on the translucent door, an overdue exit. I withdrew from the man who hadn’t seen me, wondering. ‘_What a creep!_’ My eyes retrieved to the shade of the women’s arched manes. clear glossy fingernails edge the sheet of paper, their questioning eyes whispering at each other, to a pen appearing in the customer assistant trust the ballpoint - click - onto an exchange amid long fingers. The petite woman pointing the pen at the far bottom corner onto scribbling a full signature. She withdraws her hands, leaving the pen alongside the document. Turning her head away toward the translucent door, I exclaimed. “Ann!” But she rushed after, leaving me a glimpse, trailing her words. “I have a daughter.” 

To my regret, Ann left me with a mere soft silky skin profile her face, accelerating her pace toward the exit door, awakes the burly man sheds his right hand from the carousel, to sprint, outreaching Ann dismissive shrugs in her flight, his left hand slipping in the hollow of her back, to a chilly grab. A jitterbug wrapping his arm around her waist. She begs the swinging door stile for a surgical laceration. But against the brighten translucent door pane silhouettes a couple. In unison slipping out, the petite woman swallowed by the burlesque figure’s evanescent shadow in the fasts closing door’s translucent pane. I speculating the burlesque man’s firing jealousy to ask myself. ‘_What happened to her husband — Is this man another husband, or…?_’ When a distant muffled voice, dawn on me, the customer assistant woman calling on me. “May I help you?” 

The customer attendant’s candy voice repeats. “May I be of service?” square up to me across the counter, I’m explaining my predicament. To my surprise, in a few words, she opened to me the gateway to the fairgrounds. For free. I thank her, breakaway toward the bright translucent door, with a heartfelt step into sunlight, the blatant sun bathing orange ripe Mercedes in the courtyard. Crossing Ann triggers in mind her. 

Succumbed by Ann’s few words, standing beside me in silence, but with pride in her voice. I step into the driver’s seat, pondering. ‘_Why did she, off all things, greeted me with a daughter_?’ I tweak the ignition key, the engine to a purr, toggle through the gears, reversing, onto driving off. Out the gateway into the industrial street, set course for home, baffled. ‘_The coincidence? How did she get to know I stood alongside you? It can’t be her seeing the Mercedes? I drove my Audi fastback back then_?’

[artemistorm]

Story time with Stormy go! V V

1. Once I went inside a volcano and got lava in my shoe --

My friend and I were on a road trip visiting a bunch of volcanoes on the west coast because we're both geology nerds and we stopped at the Craters of the Moon National Park in Idaho on our way to Yellowstone. Craters of the moon is a volcanic field that has been dormant for 1,000 years (and is due for an eruption but that's beside the point). It erupts through cinder cones (mini volcanoes the size of a tree) and lava from vents in the ground. The whole landscape is black gravel cinders and black ribbons of lava covering a vast area. There are no plants and my friend and I were there in the hot hot summer. There are paths and trails through the ancient solidified lava fields and while walking on the lava, I got a lava rock pebble in my shoe. You can go inside of some of the cinder cones--they're hollow!

2. I almost got mauled by a mama bear once --

I was living in dorms in Alaska once upon a time and I was walking to the cafeteria for dinner by taking the short cut through the woods. I heard snuffling in the forest so I looked around, thinking it was the super chill human-accustomed mama moose and her baby that lived in the woods. But it wasn't. I saw two baby bears running through the trees parallel to me also heading for the cafeteria. I immediately turned around and went the other way, and took the long way around back toward the cafeteria, keeping well away from where I though the bears were. Sure enough, a mama bear and three cubs popped out on the main walkway right in front on the cafeteria doors. If I hadn't seen them in the forest and gone the other way, the bears and I would have popped out onto the walkway (me off the shortcut trail) at the same place at the same time and I would have been bear chow. The bears ran off into the parking lot and off into the field and I went on to dinner.

3. Someone tried to kidnap me when I was a kid, but I escaped

Nine year old me was walking home alone from my friend Desiree's house (she lived like 6 houses down from me), when a dumpy old car pulled up next to me with a rolled down window. There was a creepy looking middle-aged couple. "Are you ready to go for a ride?" The man asked me. Realizing that this was a stranger danger situation like they taught me about in school, I screamed "NO!!!" and ran the rest of the way home as fast as I could, ran inside, and locked the door to my house. The couple drove on by and I watched out the window for a while to make sure they wouldn't come back and they did not. I considered telling my dad about it but I figured that the danger had passed so I need not bother.

The End!

if you get this, answer w/ three random facts about yourself and send it to the last seven blogs in your notifs. anon or not, doesn’t matter, let’s get to know the person behind the blog!

1. Once I went inside a volcano and got lava in my shoe.

2. I almost got mauled by a mama bear once.

3. Someone tried to kidnap me when I was a kid, but I escaped.

[from-a-reckless-writer]

xiii. quiet.

It’s quiet. Too quiet.

There is no sound of snoring beside her. No consistent little puffs of steady breathing. No crinkly rustle of sheets as limbs shift and tangle. No gentle noises of contentment by her ear. No heartbeat to lull herself with.

It’s quiet. Too quiet.

All she can hear is the buzz of the air conditioner. The whoosh of cars passing by below their apartment. They were only on the third floor, not the penthouse. Far enough to not hear the chaos of the everyday streets, but close enough to hear the sounds of traffic in the quiet of the night. It was her first time living in a place like this—a real home. But it feels farther and farther away from home as the seconds tick by.

God, she can even hear the ticking of the clock.

She bolts out of bed in a flash. Unable to stand the silence any longer. She grabs the first coat her hands land on; doesn’t even bother putting a bra on, doesn’t even bother changing out of her silk pajamas.

She snatches her keys from the counter, slams the door shut and presses the elevator at least 5 times consecutively—convinced that the repeated pressing would speed everything up.

The doorman dozing off by the corner, almost trips over himself in his haste to grab the door for her. She would feel sorry for him if she weren’t so damn distressed about it all. She wonders how she’s doing, was she already asleep? Did she miss her too? Did she even think about her before she fell asleep?

She’s never been grateful that her car was parallel parked in front of the building, instead of at the basement parking space. She all but jams her keys in the ignition.

This feels like the longest 10 minute drive of her life. Her fingers clench tight around the steering wheel. She reaches the intersection, and when the stop light blinks red, F-bombs drop from her lips in quick succession.

By the time she pulls over in front of Alex Danvers’s apartment she’s practically vibrating.

For a minute she thinks, Shit. I probably should’ve called.

But she’s already here now, and she really needs to get up there.

“Alex, please, please buzz me in.”

“Fucking hell, Lena, it’s 2 am.”

The door unlocks, and she nearly rips the wood clean off its hinges as she runs up inside the apartment.

She wonders why it isn't Kara who buzzed her in. Did her super hearing not work? Why was it Alex who was awakened? Is she even here? God, where did she sleep then? Why did I kick her out?

Alex opens the door for her, her hair a mess, clad in a ratty old band shirt and sleep shorts.

“Where is she?” she blurts out, raising on her toes to peek over Alex’s shoulder.

“Jesus Christ, calm down, she’s in the living ro-”

She doesn’t even let her finish, she shoulders her way through the door and past Alex. Behind her she hears an incredulous, “Seriously?”

She lets out an exhale of relief when she sees Kara passed out on the couch. She hears Alex pad her way back to the bedroom but not before saying, “The next time you two fight. You’re not allowed to throw Kara away in my apartment. I need sleep for fuck’s sake.”

She knows better though, she knows that Alex would always be there if Lena does something stupid again and decides to push Kara away.

“Noted,” she whispers, still standing transfixed, watching Kara sleep peacefully. In her periphery she can see Alex shake her head exasperatedly, and then finally disappear into the darkness of the hallway.

She notices the bottle of alien alcohol on the coffee table, and immediately realizes how Kara was not woken up by her insistent buzzing. She drank herself to sleep. Hm. Looks like they’re playing opposite roles tonight.

Planning to use herself as the substitute, she gently tries to pry the arms wound tight around the pillow Kara has against her chest. Kara shifts, but doesn’t wake. There is not enough space on the couch for the both of them. She would have to strategically place herself over Kara, in order to sleep.

She succeeds in tugging away the pillow, and slowly tries to crawl her way into Kara’s arms.

She isn’t scared she’d wake her, she doesn’t weigh a thing to Kara. She can’t help the sigh of relief she lets out, once she can feel Kara’s warmth pressed against her, though. All her panic and distress from earlier instantly dissipates.

Finally.

Kara shifts then; makes an annoyed mrrp sound, before fully emerging to wakefulness. Lena only burrows into her further.

“Wha- Lena?” Kara asks, groggy, arms going slack, suddenly turning unsure.

“Mmhm?”

“What- what are you doing here?”

“Couldn’t sleep.” Her eyes press close, and a twinge of guilt squeezes in her chest.

“Did you drive here? What time is it?”

“2 am.”

“Rao, Lena.”

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs, voice small. She can’t see Kara’s expression, because she’s too busy burying her face into her girlfriend’s neck, but she bets it’s a mix of Kara’s shiny blue eyes and pouty lips.

“So, you don’t want me kicked out anymore?” And the hurt and hesitance in her voice cuts Lena deep.

“No. No, I don’t,” she says quickly, almost frantic. “I was mad and stupid. And it turns out even though, I’m mad and stupid I can’t sleep without you. Don’t want to sleep without you.”

“Oh.” Kara breathes out. “So, you’re still angry then?”

“No. Not angry. I’m just sleepy. Want to sleep now. Can we sleep now?”

“Oh,” Kara says again, her arms slowly tightening around Lena. “Yeah, of course, baby. We can sleep now. Rao, I missed you.”

She feels kisses being pressed onto her hairline.

“Kara?” she calls.

“Mm. Yeah?”

“I love you. Let’s not fight ever again.”

She feels Kara laugh at that, the sound rumbling through Lena, making her heart glow. Oh, how she’s missed that sound.

“I love you, too, Lena. And yes, please. No more fighting.”

[priscilla9993]

@wicked-storybrooke Going off of your thoughts, “One minute it seems we're meant to believe that even the great height of the tower isn't enough distance (otherwise he could have spoken to her from there) and the next he's merely a few feet away from her in the letter scene. It could be that physical obstructions hinder the curse's full effects (e.g. "fewer trees and walls in our way")”, I feel the exact same way on the latter.

@fairytalepsuedonym gonna reach and try to rationalize the passing of the letter

I wonder if Gothel amplified Alice’s screams for help that sounded like deafening echoes for Killian to hear after he got tossed out, another form of torment. Wouldn’t put it past her as I still think what young Alice screamed was a bit ooc. I remember reading an Ouat blueprint on the tower being around 80 ft, a scaled drawing of Alice, the Troll, and the tower somewhere. I know from playing with my brothers in a forest/national park once, that across about 24 ft, we could yell at each other and hear the sound, but not make out a word. I think it’s easier to hear a person from above yelling down than it is from below, although the accuracy with nature is a confounding variable (i.e. wind, animals, bug noises, tree density). 

The radius of the poisoned heart curse is another thing to factor. I agree with your headcanon, having also thought the same myself, that time + distance apart loosens the poisonous barrier temporarily. We can document 7x08, 10, 13, 20, 21, and 22 as clear indicators. I got long food for thought about this so it’s going under the break.

7x08

Killian and Alice reunite for the first time in ages, him magically younger and her all grown up. They get up the closest they’ve been in ages, maybe about two or three arms length away for caution and he’s fine. *cue cute hug that turns into dramatic whump and sadness* Alice couldn’t even stand the same meters away from him, and even while running away, he was still clutching his chest and screaming out in pain, groaning as the poison ravaged through his heart, restarting what he hadn’t felt in ages. 

We see Killian later on a cot of warm furs in a tent, still weak and needing to be watched over. Alice is nowhere near, entirely in another realm and yet we can see how much their short embrace had cost him. He’s unable to move and seemingly strained in his efforts of just putting his thoughts together, barely mustering whispers as he clutched the White Knight chess piece Ella handed to him. In typical Jones fashion, he tries to be a fortitude of strength, stating that he’d “go through that pain a thousand times over, just to see her again.” I’d assume he was in bedrest for a week, even with healing magic used on him, grumbling that he was fine while his heart was permanently closer to the end of its lifespan.

7x10

Alice stands nearby, hiding behind a tree as he draws near, Rumple making light to her presence. The father and daughter are close once more, our timeline being at least over eight years since he had the poison reinvigorated drawing him back. I reckon they are no more than eight feet apart, but it’s the least of their concerns with the notion of a casted dark curse looming over them. They’ve corresponded so much over paper that Alice is empty handed for him. Killian manages to talk to her without immediately screaming out in pain as she exchanges worries and he comforts her. Robin’s special letter from Alice is passed, one where she dropped and made more distance as he picked it up and they went back to a tree in the way, them as parallel lines seesaw. Even in the dark midst, they still manage to bring light to the situation, hoping that with the curse, they’ll be able to meet again as Alice puts it, “With fewer trees and walls in the way.” 

7x13 and 19

Tilly is entranced in a spell, unable to get free of the world changing casting and nor does she want to. Rogers tries to pull her away from the circle, knowing she would never want anything to do with it, being part of the Witch’s schemes. He even uses the word himself, having seen unexplainable things in the slums of the theater. He’s safe, protected by being in a world without magic, that is until he touches Tilly, the magical barrier broken and seeping into him enough magical particles to revitalize the poison in his heart. Rogers is drenched in pain, barely able to walk himself out of there, and that’s how strong the volatile curse is, an example of how it worked in our world.

When Killian and Alice are first cursed, her branded and him marked by the green glow on his chest, he still feels extreme pain after being teleported to the base of the tower, a distance away too. Probably the nicest thing Gothel ever did for him, ironically saving his life bc I don’t think he could, mentally or physically, have scaled the wall well in his crumpled painful state, tirelessly focused on breathing. We see Killian is barely able to stand, propped on his knees, where we can only assume he hobbled away in pain, making promises to himself and Alice that he’d be back. Clearly impossible as he could never find her again until after she had escaped.

7x20

They’re all awake after Henry and Regina’s parental TLK, but Killian took a stand by holding Alice’s hand and being by her side during the magical showdown with Gothel. Much as the man said Alice was “making him stronger”, we can see him resisting the phenomenal pain to give her courage to fight her very real nightmare. The toll leads to him being wheeled onto a gurney to the hospital, dispatched after some time as the doctors surely couldn’t do more than stabilize what probably seemed like a heart attack. Killian goes through a lot... 

7x21 and 22

Survivor he may be, but he can’t deny that Lady Luck was on his side. Killian’s time was ticking and he knew it. The whump in this made my heart soar and cry. Henry knocking him out with a candelabra and Captain Floor returns, nearly freezing to death, ah, where were we? Right, Poison Heart Curse detectives we are here. ;) At the grand table, strategy planning room, there was no doubt that there was enough distance between him and Alice for the finale episodes. Heck, he gets freed from a winter landscape/snow globe conundrum only to get hit with poison from her just stepping a foot closer in the wide library room span. 

So umm, yeah, Killian stands a distance away from the round table. Alice eventually joins a mission of what should have been just a trio team of him, Robin, and Henry, failing to be “good at keeping far away enough for safety”, a grimace on his face. 😐 Oh boy, this cannot be good as he struggles to fight and stand with Robin by his side later, Alice being far away with Henry to save Regina (at a dungeon in the middle of a forest?). Killian is full of sweat and worry, happy to give his blessing at Robin’s proposal to marry Alice, but he fears his life is at its end, believing his heart will give out before walking his little girl down the aisle. The last straw and burst of poison takes hold the moment he risks his life in the dark book, portal sucking scene, grabbing hold of Alice and making sure she never has to suffer a lonely fate of towers again. (It might have been an ice biome/Arendelle from the props but I’m disregarding that as a worst fate). 

Thankfully, our Rumple values them over his own life, seeing it as a win win since he was ready to either be with Belle or have to repent in hell for his crimes. Killian gets revived and hugs his Starfish, rocking her gently. (I will never get over that we were robbed of this being longer than two secs and that change in dress up of them at Granny’s.) The Poisoned Heart Curse can haunt them no more. 

[rodr1cks]

Sick Day | 2.1k

fluff!! you’re sick and rodrick comes to the rescue.

warnings: vomit, being sick in general

All day you had been feeling extremely ill. The nurse at school was being impossible and refused to send you home, despite your pleas.

“Please Mrs. Williams, I feel terrible you have to believe me!”

She was extremely skeptical, “Child, do you know how many times I hear that in a day? You don’t have a fever, back to class.”

And just like that, you were dismissed. Sent to endure the rest of your classes in misery.

The day went by painfully slow after your trip to the nurse. The fluorescent lights berated your pupils making it impossible to concentrate and worsening your headache.

It was sixth period, the last class of the day. Also your least favorite class of the day. You couldn’t stand the teacher. Mr. Wright. He was your classic asshole history teacher.

You were completely zoned out, trying to focus on not vomiting. Your name being called pulled you out of your haze.

“Miss y/l/n? Do you care to answer me? Unless you’re busy of course.”

Condescending bastard.

You held your tongue, swallowing any smart-ass comments that threatened to spill past your lips. You cleared your throat.

“I’m sorry, what was the question.”

He went through the whole “this is a learning environment” lecture after that. Again, you didn’t listen. You couldn’t have even if you wanted to. Thankfully, he left you alone after that.

Finally, the last bell of the day sounded through the school. You lept from your seat and ran to the bathroom. You practically body slammed the door open. Luckily, the bathroom was empty, most kids having already filed out of the main doors, eager to begin their weekend festivities.

You were hunched over one of the white porcelain bowl, tears filling your eyes.

Today could not get any worse.

After taking a few deep breaths, you were able to compose yourself enough to exit the bathroom.

You crossed your fingers, hoping that the halls had been completely evacuated.

You crept through the empty corridors and out into the parking lot. You were especially dreading the walk home today.

You were walking through the parking lot, enjoying the fresh air when you saw him. Rodrick Heffley.

The two of you were best friends in elementary school but you drifted apart after a while. You honestly developed a certain distaste for him, as he had you.

Please don’t notice me, please don’t-

“Y/n!”

Shit.

“Rodrick!” you feigned enthusiasm.

His brow furrowed, “You look… paler than usual?” You rolled your eyes, classic Rodrick. You wanted this interaction to end, immediately. “Yup. Not feeling well.” You deadpanned, providing little detail.

Rodrick hesitated for a moment, “Well, let me drive you home, kid.”

Kid. Who did he think he was?

“I think I’ll pass, weather is nice today.” The weather was far from nice.

“Oh really, the weather is nice, y/n? Where are you right now? Because it’s raining where I am.”

He sighed, “and I also saw that little performance Mr. Wright gave you...”

Oh so he pities me.

“Rodrick, If I get in your van will you stop talking?”

He motioned, pretending to zip his lips up and throw away the key. A small smile spread across your face but you didn’t let him see that.

A few minutes into the drive, you decided you were glad you let him take you home. The sky had opened up and it was storming.

Oh God.

“Rodrick, pull over, now.”

He looked over at you and could tell what was about to happen. He pulled over quickly and you opened the door. You leaned over and vomited right onto the grass patch parallel to the road, in the pouring rain.

Coyly, you returned to your seat in the van. You were unsure if you should apologize, so you stayed silent.

“Y/n, are your parents home?”

He knew they never were. Ever since you were a kid, your parents had been anywhere but home. Business trips, vacations, retreats, you name it.

You looked down at your shoes, water dripping from your hair, and shook your head.

“Alrighty then, change of plans.”

You protested, “Rodrick that’s really not necessary I’ll be fine.” Part of you knew there was no point in arguing. If he was one thing, it was stubborn.

He reached out, placing the back of his hand on your forehead to prove a point, “Y/n, you’re burning up. You’re coming with me.”

You were closer to his house anyways. That’s how you justified it, at least.

His van pulled into The Heffley’s driveway. Rodrick got out and rushed around the vehicle to open your door.

“Come along, y/n. I know somebody who will be very happy to see you,” he grinned.

The front door swung open and you were hit with a wave of nostalgia. The Heffley’s house was always warm and always smelled spectacular. Somehow, Mrs. Heffley was always baking or cooking something.

“Y/n? What a nice surprise this is!” Mrs. Heffley beamed. She had always loved you. “How I’ve missed seeing your face around here!” She said, placing her hands on your checks.

“You’re soaking wet!” You nodded awkwardly in response. “And goodness, you’re burning up! Are you feeling alright?” She felt your forehead and cheeks, then squeezed your shoulders gently.

From a young age, Mrs. Heffley had looked after you as one of her own. Nothing had changed it seemed.

“No, actually,” you smiled half-heartedly. Mrs. Heffley frowned at you. “Rodrick, get her some dry clothes, would you?.” Rodrick nodded, leading you up the stairs.

You stood in his room, obviously uncomfortable. He was knelt in front of his dresser, digging around for something.

“Ah! Here it is.”

Rodrick whipped out a t-shirt for you to change into. He grabbed a pair of black sweats from another drawer as well.

“Here you are, mademoiselle.” He stuck out the wad of clothing in your direction. You couldn’t lie, you were happy to have some dry clothes to change into.

You stepped into his bathroom, taking a moment to examine your appearance. You looked rough. Intense bags hung low under your eyes and you truly did look more pale than usual. Fantastic.

You emerged from the bathroom, Rodrick’s clothing drooping slightly from your frame. Rodrick was sitting on the end of his bed and he patted the surface.

You joined him on his twin mattress, only because you were exhausted.

“Rodrick, why are you being nice to me?”

He looked guilty. “You’ve had a rough day, y/n…”

He sucked in a breath, “...and y’know I’ll always care about you.”

How could he still care for you? You completely wrote him off when high school began.

“Listen, y/n, the past is in the past, okay?”

A genuine smile appeared on your face. Before the moment could become too sentimental, Rodrick interjected.

“Oh! Be right back,” he chirped.

He ran downstairs and came back with an orange soda and some cold & flu medicine.

Rodrick explained himself, “Orange! Like, vitamin C, right?” He looked too happy with himself, you couldn’t bring him down. At least his heart was in the right place.

Concealing your laughter to the best of your ability, you accepted the beverage and medicine from his hand.

You hated this kind of medicine with your whole heart. The orange soda could be useful honestly, just not for its nutritional value like Rodrick intended.

Rodrick measured out the appropriate amount of the medicine for you as you cracked open the can. He handed you the small cup full of the thick, red liquid.

You threw back the grotesque cherry flavored solution, grimacing as it coated your throat. You chased the medicine with the orange soda. See, it did come in handy.

You leaned back into Rodrick’s pillows, trying to relax.

About fifteen minutes later you felt extremely drowsy. “Rodrick, can I see that bottle?”

“Uh, sure,” he said, confused.

You read the bottle and instantly threw your head back in annoyance. “Rodrick this is the drowsy kind!” You continued inspecting the bottle, “and it’s extra strength!”

With each second passing, it got increasingly difficult to keep your eyes open.

Everything was blurry and you were teetering between consciousness and sleep.

“Rodrick,” you slurred. “I’m so sorry I stopped talking to you… stopped being your friend. Felt like I wasn’t cool or pretty enough… didn’t deserve you.”

Rodrick was extremely confused. You thought you were too good for him? He had to hold back a laugh.

He couldn’t conceal his smile, “Excuse me? Y/n, that must be the nyquil talking.” He rolled his eyes and brushed off your comment, contemplating the sentiment for a mere moment.

You eventually drifted off, unable to ward off sleep any longer.

When you woke up, you first noticed rodrick. He was sitting on his beaten up couch with his headphones covering his ears. You could hear the muffled baseline from your spot across the room.

How are his eardrums still intact?

Rodrick had a shoebox on his lap and he was shuffling through the contents, smiling to himself.

You cleared your throat, obtaining his attention.

“Oh, y/n! You’re up!” He smiled at you, ripping off his headphones.

You nodded slowly, knuckling your eyes sleepily.

“What time is it?”

Rodrick glanced at his watch, “It’s only 8:30.” You nodded again, continuing to rub the sleep from your eyes.

Rodrick stood, picking up the box and walking over to you. “Look,” he said softly. You peered down into the small shoebox and numerous photos and letters.

“This one here is my favorite,” he said quietly. It was a picture of you and Rodrick at the roller rink. You recognized the photo immediately.

“Seventh grade kick off,” you smiled. You took the box from his lap and began looking through each photo, braided friendship bracelet, concert ticket.

You laughed as each item brought back memories you had long forgotten.

You stopped at a photo of the two of you dressed up in ridiculous outfits. You wore a sequined hat and Rodrick held his drumsticks in hand.

“Was this when we saw Good Charlotte?” You asked.

He giggled, “It sure was. I remember thinking I looked so hot that night. Guess not huh.”

“What are you talking about, you looked incredible Rodrick. Seventh grade me was dying to jump you right then and there.”

His face lit up, “Really?”

“No,” you flashed him an expressionless look before breaking out into side-splitting laughter. He joined you.

You missed this feeling of pure, unadulterated joy. Rodrick was the only person who you had truly experienced that with.

You sighed to yourself. Come tomorrow, you’d be back to strangers. Tears welled up in your eyes and your lip quivered. Rodrick was oblivious until a single tear drop fell onto the photograph below you.

He immediately tried to comfort you. He placed an arm around your shoulder, dragging you into his larger frame. It caught you off guard but you allowed yourself to melt into his touch.

Rodrick distracted you from your sorrow. “Look at this one right here.” It was a photo of you and the Heffley Family in their backyard. You and Rodrick were around fifteen, if you remembered correctly.

“This was the day that I realized I had a big, fat crush on you.”

He followed up, “S’lame I know…”

Heat flooded your cheeks, this time the heat was not a result of your illness. Was it anxiety? Happiness? Both? You couldn’t decide.

“You never really explained why you stopped talking to me and coming by my house.”

You shrugged at him, feeling like your explanation would make him mad. “Well, Rodrick, you started getting new friends. Friends that were better than me or cooler than me.”

“Y/n that is probably the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. I could never replace you. To this day, nobody’s ever come close.”

He gave you a playful smack over the head.

“...anyways, to be honest that crush never really went away?”

Before you had time to process the sentence he was gently grabbing your chin, turning your head.

You were facing him now, your lips only inches away from his.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Y-yeah, yes, I think so, yeah.”

He laughed at you and leaned in slowly. Rodrick used one finger to gently move your hair out of your face.

The kiss was gentle and filled with emotion.

You felt like you hadn’t known what you were missing out on until that moment. You felt completed.

“Oh shit, I better not get sick!”

[lovely-necromancy]

A Cure for Insomnia CH.2

Getting back to your little one story cottage, you can only manage to rush in and run about in a mad dash as you try to accomplish getting ready for work and getting something to eat. Running through choices in your head as you change and freshen up, nothing sounds good. There's not much time since your shift starts at nine and to make it to the store you need to leave by eight twenty. You got home at eight fifteen, and while Nate, your manager, has never seemed to give a fuck what you did at work you're still in your probationary period and would like to keep the easiest job you've ever had.

It's a really simple gig, seeing as the store you work at is actually a front for some illegal activity. The variety of crime you aren't sure of, but you are aware there's no way you guys do no business and yet they can afford to pay thirty dollars an hour. Thankfully just keeping your mouth shut and being nice to little Jo, the owner's daughter, is enough to keep you in the cushiest job in the world. The store's front is a regular old book store, all the books are real, the registers work, you're able to sell books and you've run to the bank to do the weekly deposits twice for Book & Nook. The front is very legitimate or it would be if the amount of customers ever equaled the sales made.

Again you don't ask questions, because for thirty dollars an hour you get to goof off for a couple hours a day, plus you get a bonus when you watch little Jo at the shop. She's a real sweet eleven year old, she's got tourettes and took a shine to you the first time she saw you tic. While you both might not suffer the same disorder she finds the common ground nice, like it's not just her. It's not even hard to watch her or enjoy her company, she'll come bouncing in with her excited chittering and hands clapping spilling all the latest gossip that comes with being in middle school. And boy is there a lot of gossip.

It's really nice seeing that Jo has friends at school and is even considered a “popular” kid. You remember how tough school was because no one understood you and teachers never cared enough about your personality to bring up the fact that it was clear to most faculty members that you had Autism. You excelled academically so what did it matter if you got picked on for oversharing information or for finishing assignments the minute they were handed to you. As bittersweet as the parallels are you're so glad Jo doesn't have to go through that. Never would have thought a southern school could be so accepting, much less a middle school at that.

Tearing through the kitchen you honestly can't find anything that you want to eat right now. And even after a long night of hiking/dissociating you don't think you're that peckish at all. Figuring it's best to at least take something to quell any future nausea you grab a Pedialyte Pop from the freezer. As fast as you entered your home you left, and not before ensuring twice that the door was locked and secured. While living on the outskirts of town saves you from many potential robberies, and worse salesmen, there's still the chance of some lunatic with an ax hiding out in a closet to murder you. Better safe now than sorry later.

Pulling into park behind the shop right at nine is a blessing. You run into the shop to clock in blurting out a quick 'Morning' to Nate, who was carrying a particularly large box, as you passed by him. In a flash you were back at your car retrieving your newly prized deer skull. Lungs burning a bit from the all out sprint you just did you took a little extra time to close the trunk and lock your car up to catch your breath, and avoid any light headiness you might get from the empty stomach workout. Eager to share the wonders of death with your best work friends, and by that you mean Nate your manager...and only other coworker, you rush back into the building.

The shop was quiet as usual as you made your way through the door though you were in the back room where only employees could roam you had the slightest suspicion that the front of shop was just the same. It's there you find Nate, now lugging a medium sized box around to a side table. He did this a lot you suspect some type of smuggling but hey plausible deniability and all those legal matters. The taller dark haired man sees you and just as he's about to wave you over, notices your prize with a raised brow.

“The fuck d'you bring in the store?” he doesn't seem amused by whatever it is he thinks you're up to. “Deer skull.” Lifting it up in one hand and pointing at it, “Found this guy on my hike last night...or rather this morning actually.”

“YN, we talked about this, you said you'd get some sleep last night. No adventures remember.” he's only two years older than you and yet he acts as if he's ten years. He must be an old soul, or enjoys the role of care giver...or you're making him go gray prematurely, anything's possible.

“Eh, I remember saying I'd 'try' and get sleep.” for someone who's body is running on fumes your cheekiness is astronomical, “operative word being 'try', remember.”

It's a long silence as Nate decides if he wants to deal with your bullshit at this moment. After a minute or so he concedes leaning back on the table behind him. “Let's hear it.” and you perk up immediately.

“Cool, so I was walking along the tree line and spotted him, tried to find more but seems there's only one piece. Judging by the size of his antlers I'd say he was nearly fully grown. Now my plan is to do whatever treatments taxidermists do to bones and,” you continue to word vomit at the tired twenty-six year old in front of you, about the joys and wonders of taxidermy and the likely hood of ever finding a skull so nicely preserved.

“I can do that in here right?” even though it's been phrased as a question, you aren't asking permission, you're just being polite and letting Nate know the storage room will house your creepy deer skull antics for today...maybe the week you need to find a taxidermist book to figure out what you need to do.

Nate gives up and leaves with his box of new books to let you have full run of the back to do your weird vulture culture shit. He figures he's just too old to understand the new obsessions with the macabre. He hopes his cousin won't take to shit like this, the kid's weird enough as it is, no need to put another target on her back. Nate sets off to take down the Harry Potter sets in favor of this new comic series little Jo wanted.

Already taking his silence as the go ahead you place your found skull on the table and rush off into the store front to find a book on taxidermy and hopefully more specifically about bones. The set up and organization of the store reminds you a lot of the scene in Brendan Fraser's The Mummy 1997 where Evie is on the ladder and somehow causes all the book shelves to fall like dominoes. So unsafe, yet all book stores and libraries seem to have this set up. With the tall shelves it makes it difficult to accurately get a read on the spines. You don't even know what section taxidermy actually falls under, education maybe?

“Nate, where do you think a book on taxidermy would be?” you called out as you passed by him.

“...hobby?” that didn't sound right but you'd give it a shot anyway.

This should be fun, the hobby section was so disorganized and it took up nearly half the store too, Book & Nook had everything from fishing, to crochet, cooking, the art of film making, hell even had a cryptid hunting book a book that you may have to look into a bit later. You closed your eyes and let your intuition guide you, when you looked up you saw a thin black...vine, no whisp? It undulates in less than rhythmic movements nearly like a snake but it has no head, and not unlike a tentacle but without suckers. It's another hallucination so you were keen to ignore it until it stretched past your head, giving you an added auditory hallucination where you swore you could hear wind rushing past your ears, it swirled around you until it flew to the shelf and tapped on a book. Cautiously you walked over to it, it's never good to play into these delusions. Once you got close enough the black shape was gone but on the shelf was a creme colored paper back titled “Manual of Taxidermy: Complete Guide of Preserving Birds and Mammals.”

Walking to Nate with the book in your hands you asked him to read it and make sure you weren't having an episode and making everything up right now. You'd have to try harder to go to sleep tonight if that were the case.

“Oh you found your book huh?” he said looking down at the title.

Well this is getting weird fast, but you nod nonetheless. Might as well thank the weird hallucination gift right. Leaving him to do whatever it is he plans on doing the rest of the day, you go to the back. And just as the book instructs you set to cleaning the skull by setting it in some water and changing it as many times as the water runs murky. The book is quiet helpful to a beginner like yourself but it does seem a bit outdated from the bits of information you know from taxidermists blogs and vulture culture posts on the internet. Reading it in between water changes is a great way to pass the time though, not like you guys get any real customers anyways.

The bell rings as the front door opens and closes alerting you to someone's arrival on your third water change. Needing a little bit of mental stimulation you walk out into the front where Big Jo and Little Jo are talking to Nate. Little Jo sees you and skitters away from her father to rush you, she stops about a foot away and holds her arms wide open. She's a hugger but upon meeting you had never even thought people could be touch adverse so keeping in mind that you might not want to be touched she's learned to invite you into hugs and it's your choice to allow it or not. Placing a hand on your bicep you give a squeeze, checking your tolerance you find the thought bearable. Placing your arms outstretched at your sides Jo rushes your torso for her hug.

After she nearly body slammed you into the wall, and  let her death grip go she was off on a tangent about so many things. Her excited rapid blinking tic, one she developed after meeting you, triggering your own.

“Ok so you remember how last week I told you that Jessie Kinsleton said that Micheal Saleisa told Gigi B, not Gigi S. that Meghan,” you had no clue the lives of eleven year olds had gotten so complex, from the gossip you heard from Jo it seemed that the school's sixth graders were plotting for a war with an ice cream parlor up the street. No clue why, maybe just to fuck the system, kids are weird, preteens are weirder...and angry.

But you nod to Jo listening to her every word, and trying to calm your eyelids so you could actually open your eyes. After being told the sequence of events that would happen in the Tween Armageddon, something to do with Marco Salvator ordering three dozen donuts and a flock of geese, your eyes finally gained their ability to see back. Black whisps, much like the one from earlier, wandered all around your vision, it looked like a  dark smoke had settled eye level within the shop and was snaking through the isles.

Catching the movement of your eyes Jo looked around the shop too. Seeing nothing she turned back to you concerned, “Hey it's okay, nothin's there.”

Hearing the drop in volume of the normally chatty tween, Big Jo and Nate pause their conversation to turn their attention to you and follow you're gaze.

“Kid, you ain't sleepin' again?” Big Jo can already gauge by the bags under your eyes but he's a polite man so he feels the need to ask rather than state his assumptions.

“Day 6.” You answer simply, ever since you've started at Book & Nook the whole Cowell family became acutely aware of many of your disorders. By their record your longest time spent awake was ten days, you however adamantly say that you were an hour's mark away from ten full days so the longest you've been up is nine days in a row. And those are just the cases they know of since you've moved to Kepler.

Big Jo shook his head as a stern father would, which he is, “I have half the mind to send you home to rest.”

“That won't work.” you really don't mean to sound so coarse but it's so irritating having to go over this at least once a week.

“What about those gummy things Dia got you?”

“Long term that kind of stuff has no effect, sure it'll make me drowsie for an hour or two but even if it made me sleep one night I can't use it all the time. And before you ask the same questions again, caffeine has no real effect on me so limiting my intake will do nothing and weed doesn't do a thing for me either.” you state plainly, monotone as you present facts that everyone in the room already knows.

Looking at the stern face of Big Jo's and the exasperated face of Nate you continue, “I know it must be frustrating for you to not be able to help, but I'm content living like this. I like my late night adventures and when I do sleep it's really pleasant.”you threw in a smile for added comfort.

“Kid tha's not the point, there's somethin' wrong with you, medically I mean.” he's pinching the bridge of his nose, probably counting to ten to calm himself from raising his voice.

“Tons of people suffer from insomnia and there isn't anything a doctor could do for me except look for underlying conditions.” Big Jo's about to retort when you continue with, “Plus my dad and uncle both have insomnia as well so my case is due to the genetic lottery I lost.” You say with a hint of finality of your situation, you had to come to terms with this condition all the way back in high school. Having a decade to get used to your strange condition and the limitations it places on you from time to time. Whereas the Cowell family's only had two months to process this information, and you understand it'll take awhile before they stop being concerned. Same thing happened with you parents and friends back then too.

For now you're only met with more head shakes as if they were saying 'what are we going to do with you'. Leaving your medical issues aside Nate and Big Jo continue to talk shop, when the set up Nate just put on display catches Jo's eye.

Like lightening the tween was away from your side and by the new display shelf it looked like it held graphic novels. That's a first since you've been here, you walk over to join Jo knowing the second you do she'll start on about what's got her so excited. Most people might say you over indulge the child and coddle her but you actually just think it's really important to take interest in what makes kids happy. It helps them find their voices and also shows them that it's normal to get excited and like things.

“We got the TAZ graphic novels in?!” you hate rhetorical questions but smile and nod at her anyway.

“Have you read them? No, well you've listen to the podcast...what omg! Ok so there's these three brothers and their,” Jo begins regaling you with tales from the podcast known as The Adventure Zone and how fun they've made dungeons and dragons seem with their amazing story telling and funny characters.

You aren't sure if a show where the main group of heroes being called Tres Horny Bois is exactly age appropriate but when you look to Big Jo he kind of just shrugs it off. Turning you attention back to Jo who's now monologing about mongooses you just smile at the weird family you've found yourself in.

Let it be said that a tween with a slightly unhealthy fixation on something can find anyway to drag it back to that fixation. The day flew by with Jo explain the inner workings of dungeons and dragons, fifth edition, to you, her father, and her cousin after you mentioned why she didn't play. Apparently she'd love to but wanted a story fitting for her friend's to adventure. So being the good older cousin, father, and weird family friend you all were you came up with a story plot for her to use with her campaign.

The Jos had a lot of fun bonding over this little workshop and you guys even had food delivered so you and Nate could stay later. What was meant to just be a quick workshop turned into a mini family game night after you made several nearly impossible puzzles that wouldn't be used in Jo's campaign due to no one at the current table understanding how to solve it even after you showed them several times.

Overall it was fun and you think you might actually be tired enough to go to sleep tonight. You tried to stay and help clean up but Big Jo put his foot down and told you to go get some rest, he'd seen the way you occasionally look around the room as if something was moving behind them all. You may have started off as a cashier two months ago for him but his daughter has opened up a lot since meeting you and discovering that tics aren't so uncommon and there are people who wouldn't care or make a big deal out of them. Because of that you've earned your keep in his family, he already has you down on the list for Christmas cards.

Knowing you can't fight the six foot four man you roll your eyes and bid everyone good night, little Jo coming in to steal another hug from you and thank you for helping with her game. Checking on your skull you see the water's clear and dump it in the sink of the break room before leaving the skull to dry overnight, it's for sure gonna make Nate scream tomorrow, you can't help but chuckle at that.

Leaving through the back door and into the dusk colored parking lot you notice your trunk is popped open slightly. You definitely heard it shut earlier this morning. You blink before your head jerks to the right, unsettled by possibility of a break in and not risking it you head back inside.

“Hey, I think my car may have been broken into.” you stand awkwardly in the door way unsure of how to proceed.

Big Jo and Nate are out of the door as fast as they can. They find your car unlocked with the trunk popped, you know they weren't trying to brush you off when they asked several times if you did in fact lock your car this morning. After hearing your affirmative response each time, they began to inspect your car checking to make sure all wires are properly secured under the hood, Nate even retrieved the jack out of his own car to take a look under the car, ensuring the brakes hadn't been messed with. They started the car up just fine and it didn't appear tampered with. Even though nothing looked out of place and Nate's car, sitting in the same parking lot, hadn't been touched you appreciated them checking to make sure you were alright.

Knowing you're perceived as a woman by most, even outside of this small town, makes you uneasy when it comes to terms of abductions and violence. You know the chances and hear the stories whether it's from the victim's mouth or a podcaster's telling the story the dead can't. Nate offered to follow you home and make sure you were ok but you declined and said you'd call them both when you got home. Big Jo said to just call his home phone because Nate would be coming over tonight anyway, and if they didn't make it there before you called Dia was already at home and would pass the message along. You'll probably still try and give the shop a call if Dia answers, it wouldn't sit right with you if you wound everyone up just to not and at least try to settle their nerves.

With one final check of you car, the men even going so far as to lift seats up and feel under them, they sent you off. You drove carefully on the road tonight, ready to pull off into the shoulder at the slightest hint that something was wrong. Not even the radio was on something that you really didn't like driving without, but if there was the chance for you to catch a shift in tone of the machine you wanted to. Eventually you did end up making it home in one piece and you had called the Cowell family home, from the safety of your car, and got a spazztic eleven year old asking if you'd made it home alright. It took a little bit of coaxing but Little Jo calmed down and shouted to her parents that you were on the phone and alright.

“Kid,” looks like Big Jo took the phone away from Little Jo, “Everything ok on the drive.” Big Jo could hear the movement and shutting of your car door, he'd have to say he was relieved you waited until you were on the phone before exiting. He knew you lived out past the quiet zone in Old Lydia's house. A fact that did little for the unease he felt when he thought you were being watched.

“Oh, yea drive was fine, too quiet but fine.” you said simply as you began circling the cottage. Nothing seemed out of place on the outside, even looking above eye level where people tended to get sloppy in stalking or home invasion cases, everything seemed fine.

“Hope you don't mind if I keep you for a bit.” You had just unlocked your door and stepped in.

“Nah, kid 's fine.” you give a hum of acknowledgment as you look through the kitchen in cabinets, under cupboards, and even under the table.

“You're a smart kid.” he's taken that fatherly overtone that makes you roll your eyes. You understand the sentiment of parents and parental figures having pride in their child or ward but it's always been so weird to you when they feel the need to bring it up. Especially when they bring it up in situations that are dangerous, like can you not make it sound like someone's about to die.

Finding nothing in the living room, hall closet or bathroom you make sure all the windows are locked and dowels are in place to keep them from opening. And you double check that both the back and front doors are secured. You can hear the hushed whispers on the other end of the line, Dia must have just found out about your car, as you rustle through your kitchen utensil drawers taking out two forks before you make your way to your bedroom.

Once in your room you checked your closet and under your bed. Finding nothing you  went to the window in your room, the one right by your bed, you checked the lock, secured it in place with two dowels, and then covered it throwing a thick blanket over the curtain rod to ensure no one would be viewing you in your sleep or the precautions you were about to do. Turing around and locking your bedroom door you then jam one fork into the closed door crease, right below the locking mechanism, and jammed the other fork perpendicular through the prongs. You attempted to open the door with all your weight but only could get an inch in before the forks would stop more movement.

“Kid you alright over there?” it's rushed, he probably heard the commotion with your make shift lock.

“Yea, just had to add another lock to the door.” you trust the Cowell's but you understand how stupid it'd be to let them know exactly how you were defending yourself. Even if it wasn't them there's no telling if the person who broke into your car was outside and just good at hiding. You could also be too jumpy from your true crime shows but you figure it's better to be safe.

“I think everything's good Big Jo.” taking a final glance around your room eye's landing on the bed, “Think I'm even ready to go to sleep tonight too.” a small half laugh leaves your mouth.

“Alright kid, you call if you need anything got it.” it's an order not a request.

“Got it, good night.” Big Jo might think that'd been rude coming from anyone else but from you he can only roll his eyes at the brevity and the dial tone he's met with. He has his own sweep to do, if they were targeting his employee there was a reason. He hasn't had any problems since coming to Kepler but someone always eventually comes along who can't take a hint.

Even combing through your home with Big Jo on the line you didn't feel safe having your bed by the window anymore and moved it away and in front of the closet door. You'd rearrange your room later but for tonight this would have to do. By some grace of god you were actually able to shut your brain down tonight and rest. Maybe it was the excitement and merriment from hanging out with the Cowells or more likely the situation you find yourself in of perhaps being a target for something insidious.

Whatever the case may be you are off to the land of dreams before you know it. And unbeknownst to you the same eyes from this morning watch your home. They may not have seen what you did in there but they'd be sure to catch you when you come out. They'll wait all night to catch you if they have to.

[certainlybyitslast]

Episode 9.04 “The Avenging Angel (No. 49)”

Angels vs. Demons.  Good vs. Evil.  Right vs. Wrong.  Waking up in a strange place not knowing if you’ve done a bad, bad thing.  Cheating a drug test.  Helping someone cheat a drug test.  Do the ends justify the means?  Do we, as Reddington said, judge someone solely based on their worst day?  

At the start of the episode, we find out that Cooper woke up in his car having no memory of the night before, his service weapon on the floor, one bullet missing.  In another call-back to past storylines, we find that Cooper’s wife’s ex-lover was shot and killed. Curious. Cooper immediately gets suspicious of the coincidence, but his wife does not.  Throughout the episode, Cooper is trying to find out more, unwittingly catching the attention of a D.C. detective in the process.  Loyal Aram can sense that Cooper is in distress and offers his help multiple times.  It looks like we have a multi-episode story arc in the making.

Ressler asks Park for help to pass his drug test.  He is desperate to rejoin the FBI.  Park initially refuses, but later leaves a clean sample in his desk drawer. Ressler goes to a crooked doctor who will insert the clean urine into his bladder so he can pass the monitored drug test.  Ouch and yuk.  But Ressler has no other options, so he goes through with it.  If this is what the writers were giving him to do this week, at least they were smart enough to include a gratuitous underwear scene.

Dembe and Reddington sit down together in Reddington’s new Airstream trailer where he is holed up with Weecha and Meirce.  Hats off to Spader and Hisham for pulling off a palpably awkward conversation after all these years.  Something tragic happened in Brasilia, Brazil.  Reddington doesn’t want to talk about it, but this is where the rift happened.  We will likely get crumbs of what went down throughout the season (not unlike the Knope vs. Swanson storyline in NBC’s Parks and Recreation’s final season, but less funny).

I enjoy an art theft story line, and the Avenging Angel, a woman willing to do bad things to give justice to those who were robbed of it, was an interesting premise.  But the story meandered through the hour like a slow moving stream, spending time with guest characters that I could predict would be saved in the end.  Despite hearts beating, and transplanting, this didn’t get my heart rate going.  Although the twist at the end was Reddington, shooting the Avenging Angel and using her heart as the transplant. This is where The Blacklist differs from other shows. Justice takes on a different look, and Reddington takes on his own form of a vigilante angel.  Does that make him the good guy?  Not really.

The last five minutes of the episode is where my heart started pumping.  We find out the results of Ressler’s passed drug test.  The writers really stretched this storyline out over the whole episode, and now we find out why.  The first red flag was when Ressler calls Alina by her first name, instead of Park.  The sample showed signs of cancer.  Somehow, she doesn’t look surprised.  

Cooper, suspecting himself in the murder, secretly has his weapon checked. Ballistics finds that it is a match for the bullet found at the crime scene.  We see him outside a police station, perhaps contemplating whether to turn himself in for questioning. We are inclined to believe that Cooper was set up, but who would do that – a new big bad, or maybe even Reddington?

Random Thoughts:

 - Reddington says to Dembe, “What the hell happened to us?” I couldn’t help but see a parallel to the show itself, the fandom asking ourselves the same question. We’ve been through the ringer.  Time will tell if we get back on track.  

- I miss Liz.  I had accepted her death, and I am trying to buy into the new show. But I think it sunk in this week that she wasn’t coming back.  Her presence was missed.

- Ressler’s FBI job seems to keep him on the straight and narrow, as he says. So maybe we won’t see emotional, rock bottom Ressler after all.  Perhaps this is the end of it, and he’s back to his former clean-cut self.  Missed opportunity?  Or building to something more emotional later?

[sckyie]

song: driver’s license by olivia rodrigo

word count: 2.5k

genre + warnings: angst; swearing, fear of driving, reminiscing in old memories

pronouns used: she/her

a/n: this was orignially supposed to just be an imagine inspired by the song, not apart of the song series but it fits too well to not change oikawa’s song. i also wrote this for @kybabi​​ bc i love her :D n e wayz enjoy :) (part 2)

"So here you're going to turn and he'll make you do a parallel park in the street. You remember how to do that right?" Oikawa asked as he guided you to the next turn. As you turn the steering wheel, you spot a crowded curbside.

"No, can you please please park for me? I hate parallel parking," You pleaded.

"Only because you asked so nicely," He teased.

Ever since you told your best friend that you wanted to learn how to drive, Oikawa never let it go whenever you wanted to hang out. Having you drive him around for practice and giving you tips as you went. He's helped you a ton while you drove around, the only issues you had were parallel parking and merging onto the highway.

"Maybe we should try the highway again," Oikawa said after you two switched seats.

"Are you asking for a death wish?" You joked. "I drive too slow and I'm scare to merge into lanes."

"We can practice on smaller freeways if you want," He asks.

"No," You growled.

It was always a terrifying thing to drive on the highway. You always saw those horrid accidents and feared being in one. Oikawa would always put his hand on your thigh as you merged to calm you down. Just having him be there was enough to get you to get onto the highway. All your fears just faded with him beside you.

Just having this intimate driving lesson with him was enough for you. You grew to fall in love in your best friend. A cliché thing, yet you couldn't say anything. Only you and your girl friends knew about your big crush. It was a funny thing, falling for your childhood best friend. Iwaizumi always joked about you doing so but you never admitted to liking Oikawa. What would that do to your friendship?

Today was the day, it was your test day. The scariest thing you anticipated was finally here. The thing you practiced days on end with Oikawa. The thing that could either make or break you. Today, you'd either come out with your license or you'll be walking home.

The nerves crept up your body like spiders leaving a trail of anxiety webs. You bounced you leg as you waited in the lobby looking out for your driving instructor. As your sweaty palms go to check the time, you notice a text message from Oikawa.

butthead: hey! good luck on your test today!

That's what cooled you down. A simple saying of good fortune will help, right? Sure enough, the test was a breeze, minus the parallel parking as it was the one mistake you got. You happily drove home to tell the news to your parents.

"Have you told Tooru yet?" Your mom asked.

"I'll wait until my actual driver license to prove to him I got it," You smiled.

"You like him don't you?" Your mom gestured to the joy on your face. "I can tell."

"No," You looked away from your mom as she raised her eyebrow. "Okay, maybe but you can't say anything. I'm going to my room now." She chuckled as you dragged you feet to your room.

Two weeks passes and you finally received your license in the mail. You smiled happily down at your new card as you walked outside the school building. You looked up to search for your best friend. Your eyes scanned the courtyard before landing on Iwaizumi. Assuming Oikawa was nearby, you headed towards him.

"Hey Iwa, where's Oiks?" You asked. Iwaizumi raised up his hand and pointed across to the gate. You looked over to find Oikawa talking to Kasumi, a classmate of yours.

"He's asking her to go on a date with him again," Iwaizumi says.

Again? He's done it before?

"Are they dating?" You ask.

"Not yet, Oikawa wants to ask her to be his girlfriend on the date," Iwa explains. "What's that?" He points to your hands as you fiddled with the corner of your driver's license.

"Oh," You said solemnly. "I got my license."

You waved goodbye to your childhood friend before going into he parking lot. Without thinking, you started the car and just began to drive. Out of the school and onto who knows where. Your mind grew blank as you drove.

How could he not mention Kasumi to you? He used to tell you everything but lately he'd been so distant. Maybe that's why he hasn't texted you all week, you thought. Who could blame him for liking Kasumi? She's so pretty and not to mention how smart she is. She's the class representative and she's one of the nicest girls around.

You fell for the one man you shouldn't have. It was too late to even confess how you felt. He was already falling for another while you were left behind. You felt a sharp pain in your chest as you drove by familiar buildings.

The laundromat where you and Oikawa would go to help with the laundry. You both would end up messing around and your parents would have to kick you two out. You and Oikawa would go across the street to the convenience store to buy steamed buns.

He doesn't like you.

The library where you would wait for Oikawa to finish practice so you two could study together. He'd bring you a bottle of tea and some sort of snack to keep you from burning out. Those study dates where you'd stay until the library was closed.

Give up, stop thinking of him.

The ramen restaurant where Oikawa would take you if he won a game. It was a great celebration and you two had made so many memories there. You two had gone there so often, he convinced the owner that you were his girlfriend.

Let him go.

All the feelings you had for him began to ache in your heart as you reminisced in the memories. You gripped tighter on the wheel as you saw an highway exit. "Fuck," You whispered as you merged into the fast lane. Suddenly all those fears you had of driving, just disappeared. You felt this peace as your eyes locked on the long highway. It was like, nothing hurt anymore. Your tensed shoulders relaxed, yet you felt tears roll down your cheeks. You took deep breaths as you drove attempting to stop your tears.

Soon enough, driving on the highway had shifted from a phobia to an escape. Everyday after school, rather than meeting up with Oikawa and Iwaizumi before practice, you'd drive on the highway and on backroads. It was the only thing that kept you sane when you see Kasumi with Oikawa together.

You became accustomed to the fast pace of the highways. Occasionally you'd speed if you felt some type of pain grow in your chest. You'd blast music to drown out any thoughts or feelings you had. You knew Oikawa could never be yours, so why bother crying over him, right? The thought of being around him began to make you uncomfortable. If you kept your distance, you wouldn't get hurt. You wouldn't be considered a distraction.

butthead: hey?

you: what's up?

butthead: it's been a while since i've seen you :( i miss my best friend

you: are you sure you mean to text me or iwa?

butthead: you, y/n i miss hanging with you

butthead: you didn't come to the restaurant after our game

you: i was busy, sorry

butthead: :(

you: i gotta go, ill talk to you later

Oikawa sighed at his phone and looked across the table to Iwaizumi. "Have you talked to Y/n lately?" He asked.

"Yeah, she borrowed gas money from me," Iwa says before slurping his noodles.

"Gas money? She got her license?" Oikawa tilts his head. "How long has it been?"

"A month? You got caught up with Kasumi," Iwaizumi says.

"Hmph," Oikawa huffed as he sipped his drink. He'd been spending so much time with Kasumi that he forgot about you. Or was it, you started to forget about him? He glances at the window behind Iwa and noticed a familiar car parking.

You parked your car across the street of the restaurant next to a convenience store. You quickly got out and went into the store looking for something to drink. As you began to scan the fridge, you heard the door open. "Y/n?" You turned to find Oikawa.

"What are you doing here?" You turned back to grab a soda.

"Iwa came to eat with me since you didn't make it," Oikawa says. "He's still there, did you want to join us?"

"No thanks, I'm kinda busy at the moment," You say dully. Oikawa goes to speak but you had already walked to go pay for your drink. "Later Oikawa."

"Oikawa?" He watched as you left the store and into your car. He follows suit and watched you speed off. Oikawa quickly makes his way back to the restaurant and seats himself disgruntled. "Y/n called me Oikawa..."

"That's your name isn't it?" Iwaizumi raised his eyebrow.

"She always calls me Oiks or Ru, never Oikawa," He says. "Did I do something wrong?"

Iwaizumi shrugged even though he knew the answer well enough. After Oikawa had asked Kasumi to be his girlfriend, your demeanor had changed. Iwa was the first to notice too. Typically, after school you'd see the duo before practice started, yet since you learnt Oikawa had eyes for another, you stopped.

One day, Iwaizumi decided to follow after you when school was over. He trailed behind as you walked to your car door. You pulled open the door handle only for Iwa to shut the door immediately after. You turned to find Iwaizumi with scrunched eyebrows. "What's wrong with you?" He asked. "Why haven't you came by before practice?"

"No reason, I'm just busy," You lied.

"Liar, what's wrong?" He asks yet you remained silent. "I won't tell Shittykawa just tell me why you're being so distant...and also why your eyes are always puffy."

You paused before answering, "I'm just...upset with Oikawa...and Kasumi.."

"Do you..?" Iwaizumi implied. You nod and looked at the ground. "What have you been doing since you found out about them?"

"Driving," You sighed. "Just driving...It's keep me off my mind all week. I bear the fact that he looks so happy with her and not...me. God I'm so stupid."

"Don't say that-" Iwa started but you immediately lashed out.

"It's true! I was too late to confess! And I fell for the one boy I can't have!" You felt tears well up in your eyes. "I can't even drive by certain places without getting upset. I take backroads and I avoid them completely. I hate driving by his house but it's the only way to my own. He just treats me like another fucking fan girl! I'm just so stupid for falling for my best friend." Since that day, Iwaizumi kept to his promise. Not word about your feelings were said to Oikawa.

butthead: hey are you busy right now ?

you: no, what's up?

butthead: can you help me with something?

you: depends

butthead: meet me at the library so i can tell you more :)

You locked you phone and tossed it into your passenger's seat. You looked up to see the light change to green, allowing you to speed into the highway. Your hands rested at the bottom of the wheel as you drove. The slow, lo-fi music surrounded your car as you drove which let you get out of your trapped mind.

It was a crazy thought to think that you and Oikawa were so excited to drive together. Yet now all you want to do is drive alone. You turned up the volume of your music as you merged into your neighborhood. You leaned further back into your seat as you were driving around the suburbs. You glance at the white cars lining one street leading to the library. You scoffed at the sight as a repressed memory resurfaced.

"Why do you like white cars so much?" You chuckled.

"Because they look clean and nice? Sorry I don't like your basic silver car," Oikawa raised his hand to block your face.

"I'm basic? Says the one who wants an automatic," You pretend to throw up to mock him.

"For someone who can't drive yet, you talk big," Oikawa pats your head only to be smacked a few seconds late. Oikawa drapes his arm over you as you walked down the street to the library The entire walk was filled with mocking and talking about the future. "Let me teach you how to drive, that way we could go out together more."

You finally arrived at the library, spotting Oikawa before parking the car. He watches as you easily parallel park and is stunned by how casual you are as you drove. You set out and approach him. Oikawa holds out a snack to you but you politely refuse.

"Let's go inside?" He asks. You shrugged and followed him in. Rather than sitting beside him like usual, you sat across from him. You still had those feelings for him but you couldn't stand sitting next to him. Your heart was pounding out of your chest as you anticipated his next words. "I was wondering if you could help me with Kasumi?"

Ouch.

"With what?" You ask.

"I want to give her a gift, right?" He starts. "A gift that goes along with me telling her I love her."

He loves her?

Your heart aches but you decide to move past that. "Isn't it a bit early to say I love you?"

"Well, we were long time friends before we started dating and I feel like it's the right time to, y'know?" Oikawa leans forward on the table. "Can you help me find a gift?"

This feels familiar. Helping him find a gift for a girl that isn't you. It seems like anytime he does have a crush he'd come to you for advice. This is the first time that you didn't want to give into his favors.

"No," You sighed.

"No? Wait why not?" He raised his eyebrows at you.

"Because," Say it. "Because I-"

"Because?" Oikawa tilts his head at your response.

"Because I can't keep doing things like this for you," You stood up and began heading for the entrance. Oikawa followed afterwards as he could see the pain in your voice.

"Y/n, talk to me, we haven't talked in forever. Tell me what's wrong," He says as you exit the library. You ignore his voice and reached for your car door. He grabs your arm but you shove him off.

"Would you just- leave me alone?" You snapped. "I don't want to help you, okay?"

"What did I do?" Oikawa was beyond confused at your response.

"I- You- Ugh! Just go away, I don't want to see you!" Your voice cracked as the suppressed feelings began to rise again.

"Why not!" Oikawa grabbed your arm again, this time you weren't able to break free.

"Because I fucking loved you idiot!" You yelled. Hot tears streamed down your cheeks as you stopped struggling in his hold. Oikawa paused and stared at you in wonder.

"You...loved me?" He asked.

"I still fucking love you! God, I hate you- I just- Let go!" You pulled off him. "I'm leaving. If you try to stop me, I'm never speaking to you again." You wiped your tears as you entered your car. Driving off into the neighborhood, crying at the red lights knowing you could've ruined your whole friendship.

Oikawa watched as you sped off. Those words lingered in his ear as he stared down at his hand where you let go. His mind was lost in thought, how could his best friend love him? Was he that blind that he couldn't see your admiration? "She...loves me?" He thought.

taglist: @amillionfandoms-onlyoneme​ @d0llpie​ @elianetsantana @joy-laufeyson @kac-chowsballs

[crispy-chan]

seesaw ↣ min yoongi

↣ pairing: min yoongi x f.reader ↣ genre/warnings: fluff, angst, light cursing ↣ word count: 1646 ↣ a/n: happy birthday yoongi. this is yet again a product of like an hour of writing but i hope it isn't terrible. oh, and i love seesaws.    - listen to seesaw by suga

main masterlist (skz) | bts materlist

---

“It was a good start The ups and downs, themselves Before I knew it, we grew tired With meaningless emotional drains”

For the longest time, Min Yoongi was just a friend. The boy next door. You went together to elementary school, middle school, and now high school. For the longest time, he was just that.

It wasn't until you were in your late teens, that he asked you out. Occasional greetings turned into walking to school together, multiple study sessions, and a few dates.

For the first date, he took you to the park for a picnic. He prepared the entire picnic basket himself, even making fresh sandwiches and some raspberry lemonade. Laying the pleated yellow blanket on the emerald grass, he motioned for you to sit first, like a true gentleman.

“Thanks, Yoongi. It looks delicious,” you smiled at him, pushing a strand of your hair behind your ear. Squinting against the sunlight, you decided to move to the side, so your back would face the sun.

Yoongi took a seat across from you, flashing you a gummy smile before pulling out the paper plates and arranging the meal.

“I made some Caprese sandwiches. I hope you'll like them.”

Taking a big bite, you sighed at the taste, the familiar flavor melting on your tongue.

“They're really good, Yoongi. I love them. Didn't know that you could cook,” you beamed, the light breeze making your hair flutter around your neck.

At that moment, Yoongi knew he was in love. The laughs and giggles, the wide smiles, and your sparkling eyes looking at him like that. He felt like he found paradise. You gulped down the rest of the sandwich, not forgetting to compliment him and thank him for preparing them.

Sipping the fruity lemonade, you sighed, closing your eyes and looking up. A few fluffy clouds graced the clear blue sky. Yoongi got up, walking in the directions of the flower field, leaving you behind on the blanket.

“I'm just going to get some flowers,” he explained upon seeing the confusion on your face. Your frown disappeared, a boisterous laugh leaving you as you waved to him.

“Come back soon, Yoongs.”

Roughly ten minutes passed by, and you were starting to get worried. You contemplated running after him, to make sure everything was okay, but you didn't have to. Yoongi was pacing back to you, his hands behind his back, almost as if hiding something.

“Whatcha got there?” you questioned, excitement bubbling in your heart.

Yoongi's heart fluttered, cheeks reddening at the display. He slowly pulled his hand from behind his back, revealing a small flower crown.

You gasped with glee, looking up at him with glazing orbs. “I-Is that f-for me?”

Rather than answering the question, Yoongi chose to place the delicate wreath on your head. It felt like centuries have passed, by the time you have calmed your racing heartbeat. 

After that, you guys walked to the empty playground. At some point, Yoongi's hand softly gripped yours, and you had to stop the urge to squeal.

His hand was much bigger than yours, easily engulfing your palm in his own, as he swayed them back and forth. Reaching for the gate, he opened it, letting you in. 

You walked to the old seesaw in the back, the yellow paint chipping off after years of usage. With a laugh, you sat down, Yoongi walking to the other side and doing the same. Taking turns, you pushed yourselves off the ground in short intervals, laughing and chatting.

Yoongi told you about his dream, how he wanted to pursue music in life, even if everybody around him told him not to. It was hard to make it in the industry, with no promise of a stable career in the future.

But you encouraged him. Told him how he should pursue his dream, do what his heart longed for. He was delighted, you have been the first person to show outright support when it came to this passion of his. The serotonin was high when he realized that you said you would stand by him till the end.

After that, he walked you home as the moon lit up your path. The night was chilly, so after he noticed you shiver, he immediately threw his denim jacket over your shoulders and rubbed comforting circles on your hand.

You tried to protest, telling him that you were fine, that you didn't want him to freeze, but he dismissed it with a wave of his hand.

Arriving at your place, you were sad that the day came to an end. Yoongi has let go of your hand and you were walking up the steps but before you stepped inside, you turned around and quickly pecked him on the cheek.

Your cheeks flooded with warmth as you whispered a quiet “goodnight” before storming inside. Yoongi stood in front of your door for a few minutes, glued to the pavement before he was able to leave. His mind was still hazy from the kiss you gave him and he realized he wanted more.

---

It took three more dates before he officially asked for you to be his girlfriend. He grabbed your hand while in a restaurant, looking you in the eye and telling you how much he enjoyed your company and wanted to be able to call you his and spend more time with you.

You instantly agreed, chest filling with warmth as a wave of giddiness crashed over you.

Everything was going so well, the two of you going on weekly dates, texted all day, and even had study sessions together.

This went on for almost a year. It felt like your life was complete, you had everything you could possibly long for. Things were going great with Yoongi. 

Until they weren't.

“Repeated seesaw game Now, I'm so sick of this Repeated seesaw game We're getting sick and tired of each other”

It seems like good things aren't meant to last. Bit by bit, the relationship the two of you have carefully built, was crumbling. Falling apart. 

Weekly dates turned into monthly ones, Yoongi being all closed up in the studio, working on tracks until ungodly hours. You tried to speak to him, remind him to take breaks, occasionally even visiting him and bringing him dinner.

But it felt like he was shutting you out. Any attempt to mend your relationship felt futile. But you weren't prepared to give up. To give up on him. Not when everyone else around him has already done so.

You texted him. Told him to meet you at the playground. That if he wouldn't show, you personally go to the studio and make a scene.

He agreed, promising he'll be there. You felt a pang in your chest when you heard how tired he was. Someone had to make sure this boy wouldn't burn himself out.

You sat on the seesaw. The exact same one you and Yoongi were on almost a year ago. But it wasn't the same without him. Five minutes have passed. Ten. Twenty.

You were beginning to worry. Where was he? What if he didn't show? He was almost half an hour late at this point. You felt tears prick at the corner of your eyes, slowly standing up to leave in shame.

But then a running Yoongi came into view. He sprinted across the grass, bursting through the playground gate and stopping right in front of you. Bending down and placing his hands on his knees, he panted heavily before looking up.

His eyes.

They caught you by surprise. It has been ages since you last stared into his chocolate brown orbs. You could see the unshed tears welling up in them. 

“I have something to show you,” he whispered.

“Were the petty arguments the start? The moment I became heavier than you Because there have never been parallels in the first place Maybe it was my greed trying to match myself with you If it was love, and if this is what love means Is there really a need to keep repeating ourselves We're tired of each other, yet seem to be holding the same cards Well, then”

He pulled out his phone, swiping it open before clicking on something. An unfamiliar melody sounded in the vast night, lyrics that you heard for the first time, yet still felt as if you knew them by heart. After the track finished, Yoongi pocketed his phone, slowly looking up, waiting for your reaction.

When he saw none (you were too stunned by hearing him sing for the first time), so he started to explain.

“I- I know things have been going downhill with us. And I wanted to apologize, it's mostly my fault. I kept locking myself up in the studio, completely neglecting you and overall just acting like a dick-”

You laughed at that, making Yoongi smile.

“-it has been rocky, but I still love you. I came late because I was adding some finishing touches to the song. I guess I needed to get it out of my system. But in the meantime, I remembered why you mean so much to me. And I wanted to ask you - would you be willing to give us another chance?”

He looked up to you, shaking the hair off his forehead. His eyes shone with guilt, hope, and longing.

“I- I think we could try again,” you stammered, “but no more shutting me out. Understood?”

“Yes.”

--

This brought you here. Three months later. The both of you were sitting on the seesaw, reminiscing about how you sat here for the first time, over a year ago. The seesaw has become your safe space, you'd go there after every argument, achievement, or when you just felt like annoying parents who thought you two had no business on the playground.

“There's no turning back”

a/n: hope you liked it. feel free to let me know your thoughts. stay safe ✨

[iamthenightcolormeblack]

Pride and Prejudice 1940: "When Pretty Girls T-E-A-S-E-D Men Into Marriage"

Made during the Great Depression, this classic black and white film is loosely based on Austen's novel and is set in what is likely the 1830s rather than the Regency Era (late 18th century to early 19th century). It is an escapist piece which capitalizes on nostalgia for a simpler time by transporting its viewers to a chocolate-box vision of the past, while paying homage to Austen's social satire by delivering plenty of laughs along the way.

Overall Thoughts on the Film:

The first time I watched this movie, I was confused because the plot as well as the setting was revised significantly (the events after Darcy's first proposal are changed to hasten the happy ending; Darcy's letter and Elizabeth's visit to Pemberley are not included in this movie). This changing of plot points makes the 2005 movie a much more faithful adaptation in comparison with this version, in spite of the creative liberties both take with the novel.

Production Design:

The movie is a typical example of Golden Age Hollywood productions, with beautiful actresses and melodramatic flourishes added to increase the drama. Some of the lines are delivered very quickly, in keeping with the comedic style of the time.

The music: definitely not historically accurate. A lot of sentimental, "ye olde timey" string arrangements that emphasize emotions or fast-paced waltz music for balls/parties.

The 1830s costumes are beautiful; it seems as if no expense (or quantity of fabric) was spared in making them. The bonnets are way taller and have more decorations than typical 1830s bonnets. Some of the patterns/fabric choices are very 1930s, and the costumes are exaggerated in such as way as to make the wearers look like fancy turkeys.

Hair and Makeup: very 1930s, with finger/sausage curls, plucked eyebrows, lipstick/lip makeup, and long lashes.

The sets: the dollhouse-like interiors are lavishly gilded and made to look as opulent as possible. Outdoors scenes are lush, with lots of flowers and bushes; the garden in which the second proposal takes place is gorgeous. The set design transports the viewer into an idyllic vision of the bucolic English countryside.

The Lead Actors:

With the exception of Laurence Olivier, the majority of the actors are American, since this is a Hollywood production. Many of the characters in the film's imaginary vision of pastoral Britain speak American or make clumsy attempts to imitate British English.

Greer Garson: while she is definitely too old for the part, she perfectly conveys Elizabeth's intelligence, outspokenness, and sarcasm. Her facial expressions are killer as well; with the arch of an eyebrow along with a snarky side eye, she captivates us all. All in all, Garson effectively shows off Elizabeth's impertinence through her nonverbal acting (this reminds me strongly of Jennifer Ehle's Elizabeth Bennet).

Laurence Olivier: he effectively conveys Darcy's pride while hinting at his deeper feelings beneath the surface (I can see why Colin Firth spoke so highly of Olivier's portrayal of Darcy). Most importantly, the film emphasizes Darcy's intelligence; he is certainly Elizabeth's intellectual equal. While this portrayal of Darcy is very accurate to the book, Darcy's pride does go away pretty quickly (he and Elizabeth form a tentative friendship early on) and his social awkwardness isn't immediately obvious thanks to his charm. Also the unflattering hairstyle with the greasy hair and painted on sideburns makes me sad.

Key Scenes:

Opening scene: The title card appeals directly to the audience's nostalgia for a sentimental, romanticized past: “It happened in OLD ENGLAND (this was actually capitalized), in the village of Meryton…” The Bennet women are at a fabric shop, where they gossip with aunt Phillips about the rich people moving into Netherfield Park.

The carriage race: this scene, which isn’t in the original novel, represents the rivalry between the Bennets and Lucases. The mothers both want their daughters to be the first to snag the rich bachelors.

The first ball: There is a historical anachronism as the music is a waltz by Strauss, who became popular in late 19th century, specifically the Gilded Age; far too early for the Regency Era or 1830s England. Other changes from the original novel include Elizabeth meeting Wickham before Darcy; other events from Aunt Phillips’ ball (which isn’t included in this movie) and Wickham and Darcy’s confrontation are included in this scene.

Elizabeth’s impression of Darcy at the ball: she puts on airs and mocks his casual dismissal of her as tolerable (definitely a parallel with the 1995 version, where Jennifer Ehle does the same, but privately with Jane).

Great comedic change: Darcy introduces himself to Elizabeth after calling her tolerable and asks if she will dance with him (this originally takes place at Mr. Lucas' ball). Right after rejecting Darcy, she instantly agrees to dance with Wickham; in a humorous moment, Darcy evacuates to a corner of the room to sulk while seeing Wickham dance with Elizabeth.

The “Accomplished woman” scene: the dialogue lifted directly from the book for the most part. Darcy, in a departure from his trademark seriousness, shows off his playful side when reacting to Caroline Bingley's "turn about the room." I particularly like this added repartee from Elizabeth Bennet to Darcy, which is clever but also foreshadows her prejudice: “If my departure is any punishment, you are quite right. My character reading is not too brilliant.”

Elizabeth can't stand Mr. Collins: After twirling about his monocle, he pronounces that: “It might interest you to know my taste was formed by lady Catherine de Bourgh.” The best part of this scene is when Elizabeth plucks a wrong note on her harp when Collins gets really annoying.

The Netherfield ball (which is now a garden party):

Elizabeth running away from Mr. Collins: She looks rather ridiculous, almost like an overdressed turkey, in a white dress with puffy sleeves as she runs away from an overeager Collins. Then she hides in the bushes while Darcy helps her to hide, telling Collins he doesn't know where she is. It's fun but most likely not something a proper lady and gentleman would do (two people of the opposite gender out alone, shock!).

The archery scene: Darcy attempts to teach Elizabeth how to shoot a bow and arrow, even though he doesn’t hit the bullseye. She goes on to impress him by perfectly hitting the bullseye every time; Darcy learns his lesson: "Next time I talk to a young lady about archery I won't be so patronizing." Caroline Bingley, very passive aggressive as usual, shows up for her archery lesson right after and it's absolutely perfect.

Mr. Collins attempts to introduce himself to Mr. Darcy: Laurence Olivier captures Darcy so perfectly in this scene (really set the precedent for Colin Firth). When Mr. Collins starts talking (inviting Elizabeth to dance with him) Darcy tries to keep himself well-composed but has a pained expression on his face as if he’s about to pass out. Olivier masters the way Darcy can look so miserable but also disgusted and proud at the same time.

Mr. Collin's proposal to Elizabeth: I like the added touch of Mrs. Bennet pulling Elizabeth back by her skirt when she tries to run out of the room. The dialogue is taken directly from the book, and the scene is made even funnier when Collins holds on to Elizabeth's hand desperately and doesn’t let her get away. My only quibble is that Elizabeth isn’t indignant enough when Mr. Collins doesn't take no for an answer.

Elizabeth and Darcy at Rosings: I like that Olivier subtly indicates that Darcy is clearly affected upon seeing Elizabeth at Rosing, hinting at deeper feelings beneath the surface. I also like how the scriptwriter emphasizes that Darcy indirectly praises Elizabeth and enjoys their conversations, while she remains convinced that he hates her. Sadly, the original dialogue of the piano scene is not included, which is unfortunate as it allows Darcy to reveal his introvert tendencies, calling into question Elizabeth's assertion that he is unpardonably proud.

First proposal: The famous opening lines are mutilated with awkward punctuation: “It’s no use. I’ve struggled in vain. I must tell you how much I admire and love you." While the rest of the dialogue matches up closely with what happens in Austen's novel, both of the actors aren’t emotional enough; instead Elizabeth cries very daintily, and Darcy remains serene, which conflicts with the book's description of both of them being very angry and defensive at each other.

THE SCRIPT:

The first half of the film up to Darcy's first proposal follows the events of the original book closely, though certain blocks of dialogue are moved elsewhere and other events such as Mrs. Phillips' party are skipped over. The most significant changes, besides updating the setting to the 1830s, are made to the second half of the book to squeeze the key events of the story into the movie before delivering the inevitable happy ending.

Brilliant Quotes:

Mr. Bennet's reaction to Mrs. Bennet's despair over the situation of their 5 unmarried daughters: “Perhaps we should have drowned some of them at birth.”

Darcy insists Elizabeth cannot tempt him: “Ugh. Provincial young lady with a lively wit. And there’s that mother of hers.”

Darcy is an arrogant snob: “I’m in no humor tonight to give consequence to the middle classes at play.” (Technically the Bennets are part of the gentry; they just are less wealthy than Darcy).

Elizabeth's reaction to Darcy pronouncing her to be tolerable at best: “What a charming man!”

Elizabeth rebuffs Darcy's offer to dance after overhearing his insult: “I am afraid that the honor of standing up with you is more than I can bear, Mr Darcy.”

Elizabeth favors Wickham after witnessing the bad blood between him and Darcy: “Without knowing anything about it I am on your side.”

Mrs. Bennet's comment after she sends Jane to Netherfield under stormy skies: “There isn’t anything like wet weather for engagements. Your dear father and I became engaged in a thunderstorm.”

Mr. Bennet's reaction to Jane's fever: “Jane must have all the credit for having caught the cold…we’re hoping Elizabeth will catch a cold and stay long enough to get engaged to Mr. Darcy. And if a good snowstorm could be arranged we’d send Kitty over!”

The sisters' description of Mr. Collins: “Oh heavens! what a pudding face.”

Caroline Bingley at the Netherfield garden party: “Entertaining the rustics is not as difficult as I feared. Any simple childish game seems to amuse them excessively.”

Darcy reassuring Elizabeth after helping her escape Mr. Collins: “If the dragon returns St. George will know how to deal with it.”

Darcy learns his lesson after Elizabeth beats him at archery: “The next time I talk to a young lady about archery I won’t be so patronizing.”

Elizabeth comments about a curtain: “Oh that’s pretty. It’s a pity you didn’t make it bigger. You could have put it around Mr. Collins when he becomes a bore.”

Elizabeth on Kitty and Lydia: “2 daughters out of 5, that represents 40% of the noise.”

Elizabeth sees Lady Catherine for the first time: “So that’s the great lady Catherine. Now I see where he learned his manners.”

Lady Catherine's attitude towards philanthropy: “You must learn to draw a firm line between the deserving poor and the undeserving poor.”

Darcy takes Elizabeth's advice: “I’ve thought a great deal about what you said at Netherfield, about laughing more...but it only makes me feel worse."

Elizabeth and Darcy have a conversation with Colonel Fitzwilliam: “He likes the landscape well enough, but the natives, the natives, what boors, what savages … Isn’t that what you think, Mr. Darcy?” With a smile: “It evidently amuses you to think so, Miss Bennet."

CHANGES FROM THE BOOK:

The first half of the film up to Darcy's first proposal follow the events of the original book closely, though certain blocks of dialogue are moved elsewhere and other events such as Mrs. Phillips' party are skipped over. The most significant changes, besides updating the setting to the 1830s, are made to the second half of the book to squeeze the key events of the story into the movie before delivering the inevitable happy ending.

With the exception of Lady Catherine de Bourgh, the portrayals of the characters are (generally) true to the book.

As I said earlier, the film neglects any sort of historical accuracy when setting the story in romanticized "Old England," where genteel people pass simple lives that revolve around dresses, tea parties, social gossip, and marriages. A lot of Austen adaptations present an idealized vision of Regency life, where people are dressed immaculately, flawlessly adhere to "chivalry," and find love in the ballroom. This contributes to the misconception that Austen's novels are shallow chick-lit books with flat characters who live for lavish parties and hot men, instead of stories of unique, complicated women who happen to be well-off but aspire towards love, respect, or independence instead of being content to make economically advantageous marriages. Austen's novels are character novels and she doesn't waste time writing about dresses or tea parties; balls, while exciting, are just another part of daily life for her characters rather than some Extremely Big Special Once In a Blue Moon Event.

Austen's multifaceted view on marriage turns into a game of matchmaking. She recognizes it as necessary for women to survive in the patriarchy, since they cannot provide for themselves unless they marry well, but at the same time, presents marriage as a means for freedom if it is a loving partnership between two people that respect each other. In contrast, marriage is a game of manipulating the partners into wanting to marry (ex. Lady Catherine and Darcy's trickery). Also, it seems to be a given that Elizabeth will marry for love, unlike in the book where it is uncertain whether she will achieve this.

Kitty and Lydia's antics are viewed much more sympathetically as those of young people having fun; in the book, their behavior harms the family's social reputation, reducing the chances the Bennet daughters have of making good marriages.

Louisa Hurst, Georgiana Darcy, and Aunt and Uncle Gardiner are not in the movie.

Wickham is introduced much earlier than in the book; he is friends with Lydia from the very beginning. Interestingly, he doesn't begin to trash-talk Darcy until Bingley leaves; in the book he does so much earlier, before the Netherfield ball.

Darcy is more considerate towards Elizabeth at the Netherfield party (ex. rescuing her from Collins), until he overhears Mrs. Bennet scheming to get the daughters married. Elizabeth forms a tentative friendship with him until finding out that he separated Jane from Bingley.

Jane is more obviously heartbroken over Bingley's departure than in the book, where she keeps her pain to herself. In the movie, she runs away to cry, which is uncharacteristic of her.

Collins is a librarian instead of a clergyman. I dislike this change because some Austen scholars/fans think that Collins being a clergyman is a deliberate choice as part of Austen's social criticism. Collins is representative of how hypocritical the Church is, since he worships Lady Catherine's wealth instead of God, and preaches moral lessons instead of actually using religion to help people. My theory is that the change was made because of the Hays Code, which led to the censorship of movies for "unwholesome" or "indecent" things; the religious criticism could have been offensive.

Elizabeth reacts rather too kindly to Charlotte marrying Collins by showing concern for the loveless marriage. While she does worry about the lack of love in the marriage, initially she is extremely surprised, outright shocked, and confused.

The scene where Darcy tries and fails to talk to Elizabeth (the "charming house" scene in the 2005 movie) just before the proposal is removed.

Darcy's letter is skipped over and Elizabeth overcomes her prejudice of Darcy very quickly, as shown when she tells Jane she regrets rejecting his proposal. This is contrary to the book, where overcoming her prejudice is an emotionally exhausting and slow process that continues all the way up until the second proposal.

The Pemberley visit is removed; instead, Elizabeth returns home to the news that Lydia has eloped. Visiting Pemberley is very important as part of Elizabeth's re-evaluation of Darcy's character and provides an opportunity for Darcy to show Elizabeth that he has changed for her. The visit is key in increasing Elizabeth's love for Darcy, and removing it means that the characters have less personal growth (also wouldn't it have been great for the audience to be treated to another gorgeous estate of "Old England?"). Instead, Darcy visits Longbourn on his own and offers his help in finding Lydia. When the news comes that Wickham accepts very little money in exchange for marrying Lydia, it isn't as shocking as it is in the book because Darcy had already expressed his intentions of helping Elizabeth earlier.

Here's the change that bugs me the most: Lady Catherine becomes good; though she is a busybody, her main priority is Darcy's happiness. Her confrontation of Elizabeth is a scheme hatched between her and Darcy as a test to be certain of Elizabeth's love. This does not make sense on so many levels: first, Darcy insists that "disguise of every sort is my abhorrence," so why would he resort to trickery, however well-intentioned, to find out if Elizabeth still loves him? Second, Lady Catherine is a social snob and objects to Elizabeth's low connections; also she has an arranged marriage planned for Darcy. Third, in the book, because Elizabeth likes Pemberley and gets along really well with his sister Georgiana, Darcy would have had some evidence that Elizabeth, in the very least, cared for him. And the added claim that Lady Catherine approves of Elizabeth because she likes rudeness and thinks Darcy needs a humorous wife irritates me further because the marriage of Elizabeth and Darcy is revolutionary since it was made in defiance of societal rules!!! Why, why, why in the name of comedy did they have to do this?!

Darcy kisses Elizabeth (in a stagey and melodramatic way) after she accepts his second proposal. Seems a bit uncharacteristic of him.

All the sisters get married at the end. Happily ever after.

CONCLUSION

This movie certainly was not aiming for faithfulness to Austen's novel; it ignores her detailed portrait of Regency era society and its attitudes and focuses on the "light, bright, and sparkling" aspect of Pride and Prejudice that gives the story its timeless appeal.

All in all, this comedy of manners is definitely a classic thanks to the clever dialogue and jokes within the script, along with some great acting.

@appleinducedsleep @dahlia-coccinea @princesssarisa @colonelfitzwilliams @austengivesmeserotonin

[the-lady-writes-what]

Nightclub, Hero Edition

                                                 —080—

Post-break-up partying isn’t really your style, but when your friends drag you out to the nightclub, you don’t really have much of a say. You’re standing in line waiting to get in when a shiny sports car pulls up. Who should get out but Ground Zero and Mind Jack. The underground hero, Mind Jack (Hitoshi Shinsou), spots you in the crowd and keeps his eye on you all night. Evidently, so does his friend, Katsuki Bakugo. After a surprise run in with your ex, Neito Monoma, Hitoshi and Katsuki show off to Monoma how the two of them together can please you better than he ever could.

Katsuki Bakugo and Hitoshi Shinsou x Reader

All minor characters are aged up. I do not write minor x adult fiction.

                                                    —080—

Contents: public sex, voyeurism, threesome, fingering, light hair pulling, praise kink, double penetration, overstimulation

“The hell you mean, you can’t go?” Katsuki glared at his friend.

His fists clenched at his sides. One day out of the week out of the entire month. He had one night to blow off some steam, and there was nobody who could back him up. Eijiro nervously rubbed the back of his neck.

“Look, man, I’d love to, but I already made plans. Maybe you could find another wingman?”

“What’d you say? You think I’m gonna take some shitty extra with me on my one night off? I bust my balls every damn day for this freakin’ city, and I can’t even get my best wingman with me?”

Pro-hero work wasn’t what he expected it to be. Sure, he had the money, the clout, and the entourage of girls (and sometimes dudes) who fought each other for a millisecond of his time.

“Mina’s been planin’ this thing for weeks now. I can’t just back out now,” said Eijiro.

Katsuki’s eyes flitted to someone else in the group. Denki felt the immediate power of Katsuki’s anger in one glance. Denki threw his hands up in that universal sign of surrender.

“Don’t look at me, dude. I’m on duty that night. Besides, maybe if you weren’t into kinky shit—”

Katsuki slammed his palm on the table. A silent threat to blow it up. His face screwed up into that gremlin mask he wore when he was extra obnoxious. But at a closer look, one could barely see the tinge of red in his cheeks.

“When I need your opinion, Spark Plug, I’ll ask for it!” Katsuki grabbed his drink and started angrily draining it as he slouched in his chair.

“What if I called Shinsou?” Denki offered.

“Why’d I do a stupid thing like that?”

“Because you’d be surprised about how much you and Shinsou have in common?” Denki was already scrolling through his phone as if looking for something. “He doesn’t patrol on Saturdays, and he’s single. What’s the worse thing that could happen?”

Katsuki growled while Denki texted. Denki’s phone pinged every time Shinsou sent a response. Denki put his phone into Katsuki’s face.

“See? Looks like he’s down for it!”

Katsuki swatted Denki’s hand away. Chewing on his straw, he was forced to choke down his pride. He had only a few words with Shinsou, and he didn’t like the guy. He didn’t like many people either, but did he have much a choice if everybody else was bailing on him? It wasn’t as much fun all by oneself.

“J-Just, tell him to meet me at Supernova. Nine o’clock sharp, and he better not show up in a shitty outfit either.”

This outfit wasn’t your idea. Your friends put you in those skimpy little jean shorts and a pink midriff-baring top just as they put you up to come out tonight. You’d rather watch Netflix in bed wearing a comfy hoodie. Would you be stuffing your face with your favorite ice cream? Yes. Going out to nightclubs with your girlfriends and drinking away, your sorrows wasn’t usually how to get over a break-up. You are a fully grown woman and wanted to decide how best to get over a two-year-long relationship. You really should have thought of that before you got friends.

Two of the four girls dragging out into the night after dollying you up were already tipsy. Pre-game partying, they call it. You’d literally rather be anywhere but out tonight.

The five of you wait in line for fifteen minutes waiting to get in. A flashy red car pulls up and parks. You watch with scrutinizing eyes who steps out. Camera phones are flashing in the vehicle’s direction as soon as the passengers exit. You recognized the blonde by his scowl. Ground Zero. But the other one? You have no idea. He looks like the underground hero, Mind Jack, but since there were so few pictures of him on the internet, you couldn’t be sure. Fangirls screamed and pressed against the velvet ropes as the gentlemen sauntered up to the front of the line. You craned your next in time to see Bakugo flash a VIP pass, which permitted him and his friend early entrance into the nightclub. Just before they went in, Mind Jack looked down the line of those waiting before his eyes landed on you. You flush red as he glanced at you and gave you a knowing smirk. Mind Jack quickly followed behind Bakugo into the nightclub.

Your friends stared and asked incessant questions. They had less of an idea who Bakugo was bringing with him, but they all seemed to agree that he was hot. You couldn’t deny the butterflies fluttering in your stomach. There was something about his penetrating glance that made your insides warm and fuzzy.

You were to wait another twenty minutes before even getting inside to find out why you caught his attention. Half your friends went to the bar while the other half tried to drag you out onto the dance floor. You barely managed to escape and find your own secluded spot at the bar where your other friends couldn’t see you. Your only drink for the night was going to be that bottle of beer, and that was it. Exciting, no, but you planned to arrive home mostly sober enough to binge watch that new romantic comedy until daybreak and avoid going home with a complete stranger. Anonymous sex just wasn’t your type of post-break-up healing routine.

You stood against the wall watching other people have their fun. The music was something you could probably dance to, but maybe after you finished sipping your beer. As you scrolled through your social media after becoming bored with people-watching, you suddenly looked up. You could not escape the sensation of someone watching you. You glanced around the nightclub in a panic then settled on the cause of your anxiety. Indigo eyes were eating you up from across the dance floor. He was seated in a VIP lounge with Bakugo. His friend seemed more interested in talking than he was, which suited him just fine as it allowed him to stare at you.

A shiver ran down your spine. Mind Jack couldn’t want anything from you, could he? You thought about all the girls your ex-boyfriend compared you to. You were too prudish, and when you did have sex, you weren’t all that adventurous. You wanted to like sex just like everybody else did. Whether it was you or your partners, you couldn’t tell. You sipped your beer, chiding yourself.

This is a mistake. I should just check out and go home.

You almost turned to find one of your friends when Mind Jack caught your eye again. You glanced up at him to see Mind Jack whispering something to Bakugo. He had his hand cupping his mouth so you couldn’t tell what he was saying. Not that it made a difference at any rate with the club’s pulsing, beating music thrumming in your ears. To your shock, Bakugo turned his red eyes towards you.

You couldn’t help swallowing hard and downed the rest of your drink. You thought it best to sneak away and grab one of your friends before you did something silly and out of character. You tiptoed unto the dance floor, brushing past gyrating, sweating bodies. Two of your friends joined the others dancing and didn’t even hear you calling out to them. A pair of strong hands reached out and touched your waist.

“At least let me talk to you before you start running for the hills.” A voice said next to your ears.

You gulped again. You never heard this voice before but felt its timber shoot pleasure all the way down your spine. You felt the warmth of his body pressing against you.

“Um,” you licked your lips. “I’ve never done this before. I-I don’t really go out to clubs.”

“Relax. I’m not going to bite.” The stranger spun you around to face him.

You faced those indigo eyes up close and personal. This close, you could see the dark shadows beneath his eyes. He was pale beneath the strobe lights.

“Unless you’re into that sort of thing,” he chuckled.

“Are you, are you at least going to give me a name before you try to dance with me?” You stammered.

“Mind Jack, but you can call me Hitoshi.”

“Is it safe for you to give me your real name? Being an underground hero and all?” You asked.

“Let’s just say I’m very comfortable getting to you. How about you give me your name, or else I’ll start calling you kitty.”

Your face turned beet red, and it wasn’t because of the alcohol you just finished off. Shinsou pulled you close to him so that your bodies pressed together.

“Y-Y/N L/N. I’m Y/N L/N.”

“Well, L/N, can I have this dance?”

“S-Sure,” you answered.

Hitoshi lowered his hands to your hips and looked for permission. You laced your arms on his shoulders and nodded. Throughout the first song, you apologized for not knowing how to dance and stepping on his toes. Hitoshi squeezed your hips, and you couldn’t deny how his hand felt on you. Your lower belly was full of butterflies at this point. You wondered if a single bottle was all it took to make you lose all inhibitions. You were lost in your own thoughts as well as Shinsou’s burning gaze when a voice pulled you out of your reverie.

“Mind if I cut in?”

You knew that voice. It couldn’t be. Could it?

You were spun around landed in the chest of none other than Katsuki Bakugo, Ground Zero himself. Your face turned a brighter shade of red. Your body moved parallel to his as the music pulsed in your ears. Katsuki’s hands wandered to your lower back and hip as he pulled you close. He leaned his head towards your neck. His warm breath ghosted over your skin, giving rise to goosebumps. Your heart fluttered in your chest. Your nails dug into his shoulders as if begging him to stop or continue; you could no longer tell at this point.

Another set of hands pulled you away or tried to. Katsuki’s hold on you was too strong to remove you entirely away from him. Hitoshi appeared behind you. His hand reached behind the back of your neck and turned your face towards his. Katsuki kissed the juncture of where your shoulder met your neck while Hitoshi claimed your lips. You moaned at the dual sensation of two men kissing different parts of you at the same time. Your legs instantly turned into Jell-O. If not for the set of hands holding you up, it would be easy for your legs to give out from beneath you and make you collapse on the floor. Alcohol officially had nothing to do with you making out with one pro-hero while another kissed your neck. Hitoshi ran his tongue along your bottom lip, silently asking for permission for entrance. Slowly, you opened your mouth to permit him. Hands ran up and down your torso and the top of your thighs. Between them, you were gripped, groped, and caressed in ways at your ex would have never. You became lost in the flavor of Hitoshi when you heard a deriding laugh even above the pounding music.

You didn’t realize that you closed your eyes the moment Hitoshi started kissing you. When you opened them again, standing before you with a sneer on his face was your ex-boyfriend, Neito Monoma. His arms were crossed over his chest as he looked at you stuck between two men.

“It’s been less than what? A week? Couldn’t decide which one, so you decide to be a slut with both of them?” Said Neito.

“Hey, Monoma,” said Hitoshi.

“Wh—”

He stupidly fell right into Hitoshi’s trap. Neito stood there dumbly in the middle of the dance floor with that vacant stare.

“Monoma, stand there and watch us please your former girlfriend better than you could.”

Katsuki chuckled against your skin. “Yeah, ya damn extra. Stand over there with that dumb, shitty look on your face.”

Katsuki’s hand slipped into your shorts. With everyone drunk and dancing and the lights pulsating, the dimly lit nightclub gave him plenty of coverage. His fingers quickly found your clit. You shivered when Katsuki began to work you into a fit. Your back arched forward, but Hitoshi’s arm snaked around your stomach to keep you close to him. Hitoshi’s lips graced your neck, kissing and sucking at your skin. Katsuki picked up the pace of his fingers to match the fast beat of the music drumming in your ears. Your gaze fixed on Monoma, who could do nothing.

Katsuki slammed his mouth on yours while the rough pace of his fingers never faltered. You moaned against him as his tongue viciously, hungrily explored your mouth. Hitoshi secreted his hand beneath your shirt and cupped your breast through your bra. The sensations made you forget that you were in the middle of a nightclub dance floor. Your back arched like a bow. Your eyes closed and screwed tight as Katsuki brought you over the edge. You moaned into his mouth with your hands, reaching for his hair and pulling hard. Your hips bucked against him as the waves of pleasure crashed into you. When you finally came down from your high, Hitoshi helped support you against his firm chest. Katsuki slowly pulled away. He and Hitoshi quickly rearranged your clothes to make you look as inconspicuous as possible. That was a little easier said than done with your completely blissed out face and the thin sheen of sweat covering your body.

“Hey, Kitty,” said Hitoshi. He whispered next to your ear. “Wanna take this party elsewhere?”

You glanced at Monoma. He was set free from Hitoshi’s quirk, but he still stood there. His face was red. Looking down, evidence of his arousal embarrassingly stood out like a sore thumb. Monoma gave you one final sneer before running off.

Whether to hide his hard-on or take care of it, you didn’t care to know.

“Who’s place?” You asked hoarsely.

You had your arm on Hitoshi’s back, and he put his hand on your shoulder. You walked out of the club like that with Katsuki leading the way. You quickly sent a text to your friends that you met somebody. Judging by how many people were staring at your exit, it was safe to say that they would have figured out who you were going out within no time at all.

Hitoshi rode in the back with you while Katsuki drove. Five minutes into the car ride, Hitoshi worked the button off your shorts and wriggled his hand inside. He kissed you fiercely, occasionally looking into the rearview mirror to glance at Katsuki. What was he doing egging Katsuki on? Katsuki shifted in the driver’s seat with each passing glance at you and Hitoshi fooling around in the back of his car.

Hitoshi’s fingers weren’t as thick and calloused as Katsuki’s, but the slim fingers felt too damn good. You were moaning into Hitoshi’s kiss. You reached up and pulled his hair as he slipped his fingers into your panties and between your slick folds. He pumped his fingers slowly, at first, inside of your slit. One finger, then two, and as soon as you were a proper mess for him, Hitoshi added a third. He broke away from the kiss to watch you ride his fingers.

Your sensitive body jolted with every thrust of his fingers. Your hips bucked into his hand, and you rode him until you saw stars. Katsuki pulled into the driveway of his miniature mansion, opened the garage door, and pulled in. The car was secured, and the door closed. He turned off the radio. The wet squelching your cunt made taking three of Hitoshi’s fingers filled the car. You hadn’t even realized that the car had been turned off. Katsuki shifted in the driver’s seat to get a good look at you.

“Come for me.” Hitoshi kissed your ear.

You obeyed. It didn’t take much to have you coming again. Drool seeped out of the corner of your mouth as your inner walls clenched around his fingers. Hitoshi pulled out slowly. He gave his index finger a long suck, humming as he enjoyed the taste of you.

“How does she taste?” Asked Katsuki.

“So good. I can’t wait to taste the rest of her.”

Hitoshi helped you out of the car and carried you up to Katsuki’s bedroom. Even in your delirium, Katsuki’s bed appeared bigger than it needed to be. He laid you out on the pillows, hair fanning the silk and goose feathers. Your shoes were taken off but not the rest of your attire. You sat up a little as Katsuki and Hitoshi slowly pulled off their clothes. They climbed in bed with you completely naked.

Just like before, you were pressed between them. Hot hands and nimble fingers worked under your clothes, caressed your skin, and gave you goosebumps. Katsuki and Hitoshi took turns kissing your lips until you couldn’t tell whose tongue was shoved down your throat. Your outfit was simple enough and easy to remove. Piece by piece, it was all taken away and thrown into some unknown corner of the room. Your nipples were pinched until they looked more like rosebuds. On your breasts, neck, and shoulders bloomed dark bruises. You sighed into their touches, kisses, and love bites.

Hitoshi slipped his slender fingers back into you and teased your hot, wet slit. Warmth pooled inside your lower belly. He pumped his fingers slowly in and out.

“Fuck, she’s soaked down here.” Hitoshi sucked your neck. “I don’t think she can take much more of this.”

You shook your head in agreement. Your brain was fuzzy with lust and anticipation. You came twice already and just with their fingers. How much better would it feel with their cocks? Those turgid members pressed against your lower back and your stomach. You felt the ridges of each, and the hard lengths made your wall clench. This felt wrong, taking two men at once, but so, so right.

“God, please fuck me. One or the other, both, I don’t care. I can’t pick, just please somebody fuck me!” You begged.

Katsuki kissed you hard. He stole your breath away, and only when it seemed that he took more than your breath, he released you, licking your lips.

“I love a girl who knows what she wants.”

He pulled away to settle down on the pillows and leaned against the headboard. Katsuki curled his finger towards you in a ‘come hither’ motion. You crawled on the bed up to him. Katsuki’s hands seized your hips and forced you to straddle his hips. His thick, rigid member protruded against the crack of your ass. Hitoshi wasn’t far behind. The mattress dipped under his weight as he crawled behind you. His hands reached in front of you and groped your breasts.

“Ever had two cocks at the same time?” Asked Katsuki.

Your mind was too focused on Hitoshi’s experienced hands playing with your breasts and pulling your nipples taut. All you could do was shake your head. You couldn’t help but feel a little naïve with the two men who obviously had more experience than you.

“Then you’re in for a treat. Come here, princess.”

Katsuki pushed you back slightly and lifted you up. You were placed over his cock before letting you sink slowly unto it. The ridges and veins of his cock brushed against your walls to create even more slick. The entrance was painless despite his size and his length almost brushing your cervix. You straddled Katsuki’s hips with his cock buried deep. Your cunt felt so full that you were left in awe and your jaw hitting the ground. Katsuki grabbed your arms to pull you flush on top of him, your soft breasts against his hard muscles.

He kissed you again, this time distracting you from Hitoshi pressing behind you. You squeaked when felt the blunt end of Hitoshi’s cock press against your already stuffed entrance. His fingers squeezed inside and pumped. You cried out as you were slowly spread open wider. Hitoshi pushed and pushed his cock inside of your walls until there was no more room for even a pinky finger.

You moaned into Katsuki’s chest. Unceasingly, your cries filled the room—pain mixed with the pleasure which made you drool. Hitoshi tried to pull out, but you groped behind you and found his hand.

“Gimme, gimme a minute. It feels…so good,” you whined.

Both of them allowed you several minutes to adjust to their cocks being inside of your cunt at the same time. Somewhere in the middle of waiting for you, one of them started petting your head like you were a cat. You couldn’t but mewl like one as you tried to move your hips stuffed full.

“You ready, princess? You sure about that? Because once I start, I’m not fucking finishing until I’ve got my cum spilling out of you.”

Katsuki bucked his hips upwards. You gasped, and your eyes flew wide open. Hitoshi moved forward. The tight fit of those two made you sit up slightly and grab the headboard. Your knuckles turned bone-white with how hard you gripped the carved wood. Hitoshi and Katsuki moved in tandem with each other. Katsuki’s rough hands palmed your breasts. His groping was harsher than Hitoshi’s, but you liked the feel of being so nicely abused like this. His teeth grated your stiff nipples. Katsuki pulled one into his mouth and sucked hard.

You tossed your head back. Hitoshi’s hands ran up and down your sides and all the way down your thighs. He grunted against your shoulder, murmuring how tight and wet you were for them. Grabbing some part of you, they began moving faster within you. Tears and sweat comingled on your face as you rode them both. Your ships could barely keep up with their powerful thrusts sending you into heaven. You clung to the headboard for dear life.

The sound of wet flesh slamming together resounded in your ears along with their compliments. Never had you heard such lewd things whispered or shouted at you in the heat of passion.

“There you go, Y/N. Just like that. Taking it like a pro,” said Hitoshi as he nibbled your ear. “Your first time too, I’m honored, kitty.”

Katsuki stopped suckling on your breasts long enough to groan himself. He played with your tits some more and pumped himself harder into you. His hot length reaches your cervix, making you scream.

“Oh, fuck, yeah. I love all those pretty sounds you make,” Katsuki grunted.

You couldn’t speak. At least, nothing that would be comprehensible. Words came out as a garbled mess. Your vocal cords were more preoccupied with moaning and screaming as you were rammed in both directions. Your hips moved faster. You were no longer in control of your own body, but it moved towards one goal without you. Hitoshi and Katsuki matched your speed then surpassed it. They both gripped your hips to pin them down and take full control.

“Be a good girl and let us finish you off, okay?” Said Hitoshi, and he pecked your cheek.

“Let us take care of you like a good slutty princess that you are,” said Katsuki, bruising your hips while Hitoshi grabbed your thighs.

You didn’t move but allowed them to do what they pleased. You were pressed, squeezed, and bounced on their cocks with more enthusiasm than you thought they could muster. An erratic pace was set until both of their cockheads brushed against that secret spot inside your body. You couldn’t tell which one came first, but the result was the same. As ropes of cum filled your insides, you basked the warmth of it. Searing white-hot pleasure speared down your back, reached down into your lower belly, and exploded. You could bare scream as your walls clenched around the two cocks.

Hitoshi kissed your shoulders as he pulled out with all gentleness in mind. “Very good. Yeah, just like that. Good job,” he praised.

Katsuki carefully did the same. You hissed at the emptiness after having been stretched so wide that your womb might burst. Slick cum seeped out of your cunt just like Katsuki promised. Hitoshi fetched a glass of water, and he and Katsuki helped you drink it without spilling it all over your front.

“Drink slowly, dumbass. You don’t want to make yourself sick, do you?” Katsuki griped.

After such rigorous activities, it was no wonder that all three of you landed in a sweaty yet sated pile on Katsuki’s enormous bed. Silken covers were pulled over you, while your eyelids drooped closed. Two sets of arms snaked around your waist. You were too tired to tell the boys to share. There was plenty of you to go around.

“In other news, pro-hero Ground Zero is once again under fire for yet another controversy. He was seen at the nightclub Supernova, arriving with underground hero Mind Jack. Ground Zero and Mind Jack were seen by witnesses dancing with a young woman. Some witnesses state that Ground Zero put his hand inside the woman’s clothing and performed an explicit act with her in the middle of the dance floor…”

Retired UA professor, Shouta Aizawa, stopped listening to the news report. He pinched the bridge of his nose while he wondered what he had done in a former life to deserve this.

“Goddamit,” he sighed.

                                                  —080—

EDIT: I realized just before posting there is one small continuity problem. Bakugo told Kaminari to tell Shinsou to meet him at the nightclub, but I wrote that they arrive together in Bakugo’s car. It’s going to stay like that because I’ve been trying to write this thing for hours and I’m too lazy to worry about something like that. Forgive me. Let’s just pretend that Shinsou has a car break down or something.Also, I wouldn’t necessarily label this as Bakugo x Reader x Shinsou, as that implies Bakugo x Shinsou. Not that there’s anything wrong with that ship, but I feel like they’re both Dom’s in the fan fiction canon. I’d have to see or write more interactions with them before labeling an entire chapter as previously stated. That being said, you can interpret it as polyamory anyway. I’m not going to be mad if you do.

Original found here

[buckybarnesthehotshot]

i hate you but ii: i need to talk to sam (bucky barnes x reader)

i hate you but masterlist

summary: bucky and y/n can’t stand each other, but y/n needs help with her sister’s kids (enemies to lovers au)

word count: 2181

warnings: swearing, arguing, death, and this is not proofread

taglist is CLOSED

A/N: so uh this chapter kind of focuses more on y/n’s relationship with her sister and the kids. there’ll be more Bucky in the next chapter, dw

       “I’m on my way,” y/n sighed before dropping the call.

       y/n had never rushed out of the compound as quickly as she did that day. Hell, even on missions—much to everyone’s distaste—she took her precious time to make sure she had everything she needed with her. She slipped on a sweatshirt and a pair of sandals before bolting out her bedroom.

      The next thing she knew, she was in the elevator, asking FRIDAY to bring her to the basement level of the compound, anxiously gripping her phone on her side.

       With a ding, the elevator doors slid open and y/n, once again, ran as fast as her legs could take her, and got into her car (which thankfully, was voice activated) and drove away from the compound and towards the precinct.

       y/n, her thoughts spiraling, gripped tightly onto the steering wheel as tears obstructed her vision. She was having difficulty coming to terms with her sister’s death. Yes, she hasn’t seen her sister—or any of her kids for that matter—but it was difficult to deal with. How the hell was she supposed to deal with the fact that her baby sister, the one she didn’t visit for the purpose of keeping her safe, was gone.

       Was it all because of HYDRA? Was it because of some illness y/n was never made aware of? Her thoughts were starting to get the better of her until she was snapped out of her trance by FRIDAY’s voice telling her to “turn right.”

       The compound was a fifteen-minute ride away from the precinct. She arrived at the slightly run-down police precinct. Parking the car and slamming the door behind her, she speed walked into the precinct only to be stopped by a man sitting at the front desk.

       “Name and purpose?” he questioned her, staring up at her expectantly, his dark brown eyes boring into her e/c ones.

       “I’m looking for Elise Jones and Mike Jonas? I’m Cassy Langdon’s sister, Y/N L/N” she spoke to the man stationed at the front desk. He looked up, handed her the logbook and a pen, and spoke.

       “I’m going to need your I.D, ma’am,” the man questioned, holding his hand out. y/n huffed, with the rush she was in, she forgot to bring along anything other than her phone. “I don’t think I have my I.D on me right now, officer,” y/n shook her head.

       “Well, that’s too bad. I’m afraid I can’t let you in without your I.D, ma’am,” the officer shook his head.

       “Officer, I just received a phone call telling me that my sister’s dead and I have custody of her children. I don’t think you want to test me,” y/n chuckled, her voice raspy and tired.

       “That’s sad and all, but I still need your I.D,” the officer narrowed his eyes at y/n. She took a deep breath before speaking words she’d heard Tony Stark say a handful of times while trying to enter bars.

       “You need an I.D? y/n l/n, look me up because this face is my I.D,” y/n smirked, signing her name onto the log book. Once again, the officer narrowed his eyes at her before directing his attention to his computer screen and typing something into it before his eyes widened.

       “You’re an Avenger?” the officer’s eyes widened, scrambling up to his feet to salute.

       “I wasn’t in the military like the other Avengers,” y/n stuttered, shaking her head repeatedly, “a simple ‘oh hey, you weren’t lying about your identification, you can totally enter the precinct’ would do.”

       “Of course, ma’am,” the officer nodded, returning to his seat.

       y/n made her way further into the precinct and she saw what she assumed to be the waiting area since there were quite a few people seated in the room.

       “Miss L/N, over here,” a familiar voice came from one of the corners of the room. She looked over to the source of the voice and saw a woman, based off how she looked, she must have been in her late forties or early fifties, clad in a blue pantsuit with a matching blazer. y/n made her way to the woman, ignoring all the stares she was getting from everyone, and taking a seat parallel to her.

       “I’m going to make this quick, why am I the one taking custody of my sister’s three kids? What happened to their dad? You know, what’s his face?” y/n’s brows furrowed, unable to recall her brother-in-law’s name. After all, she never liked him for her little sister.

       “Mr. Langdon is currently in a holding cell,” Elise explained, smoothing out her pants as she readjusted her position on the seat.

       “That son of a bitch killed my sister, didn’t he?” y/n chuckled sadly upon hearing Elise’s words.

       “Well, your sister died in a drunk driving accident. Mr. Langdon was driving and the investigators are currently taking Ethan and Olivia’s statements on what happened and from the looks of it, Mr. Langdon could be charged with homicide,” a man interrupted her, also making his presence known.

        “You’re taking the kid’s statements? Wait, they weren’t in the car when it crashed, were they?” y/n panicked, her eyes widening in concern.

       “Ethan and Olivia weren’t included in the half of the population that went out with the blip. I don’t think they’re as young as you remember them,” the man explained before a look of realization found its way to his face, “I almost forgot, I’m Mike Jonas, your sister’s lawyer.”

       “y/n l/n, but you already knew that,” y/n shook his hand before continuing, “what about the other one; Jackson, my sister’s youngest?”

       “There’s a room in the precinct for the younger kids. Cassy’s kids who were affected by the blip are there. Jackson’s in there with his younger sister, Allie,” Elise smiled reassuringly.

       “So, there’s four of them, now? Damn it, I can’t believe my sister had another kid with that prick,” y/n rolled her bloodshot eyes in disappointment. Her mind flashed back to when they were teenagers and would talk about their futures.

       “I want a big house, a good husband, and a big family so the house would never feel lonely. I want you there too, y/n. Oh my god, the kids are going to love you!” Cassy smiled up at y/n, her e/c eyes beaming with excitement.

       “Cass, don’t you think your husband would hate it if I lived with you guys? Plus, I don’t think I’d be good with children anyways,” y/n chuckled, shaking her head.

        “Can you at least promise you’ll visit us often?” Cassy’s e/c eyes pierces into y/n’s e/c ones.

      “I promise,” y/n smiled, locking pinkies with Cassy.

       Her eyes glossed over with tears as her mind wandered to that memory. She knew damn well broke that promise. There was a point in time when y/n kept that promise and she visited Cassy’s house every week, always bringing along gifts for her niece and nephews.

       “You spoil them,” Cassy chuckled as Ethan, Olivia, and Jackson tore off the wrapping paper from the boxes she handed them.

       “It’s not my fault I’m the cool aunt,” y/n winked in response, pulling an eyeroll from Cassy.

       Those visits only ever stopped when y/n’s position as an Avenger began to pose as a threat to the family’s safety. What if HYDRA caught her during one of her visits to the house? What if she couldn’t protect them when HYDRA decided to use them against her?

       She couldn’t have that on her conscience, so she abruptly cut off all communications with her sister and her family. She didn’t want to put their lives in danger.

      To her, it’d been two years since her last visit. To Ethan and Olivia? It must’ve been seven years. Damn Thanos and his mission to “help” the universe. y/n began to feel uncomfortable in her seat. Would the kids recognize her? Would they accept the fact that they had to live with her now?

       “Your sister, she once discussed you getting custody of her children if she and Mr. Langdon were to pass. She wrote about this in her will,” Mike explained, handing y/n a manila envelope.

       She opened the envelope and she pulled out one crisp piece of printed paper—y/n assumed this was the will itself—and six envelopes. She was surprised to find one with her name written in her sister’s handwriting too; even after she’d abandoned her, Cassy still left y/n something.

       “What’s this?” y/n questioned, holding up the envelope.

       “Cassy wrote you a letter. She made sure to put emphasis on the fact that you don’t have to open it immediately. She said you would’ve taken a while before you decided to open it,” Mike explained, earning a nod from y/n as she tucked the envelope back into the bigger one as she read through the will.

       There, in the section concerning the wellbeing of Cassy’s children, y/n saw her name and the conditions of which y/n would take custody of her children.

       “If, however, my husband, Eric Langdon, is somehow unfit (an example of it being under the influence of alcohol for 2-4 days a week) or unavailable (an example of this having him jailed or god forbid dead), I entrust the custody of my four children, Ethan Langdon, Olivia Langdon, Jackson Langdon, and Allison Langdon, with my older sister, y/n l/n.”

       “Well, when can I meet the kids?” y/n smiled sadly, tucking the piece of paper back in the envelope.

       “They should be done questioning Olivia and Ethan in a few minutes. For now, I need to talk to you about how living conditions are going to be with the kids,” Elise requested, earning a nod from y/n.

       “I’d like to think I have more than enough to support them without needing to dig into the funds my sister left for them. The only issue I have is that my apartment’s a two-bedroom apartment and I think the kids are going to want more space than that, so I swear I’ll try finding a better place. One with more than enough room for the kids,” y/n explained, earning a nod from Elise. y/n remembered how big Cassy’s dreams were. Sure, she liked being with family, but she also wanted her kids to have space to move around, to play. y/n owed it to Cassy to give the kids the life she wanted for them.

       “It sounds like you have the living conditions under control. I like how you didn’t mention letting them move into the Avengers Compound, though I am aware it’s where you’re currently living?” Elise raised a brow expectantly.

      “My apartment, it’s for when I need to get away from all the hero stuff. I don’t think it’d be great for the kids to be exposed to everything going on in the tower,” y/n chuckled, the events of earlier flashing through her brain.

       “I see. But I want to discuss your involvement in their lives. Their mom just passed and their dad’s getting incarcerated. I know being an Avenger can be demanding, but I’m telling you now that you might need some time off for them to get used to having you as their guardian,” Elise explained, earning another nod from y/n.

       “I’ll let my teammates know I’m taking a break now, if you’ll excuse me,” y/n nodded out, getting up from her seat and finding a more secluded area in the precinct to ring up her colleagues.

       “Hello?” a gruff voice responded and y/n groaned internally. Of all people who could pick up the phone in the tower, why did Bucky Barnes have to pick up?

       “Barnes, I need to talk to Sam,” y/n was quick to cut the chase.

       “Why? Did you burn down another kitchen?” Bucky quipped, pulling an eye roll from y/n.

       “No, but this is really important so can I please talk to Sam?” y/n strained, her jaw clenching.

       “Whatever you’re going to tell Sam, you can tell me. I’ll let him know,” Bucky spoke in a suspiciously innocent tone.

       “I don’t trust you with relaying information, so not a chance,” y/n, for the second time in two minutes, rolled her eyes at Bucky’s antics.

       “Alright, fine. Sam! y/n burned down another kitchen!” Bucky called out.

       “I didn’t burn down ano—” y/n started only to get cut off by Sam’s voice.

      “Chill out, I know you didn’t burn down the kitchen, but why are you calling? Can’t you just leave your room and talk to us like a normal person?” Sam chuckled.

       “Because I’m not in the tower. I’m at the 87th precinct which is about 15 minutes away from the tower and I might need like 2-4 weeks off,” y/n explained, hearing a gasp from the other side of the line.

       “You got arrested?”

       “No, but I have this family emergency and it might take a while to deal with. I’ll explain it when I get back, but for now, I’m letting you know I’m taking a break,” y/n explained before ending the call and tucking her phone away in her pocket.

a/n: this has nothing to do with this but ughhhh theres this steve oneshot im having a hard time writing

i hate you but taglist: @sarcastic-britt / @kmuir1​ / @shower-me-with-roses​ / @justab-eautifulmess​ / @thomasthetankson​ / @x-abi-sharp-x​ / @intovert-gone-wild​ / @brittanymcsharry​ / @leaving-the-past-behind​ / @xoxabs88xox​ / @valeriiaaass​ / @mylifeiscrazy0423​

Forever tags: @spatium-viatorem​ / @sxphiiwrld​ / @strangersstranger​ / @nerdy-bookworm-1998​ / @cutie1365​ /

MARVEL TAGLIST: @captainamerica-is-bae​

BUCKY TAGLIST: @missmidnightxo​