#I’ll also accept my last name being used :))) cos that was nearly my first name anyway

[rowanhoney]

what no one tells you about changing your name is that being called anything else makes you feel murderous

[scapegrace74-blog]

New Ways of Turning Into Stone

A/N  Another long drive, another Outlander fanfic idea that dropped into my brain out of nowhere, shoving aside the historical AU I have been wrestling with for months.  Here’s the pitch: Claire Beauchamp is a psychiatrist specializing in grief counselling.  Jamie Fraser is referred to her by his sister, who is worried for his well-being after a series of family tragedies.  You can probably guess the rest, but I’m going to write it anyway.   The title is taken from a song by the amazing Phantogram that was playing as the story idea came to me.

After losing my WIP virginity posting Ginger Snap, I’m going out on that limb again and posting this first chapter with only a rough outline mapped out in my head.  You people are a terrible influence!  Also, there will be some trigger warnings on future chapters, so please watch out for those.   And now, on with our show.

Claire Beauchamp glanced down at the leather-bound calendar open on her desk.  The ivory page for Thursday was packed to the margins, each hourly block filled with the name of a patient followed by a series of cuneiform symbols she used to remind herself of the last session, course of treatment, overall progress, all while maintaining strict confidentiality.  Not even Geillis Duncan, her office administrator and very good friend, knew how to decode the script.

Geillis liked to laugh at the old-fashioned day planner, reminding Claire that their practice utilized software that could perform the same function electronically, but she enjoyed the act of physically logging each session.  The solid heft of her Mont Blanc pen in her hand, a medical school graduation gift from her Uncle Lamb.  The scratch and grab of the nub as it bled black ink over virgin paper.  It was a tactile ceremony in a detached world.  Geillis would nod and then tell her she needed to get laid.

Speak of the devil, a sharp rap on her office door was followed by the appearance of her strawberry blonde head. blue eyes alight with mischief.

“Yer two o’clock is here.  Did ye need more time tae finish bolting down tha’ chaff ye call a salad, or can I show him in?”

“It’s kale,” she defended.  “It’s full of anti-oxidants.”

A disdainful scoff was the only response.

“Yes, Geil, please show Mister...” she glanced down at her planner, “...Fraser in, thank you.”

The tiny rectangle contained only a name, which meant this was their first appointment.  Geillis vetted all prospective patients, but Claire preferred to go into the first meeting blind, with no assumptions or pre-conceptions.  

She wondered what misfortune had caused Mr. Fraser to seek out her psychiatric services.  The death of a child, perhaps, or the end of an extra-marital affair.  People grieved for very different reasons and worked through or around that grief with a surprising variety of coping mechanisms.   Most called upon her practice in much the same way they would a breakdown truck when their car’s engine failed.  They simply wanted to get back on the road to happiness.

Despite the degrees and accreditations that decorated her office wall, Claire wasn’t certain such a thing was possible.  In her experience, grief was a phantom limb that never really went away.  The best one could hope for was to learn healthier ways of living with it.  

The sound of Geillis clearing her throat snapped her back to the present.

“Was there something else, Geil?”

“Och, no’ really.  Just, when yer considerin’ how tae thank me later on, remember tha’ my favourite stone is an emerald, that I prefer gold tae silver, but platinum is ne’er amiss.”

“What are you on about, Duncan?”  But her friend had already disappeared back into the reception area, leaving behind only the glow of her Cheshire smile.  Claire was shaking her head, bemused, when another knock rang out, this one considerably heavier than the first.

“Come in,” she called as she looked up.  And up.  And up some more.

The man who now practically filled her office door had to be at least six foot four, with powerful shoulders and a broad torso encased in a blue henley.  His nearly endless legs were likewise muscular, as testified by the stretch of his jeans across each thigh.  As if his physique wasn’t remarkable enough, he had a head of outrageously wavy red hair, worn long enough to graze the tops of his ears and the nape of his neck, but swept back from a high brow by a judicious use of product.  His face was angular in a pleasingly unique way, with a day or two’s growth of beard counter-balancing an almost youthful, earnest appearance.  But his most striking feature by far were his aquamarine eyes that shimmered like a tropical sea.  Eyes that were currently observing her with perplexity.

“Dr. Beauchamp?” a deep Scottish brogue inquired.  He pronounced it as though she were French.

“Yes,” she startled.  “That’s me.  And it’s pronounced Beecham.  Please, come in Mister Fraser.”  She shuffled a few items around her desk needlessly as she tried to compose herself.  Damn Geillis for not giving her a bit more warning that her newest client was some sort of fitness model.

“Thank ye,” he replied.  “An’ it’s pronounced Jamie, if ye please.”   She added wit to the growing list of the man’s attributes.

If anything, he grew even more impressive as he approached.  She could see he was nervous, although hiding it well.  His striking eyes darted about the room, trying to get a sense of his environment.  She indicated the well-upholstered armchair that sat to one side of her desk.

“Have a seat,” she invited.

With a surprising amount of grace for one so tall, he eased into the chair but didn’t lean back.  The fingers of his left hand tapped restlessly against his thigh.  She watched him quietly, waiting for him to speak.  This was a trick she had learned when she first started practicing psychiatry, but in this case it also allowed her to continue her appraisal.  He was, she concluded, the most attractive man she’d ever seen in the flesh.

“No couch,” he finally observed.

“No.  That’s a bit of a Hollywood trope, I’m afraid.  Lying prone in front of a stranger is hardly conducive to feeling at ease.”

He nodded his acceptance of her logic, but was otherwise silent.

“So,” she spoke at last, unable to wait him out, “what caused you to seek out counselling, Jamie?”  His name suited him, she thought as she spoke it for the first time.  Both boyish and imposing at once.

“I didna.  Twas my sister, Jenny, who insisted I see a doctor.”  His mobile mouth twisted into a grimace.  She could imagine the sibling discord that such a demand would have caused.  Whoever this Jenny was, she was made of strong stuff.  Unfortunately for her, a hostile patient would receive no benefit from merely visiting her office.  Counselling was a participatory process, and she could tell from the stubborn set of Jamie’s shoulders that he had no intention of participating.

“I see,” she said carefully.  “Well, it’s your time and your dime, Mr. Fraser.  This session lasts for forty-five minutes, and you’ve not been here for five.  There’s a carafe of hot water on the table over there, if you care for some tea.  Or you’re welcome to just enjoy that comfortable chair for another forty minutes.  I’ll be working on some administrative necessities.”

She turned her chair away from him, but from the corner of her eye she could see his gobsmacked expression.  He had clearly expected her to cajole and manipulate him into co-operating, but that simply wasn’t her style.

“I meant no offence, doctor.  I’m certain ye’re verra good at what ye do.  Tis only... well, Jenny is my older sister, ye ken.  She practically raised me.  And so ofttimes she treats me like a muckle-sized bairn, and no’ a man who’s capable of lookin’ after himself.”

As he spoke, Jamie leaned forward until his elbows rested on his knees, expressive hands gesturing in front of his face.  Hostile to the notion of counselling he might be, but he clearly wanted her to understand it wasn’t a slight.  As a physician, she had been trained to never take a patient’s reactions personally, but it didn’t mean she didn’t appreciate the effort.

“No offence taken, Jamie.  If you don’t need my assistance, I’m happy for you.  That’s one less person hurting in the world.”

“I didna say I wasna hurting.  But I can handle it my own way.  I am handling it, that is,” he hurried to add.

Unable to sit still any longer, he rose and walked over to the small table where she kept an assortment of herbal teas and a tray of Geillis’ homemade biscuits.  Bending over, Jamie set about making himself some; chamomile by the smell of it.  The sound of spoon ringing off porcelain as he stirred in some honey made her smile, reminding her of Lamb and his obsession with the lost art of afternoon tea.

“Can I make ye a cup?”

The question was so unexpected, it took her a moment to process it.  The tea was there as a distraction for her patients, to give them something to do with their bodies as they worked through difficult emotions.  None of them had ever thought to offer her a reprieve as well.

“No, thank you.  I just finished lunch.”

He dipped a shortbread into the steaming tea, then ate it in a single bite.  Instead of sitting back down, he began to browse the framed certificates and photographs along the far wall as he sipped his tea.  With his back turned, her eyes dipped to admire his ass, which filled out his jeans perfectly.  When she caught herself, she gave her head a shake, appalled at her lack of professional detachment.  Maybe Geillis was right.  Maybe she really did need to get laid.

“How long have ye been a doctor?” Jamie asked without turning around.

“Ten years,” she replied.  “But I’ve only been a psychiatrist for the last two.”

It was a dangerous topic, and she blamed his ass for letting the words slip out.  Fortunately, his inquisitiveness took him in an entirely different direction.

“Were ye some kind of prodigy, then? Ye hardly seem old enough tae have yer own practice, let alone fer a decade.  If ye dinna mind me sayin’ so,” he added quickly, as though realizing what he’d just said.

“Not at all.  And you hardly seem young enough to be a, what was it? A muckle-sized bairn?”

As he turned to look her way, she understood the expression ‘shot-gun smile’ for the first time.  It spread across his face like a sunbeam, transforming what was already remarkable into a work of art.  If she hadn’t been sitting, she likely would have stumbled backward from the force of the blow.  Scrambling for something familiar to keep her from making a very grave fool of herself in front of this man, she clasped her clinical training with both hands.

“Are you and your sister close?” 

“Aye, when we’re no’ tryin’ not tae kill the other.  Our Mam died when I was only four, and with Da workin’ dawn til dark on the farm, Jenny was parent, teacher an’ playmate all rolled inta one.”

“You’re not from Edinburgh, then?”  Although what that had to do with his counselling, she hadn’t a clue. 

“Nah, I hail from a wee village in the Highlands ye’ve likely ne’er heard of called Broch Mordha.”  She shook her head to indicate she was indeed unfamiliar with it.  Jamie launched into a detailed description of the place, his hands sculpting the landscape out of thin air.  He obviously cared very deeply for his home, and she felt a twinge of jealousy, having never known that feeling of deep belonging  herself.

“And what brought you to Old Smoky?” she asked as he wound down, her interest piqued.  It was like slamming a lead door on his previously sunny disposition.

“Family obligations.” Said in such a way as to make it clear that no further words would be forthcoming on the topic.  She regretted her nosiness immediately, despite what it revealed about his emotional state.  Jamie was most certainly grieving something, but handling it he was not.

Before she could find a way back to the easy flow of conversation, a chime from her laptop indicated that the session was up.  She couldn’t bear to dismiss him without trying to set things right.

“Listen, Jamie, I understand that you only came here today to humour your sister, but I want you to consider something.  Whether we’re grieving or angry or jealous, or any destabilizing feeling, we’re often the worst surveyors of our own landscape.  Just like you can’t know your place on the sea without referencing the stars, it takes something external to ourselves to measure how far adrift we have become.  Your sister obviously loves you.  Ask yourself, what has she seen in you that prompted her to force you to seek help?”

They parted with cordial but muted goodbyes.  The door closed behind him, leaving Claire to stare at the blank rectangle in her planner that bore his name.  No coded symbols flowed from her pen.  When the door re-opened, it was Geillis, closing it firmly behind her.

“Weel, did I no’ tell ye?  Wee fox, tha’ one.  And he told me he liked my shortbread!”   Geillis said this as though it was some kind of sexual euphemism, which for all Claire knew, it was.

“Yes,” she replied distractedly.  “He’s very nice.”

“Nice!  Nice?  Tha’ man is tae nice what Wagyu is tae beef jerky.  Have ye completely lost yer senses, woman?”  

“Yes, well, he’s a patient, Geillis, as you well know.  And not one I’m likely to see again,” she added, acknowledging out loud what she already knew.

“Oh, no?” Geillis sing-songed.  “Thas’ strange, as he just made an appointment fer the same time next week.”

Claire’s eyes flew to where her friend looked on, smug as could be.

“Yer three o’clock called tae say she was runnin’ five minutes late.  I’ll leave ye tae think about yer... patient.”

Claire picked up her pen, trying to pull together something resembling a professional summary of her first appointment with Jamie.  Her mind replayed their interaction, but all she could remember was the way his eyes crinkled when he was listening attentively, the tidy half-moons of his fingernails, the seam of his jeans as it contoured his thigh, and the cymbal-crash in her chest that accompanied his smile.

Patient, she reminded herself.  Jamie Fraser is your patient. 

[v-hope]

Unscripted

Pairing: Actor!Kim Taehyung x Actress!Reader ft. (mentions of) Park Hyungsik

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 3.1k

Request: “Is this the moment that we kiss? + Taehyung + make it so awkward/cringe as you can and the ending so cute that you might have to throw up from it”

Summary: There might have been a slight change in the script for the k-drama Taehyung and you were starring on, but that did not mean there were any changes when it came to the way you felt towards each other when the cameras weren’t rolling.

A/N: So this was supposed to be a smol drabble but this idea came to my mind and I just went with it 🤧 i hope you guys enjoy!

When Taehyung had signed up to be a part of the next big k-drama coming later that year, starring both you and one of his favourite hyungs, Park Hyungsik, as his co-stars, he had signed up for a love triangle kind of plot, which would end up with him getting the girl in the end.

At least that was what the first script he had been handed to said.

And, as the story went on and your characters’ relationship developed, he could only be confident about that being indeed the outcome for it.

So now, after nearly three months of filming, it was finally the day they would shoot his first kiss with you. Well, his character’s first kiss with yours, to be more specific. Those were the lines he had rehearsed and also what he had emotionally prepared himself for — the idea of getting to kiss those lips of yours he had wanted to get a taste of ever since you first met, being the reason he had gotten little to no sleep the night before.

And that’s why, when the two of you were working on said scene, being face to face after he had followed you into Jieun’s —that being the role you were playing— living room, and you said different lines than the ones on his script, he found himself being absolutely puzzled. Nevertheless, everyone else seemed to be okay with it, which is why he carried on, saying the lines he had rehearsed, and this time being you the one to be completely dumbfounded.

However, even though you didn’t know what was going on, you did not find it in you to lean back and away from his lips, as you felt your heart beat ever so hardly against your chest at the sight of him leaning in to kiss you.

Not like it mattered anyway, for although you might have not found it in you to do something about it, the director didn’t have a problem with it — a loud “cut!” resounding all around the set, managing to stop Taehyung from pressing his lips on yours like both of you had so badly been anticipating.

“Taehyung, what the hell are you doing?” director Han questioned with furrowed eyebrows.

Taehyung’s mouth formed a pout, both because of not understanding what was going on, and because the moment he had been looking forward to the most —that being, your kiss’ scene— had been interrupted before it could even take place. “Isn’t this the moment we kiss?”

You found yourself taking in a shaky breath at his bold question, focusing on the lips of his that remained slightly puckered up in confusion after some people from the staff had gasped as others tried their best not to laugh.

“In the old script, yes. But not in the new one”.

“The new script?” Tae asked, giving you a quick glance and growing even more confused when you confirmed it with a small nod.

“Yes, you didn’t get it?” director Han had seemingly grown irritated by then.

“I… don’t think so?” Taehyung replied.

The director sighed, looking to his assistant next to him. “Okay, find out whose fault this was and tell them we need to talk” he ordered sternly, before he looked around and announced to the rest of the crew: “Everyone else, take five!”

With that said, and everyone else dispersing around the set to mind their own business, the man went up to the two of you.

“God, I can’t believe we’ll have to push back the recording because of this” he pinched at the bridge of his nose.

“It wasn’t his fault” you defended Tae in a heartbeat, causing his eyes to soften as they gazed to you.

“I know” director Han agreed with you, much to your surprise. “Still sucks though”.

That it did.

“So…” Taehyung begun. “What is this thing about a new script?”

“Oh, yeah,” the older man didn’t wait to begin his explanation. “You know how we’re always taking into consideration the viewers’ opinions as we go on with the story?”

“Yes…”

“Turns out, they all are over the moon with Y/N and Hyungsik’s chemistry,” those simple words were enough for Tae to feel uneasy. “So, after giving it a lot of thought and having a few meetings, we decided they will be this story’s endgame”.

Well, that surely had felt like a bucket of ice cold water being thrown straight to his face.

And although there were so many questions he wanted to ask, and so many of them he could’ve asked, he ended up looking at you and asking the one his heart felt more troubled with. “So you’re kissing Hyungsik hyung”.

It had not quite came out like a question, but more of a statement, yet either way, you nodded in affirmation.

Taehyung sighed. “I mean, hyung mentioned something about a kissing scene but… I didn’t know you...”

And although you didn’t have to explain yourself to him, at the sight of his disappointed expression, you felt the need to do so anyway. “It will only be a couple of times though. And it’s only for the drama, I wouldn’t—”

“Okay, look,” director Han cut your words off mid-sentence. “I don’t know what’s going on with you two when it comes to your personal lives, so I’ll leave you guys to talk it out. But um��� we’re done for the day, I guess” he sighed, later fixing his eyes on Taehyung so he could inform him: “I’ll send you the new script. You guys may leave now”.

Nodding your heads, you watched the man head out of the set, leaving the two of you alone to ‘talk it out’.

The thing is, there was nothing to talk out. Or, more precisely, you didn’t know how to talk out what you so desperately wanted to do. Because you had feelings for him and he had feelings for you, but neither of you knew about one another’s. At least not for sure.

Truth be told, the two of you felt an instant attraction to each other the moment you met, but you thought nothing of it. You were both professionals. You would be a couple on the drama and that would be it, for you both knew getting involved with a co-star could only complicate things when it came to work.

However, that mindset of yours did not quite go to plan as the filming went on and you got to spend quite a lot of time together. Yes, your characters were written to fall in love, and so you had to act like it when the cameras were rolling, but the chemistry you and Taehyung had outside the set was, for sure, so, so much stronger than the one your contracts forced you to act out.

And so, soon enough, the two of you would be attached to the hip, spending not only every second off camera on set together, but also texting nonstop every other day you didn’t get to see each other.

It had just been so natural for the two of you to get along so well together, that neither of you questioned it. Neither of you had questioned why you felt like keep talking to each other every single moment you were apart, or why you craved one another’s attention whenever you spent time with other people of the crew… or why your hearts sped up so damn much every single time you were close.

You didn’t question any of that, you just went with it. To the point you came to terms with your feelings without having to go through any kind of epiphany. They were just there, and you would keep them to yourselves.

That’s why this particular kissing scene was so important to the both of you, for it would give you an excuse to do what you were dying to without actually having to risk anything. And that’s why you had been so disappointed when you got the new script three days before, and why Taehyung was now having such a hard time accepting the new fate of the plot.

“I, uh…” his eyes fixed on yours after a few seconds. “I’ll go change now…”

“Oh, okay…” you nodded. “I’ll go do the same”.

The sweet smile you gave him right then had somehow managed to ease the tension he had been feeling those last couple of minutes.

“You want me to drive you home?” he wondered like he did every day your shootings ended at the same time.

You could always just call your personal driver, he knew that, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t still try to spend as much time with you as he could. And the fact that you accepted his offer every single time could only encourage him to keep on doing so.

“You wouldn’t mind?” you asked with another smile, causing one of his own to take over his factions.

“You know I don’t”.

“Okay” you accepted, like it was oh-so-usual by now. “I’ll meet you at the parking lot in ten?”

“Yeah” he agreed, his smile only growing bigger at the way your stares had lingered before you turned around to go change into your personal clothes for once and for all.

That’s how, ten minutes later, just as agreed, you were entering his car, fastening your seat belts before he started driving over the route he knew by heart at this point.

The ride was quiet, yet not uncomfortable — both of you having too many things on your minds to even pay attention to the way the only sound filling the car was coming from the radio.

Both of you debating within yourselves whether or not you should bring up the topic the two of you were about to discuss before director Han interrupted you back on set.

And when Taehyung parked his car outside your place and you thanked him for the ride home, placing your hand over the door handle so you could pull at it and get out, he found himself speaking before he could even stop himself.

“Hey, uh…” his quite unsteady voice caught your attention. “It slipped my mind to say it before, but sorry about today…” he apologized when your eyes met his. “I never meant to make things uncomfortable for you… for us…”

You smiled sweetly at his sincere words. “It’s okay, Taehyung-ie” his heart jumped at the way his name sounded like honey to him whenever you said it. “It wasn’t uncomfortable… I was just, you know… worried you would get scolded because of the script and all that”.

“Yeah…” he recalled the way you had jumped on his defense the moment director Han had approached you. “Thank you about that…”

“It was nothing…” you shrugged. “Sorry I didn’t tell you about it” it was now your turn to apologize. “I know we talk quite a lot and I had the chance to, but I just assumed you had read the new script”.

“It’s okay, don’t worry” he reassured you.

“Do you have time to learn it?” you wondered, knowing both his idol and actor schedules tended to overlap a little too much.

Taehyung nodded softly before he gave you a small, reassuring smile. “I’ll manage”.

“That’s good” you smiled as well. “If you want to rehearse our scenes beforehand or just need help with yours… just hit me up”.

“I probably will, to be honest” he chuckled, earning a light laugh from you; for going over your scenes together from time to time, just for the sake of it, was something the two of you had found out to be rather helpful these last couple of months. “Sucks you will be rehearsing the kissing ones with hyung now…”

Your heart jumped, feeling your face heat up at his boldness.

“I don’t think we’ll be rehearsing them. I mean…” your eyes nervously gazed to the window. “We never did…”

Taehyung took in a deep breath. “Right…”

And although a part of him was screaming at him to just shut his mouth, for he had been bold enough already, he couldn’t help but go on with it; not wanting to let go of the topic just yet.

“Why didn’t we?”

Because we’re idiots. Because it would’ve felt too real. Something along those lines was the answer you wanted to give him.

Instead, you said nothing, just shrugging and looking out the window to your place. “Doesn’t matter anymore…” your eyes travelled back to him, taking in his beautiful factions and anticipating eyes before you explained: “Junho’s the one getting the girl now”.

The way your eyebrows had teasingly moved up and down as you referred to Hyungsik’s character, got Taehyung throwing his head back against the driver’s seat as a loud whine escaped his mouth.

“Aish, you little—”

He wasn’t planning on finishing that sentence, of course, so he stopped himself mid-sentence right as you threw your head back as well — a loud laugh coming out of your mouth.

“Just for the record,” you faced him, catching his attention. “I was really rooting for Sehun”.

A flustered laugh abandoned his lips, shaking his head in disbelief before his chocolate eyes fixed on yours once again. “Yeah… he would’ve been good to Jieun” he lamented his role’s defeat with a small, dramatic nod.

You giggled. “I know. But J—”

“If you say Junho will be better, Y/N, I swear to fucking God—”

Just like he had cut off your words mid-sentence right before, you cut his — only not with actual words, but with a cackle instead. “Biased much?”

“Sehun would’ve been better and you know it!” he accused you.

“Oh, yeah?” you questioned rather tauntingly, unconsciously moving closer with a daring demeanour.

“Yeah” he stated confidently. “And he would’ve kissed her so much better, too”.

Although your heart had skipped a beat at that and your hands were suddenly trembling, you went on with the teasing, not being ready to lose the unspoken competition this conversation had somehow just turned into. “Hm... I wouldn’t know about that though…”

“I can show you if you want”.

Just like that, Taehyung left you speechless.

He had gone for it, and was waiting for an answer now. One you weren’t able to give him with actual words, but with a small, almost unnoticeable, nod of your head instead.

It didn’t go unnoticed by him, though — the way your eyes had focused on his attractive lips being the last straw for him to just finally let go of any rational thought he might’ve had until then.

Tenderly cupping your face, he brought his face just close enough to yours so you could feel your already heavy breathings mix, before he gazed up to your eyes for one last brief second.

“Is this the moment we kiss?” he mocked his previous words that day, earning a giggle from you that sounded like music to his ears.

“Just kiss me already, you dork”.

So he did.

Gently caressing the corners of your mouth with his thumbs, he brought your face up to meet his lips in the middle — softly pressing them together.

And only that took for you to know you would, from then on, not enjoy kissing any other than him.

Letting out quiet, content hum when he deepened the kiss a few moments later, you pressed your hands on his chest, causing him to smile at the way your hands had lightly tugged at the fabric of his sweater as you managed to pull him even closer to you.

Damn the directors for depriving you both of the many kisses you could’ve gotten as the series went on.

“Was that Sehun kissing Jieun or Taehyung kissing Y/N?” you couldn’t help but softly ask once your lips were no longer trapped in his cloudlike ones.

He laughed under his breath, sweetly running his thumbs on your cheeks. “If I said it was just me kissing you, would you be okay with it?”

You nodded in a heartbeat, not being able to hold back a small giggle that had his heart skipping a beat in a second.

“Oh, good” he finally breathed out the air he didn’t know he had been holding, letting his forehead rest on yours. “Because I’ve wanted to do that for a while now”.

“So have I” you laughed lightly under your breath, lovingly removing a strand of hair that was covering one of his pretty eyes. “Maybe our characters won’t get to be together but… that doesn’t have to apply to us, does it?”

“Absolutely not” he smiled, planting a small peck on your lips. “Even if people think you have better chemistry with hyung, whatever that means”.

You couldn’t help but laugh at the bitter remark he had let out, followed by a huff. Director Han’s words had really stung deep. Maybe if it had just been that the viewers liked Junho and Jieun together, it wouldn’t have been that bad. But he said Hyungsik and you. As your own persons outside of the fictional drama world. And that was a whole different situation he could not help but dislike.

Kissing his cheek ever so sweetly, you pulled back to fix your eyes on his. “Good thing I don’t care what they think” those words alone made that cute boxy smile of his show on his face. “Are you okay with me having to kiss him though?”

“Can’t promise I won’t get a little jealous, but… it’s your job, of course I’m okay with it” he smiled reassuringly. “I’ll have you know, though,” his eyes squinted daringly. “For every time you kiss him, you’ll have to kiss me a hundred times to make it up to me”.

You snorted. “Don’t you think that’s a little too overpriced?” your teasing words had him raising his eyebrows. “How about five kisses for each time I kiss him?”

“Did I stutter?” he lowered his tone to seem more serious, causing you to bite your bottom lip as you shook your head in amusement.

“Oh, well…” you sighed over dramatically. “You’ll be too distracted kissing me to even keep count of them anyway”.

“Don’t test me, baby”.

“Okay, okay. I won’t” you laughed, catching him by surprise when the next second your hands tugged once again at his sweater to pull him closer. “May I pay some of those in advance though? Since there will be way too many of them to pay for in a few days”.

Taehyung chuckled, gently pushing your chin up with his thumb as his face came closer to yours, until his pink lips were faintly brushing yours. “That you may do”.

[stylesnews]

Not only is Watermelon Sugar Harry Styles’ biggest single to date, the million-selling smash has a Grammy to its name, too. Now, the question is, could it be the first of many?

In a leather suit and feather boa, Styles performed the Fine Line favourite at the Grammys last weekend, going on to thank Sony Music Group CEO Rob Stringer, Full Stop Management’s Jeffrey Azoff, co-writer Kid Harpoon and the rest of his team in his acceptance speech. Blood Orange's Dev Hynes (above, left) and Styles' friend and collaborator Mitch Rowland (right) were part of his band on the night.

The award for Best Pop Solo Performance is Styles’ first Grammy, and there’s a sense that this moment had been coming for the singer, not to mention the ubiquitous Watermelon Sugar.

The track has 1,231,583 sales to date according to the Official Charts Company. A total of 1,104,219,723 Spotify streams and 198 million YouTube views show just how huge it has become. It has streaked ahead of his debut single Sign Of The Times (1,111,176) as his biggest in the UK. Adore You, his third million-seller, isn’t far behind on 1,024,195. Fine Line has moved 410,832 copies.

There’s no doubt that the No.2 album represents a watershed moment for Styles, and Kid Harpoon – Music Week’s Songwriter Of The Year 2020 – said just that in his recent Music Week interview, which told the story of Watermelon Sugar in our Hitmakers feature.

“As much as he’s been part of One Direction, it really feels like he’s shed the, ‘Of One Direction’ thing,” said Tom Hull. “I saw an article someone wrote saying you don’t have to say, ‘Of One Direction’ anymore and that’s a really nice moment, knowing him and what he’s been working towards.”

Hull told us that “big songs” are putting Styles on another level.

“When you come from something so commercially insane, you kind of have to deliver when you go solo, and he wanted to do that on his terms,” said Hull. “There were so many easier routes to get there than the ones he took, working with weird British dudes like me. I’m so buzzing for him. His vision was, ‘Let’s make an album,’ and it really feels like an album. I go back and listen to it and I absolutely love it, but I’m also excited by what’s to come form him. He’s still growing and learning and honing his songwriting skills and being a part of that is really exciting for me.”

Universal Music Publishing Group boss Mike McCormack also stressed the weight of what Styles has achieved with Fine Line.

“Remember, the album was released in 2019, so the fact that Watermelon Sugar was No.1 in the US eight months later is pretty crazy,” he said. “Sony have done an amazing job. And it completely validates Harry’s decision to do it his way. He would have had the pick of any of the biggest songwriters in the world, they would have wanted to be involved in Harry’s album. But he was adamant that they stick to this very small team and Tom is fortunate to be right at the epicentre of that steering the ship with Harry. It’s an incredible success story really. And it’s great that it’s British as well.”

There are no confirmed details of new music from Styles yet, but Hull suggested that ideas are in the pipeline.

“I just know he’s got more to give, which is kind of scary to be honest,” he said. “We’ve been doing bits and bobs, we’ve been sending voice notes and working on bits here and there, just lyrics and bits and bobs. Hopefully there’ll be something [new] at some point, I don’t really know where we are, but we’ve definitely been getting into it, we’ll see.”

Hull also revealed details of some unreleased songs the pair wrote together in Japan during a trip before the Fine Line sessions began.

“Harry was in Japan and he said, ‘Do you want to come out and write?’ and I said, ‘Why don’t I come and I’ll stay in a hotel room near you and we’ll hire a mic and some guitars and I’ll just bring my laptop,’” Hull explained. “It was a vaguely disguised lads’ trip, but we also wrote some really good songs. There’s a couple we’re still in love with. There was one that nearly made it to the record. We have a couple from there that are really special that hopefully will see the light of day at some point.”

Hull said he and Styles are “still obsessed” with the song, though he did not reveal the title.

“It’s the same as the Watermelon thing with this song,” he said. “It’s got… There’s a certain feeling in it, we’re just going to have to chip away at it and hopefully get it.”

Hull emphasised the importance of the closeness between Styles and his small group of collaborators, which includes Tyler Johnson and Mitch Rowland, adding that it led to a unique hitmaking experience.

“It was full of so many emotions of friendship, Harry feels like a brother to me, it feels deeper,” he said. “It feels like family, and the music was almost secondary to just being friends, which created a culture, an ease in the songwriting that you don’t get in a lot of other situations.”

With the BRITs approaching, all eyes are on what Harry Styles does next.

[omg-im-such-a-masochist]

🎁🔥GUESS WHO?🔥🎁

Prompt: Y/N’s first day back to work from her vacation is also coincidentally her birthday, as the day goes by, one mysterious box is placed on her work table. The content of it is a devious surprise and Y/N needs to find out who is the mysterious person who dared to give her such a kinky birthday present.

Word count: Long-ish

Pairing: Roman Reigns x Reader

Warnings: +18, smut, bondage(handcuffs), use of a vibrator, fingering, rough sex, mentions of voyeurism, oral sex (female receiving), dirty talk, cursing.

My Roman lovers: @ziasaph, @reigns-5sos, @mindofasagittaruis

Notes: What a better way to start 2021, then with a Roman kinky fic?! I wish you all a Happy New Year loves, may 2021 be kinder to us all. Y’all know the drill loves,sorry for misspellings,english isn’t my first language (bla bla bla),check out my other stories if you’d like to(it would make your girl here very happy 😊) and if you’re comfortable with it,please let me know what you think? Some feedback is always welcomed and appreciated ❤️You can check out my other stories typing ‘masochist writes’ on the search bar on my page and my newest story as a fixed post.Okay,now let’s get to the fun part,shall we? Hope you’ll enjoy 😉

“Happy birthday, to you..” I turn around to the sound of a person singing, just to see Sasha Banks holding a chocolate cupcake and a present bag on her hands.

“Hi Sasha.” I smiled

“Happy birthday babe!” Sasha ran up to me, placing the cupcake on my working table and hugging me tightly.

“Thanks Sasha”

This was my first day back from my vacation, and coincidentally it was also my birthday, so I was excited to see some of the good friends I’ve made while working for the WWE as a chiropractor.

“Here this is for you!” Sasha handed me a present bag.

“Oh Sasha, you really didn’t have to-“

“Shush! I love you, so of course I would pamper you on your birthday” Sasha said as I opened the bag to find a pair of Louboutin’s I had my eyes on for quite sometime, but couldn’t afford it.

“Sasha, are you insane? I can’t accept these! It’s way too expensive!” I gasped

“I am perfectly sane, you will accept these and I don’t care if you think they’re too expensive! I love you, you’re one of my best friends in this company and a human being with a heart made of gold. So if there is someone who deserves these is you” She happily said

“Sasha, I don’t even know how to thank you enough” I whispered with tears on my eyes

“Just say you will be my friend forever babe” She winked

“I don’t need presents to be your friend love”

“That’s why I gave it to you. I don’t care how much they cost, I just want to make my best friend happy on her birthday”

I hugged her and whispered ‘thank you’ on her ear

“So, who else has came here today?” She asked

“Oh! Bayley, Charlotte, Xavier, Kofi, Cesaro, Big E, Alexa, Naomi, Jey, Becky, Seth, Finn, Renee and Dean” I said, listing my close friends

“I was the last one then? Damn it!”

“It’s ok, I know you were busy today love”

“So...no Roman?” She whispered

“No, no Roman” I answered slightly disappointed.

Sasha along with Bayley and Renee were the only 3 people who knew about my stupid crush on Roman Reigns. It’s so stupid of me to think that a man like him would ever look at someone like me.

If he would ever look at someone on this company, it wouldn’t be the thick girl who worked as a chiropractor and yes one of the beautiful toned Divas of this company.

But still I couldn’t help but daydream about having him on top of me.

“Maybe he doesn’t know it’s your birthday?” Sasha tried to make it less uncomfortable

“Really Sasha? He’s friends with Dean! Everybody knows Dean is an open mouth, loud as fuck and can’t keep it to himself not even if his life depended on it...Roman just chose to ignore it, and it’s fine. We’re not close or anything so, I wasn’t expecting him to show up at my office door and fuck me on top of this table” I lied while chuckling weirdly

“Let’s be honest babe, everybody secretly wants Roman Reigns to fuck them on top of a table!” We both laughed at her statement before she continued “It’s his loss anyways babe”

“Yeah I guess so...”

I was making my way back to my office, from the women’s locker room, when a big black box with a golden ribbon called my attention on top of my desk.

“What the hell?” I said as I approached the box carefully. All of my closest friends had already wished me a happy birthday and gave me their presents so this was, to say the least, weird and unexpected.

I saw a blood red card on top of it, so I opened to find the handwritten saying

‘I hope these will make your birthday night unforgettable. Can you guess who’ve bought these for you? ;)’

Ok, that’s pretty fucking weird! I thought

From the corner of my eye I saw Sasha passing by and loudly whispered

“Sasha! Come here”

She entered my office “What’s up girl? Are you ok? You look scared”

I closed my office door and locked, and made my way back to the table by her side.

“Ok, I’m feeling a little paranoid. I just came back to my office to find this box and this card. Here” I handed the card to her and she red silently.

“Did you look what’s inside of it?” Sasha said

“Nope. And to be honest I don’t know if I can..what if it’s like a prank or something?”

“Well, there’s only one way to find out Y/N”

She opened the box, inside of it there was a fancy red paper, I took it out of the way to reveal what was underneath it and I tell you I almost passed out.

Inside the box there was a lavender and purple (my favorite colors) vibrator, it was actually pretty cute...two pairs of handcuffs, lube, nipples clamps and a whip.

“Oh my gosh” Sasha gasped as she took the clamps on one hand and the whip on the other. “Someone wants to get kinky with you girl!” She examined the items carefully

“What in the actual fuck?” I whispered shocked “Give me that!” I took the items out of her hand, shoved back into the box and quickly closed with the black lid.

“Jesus, I can get fired if someone sees that in my office! Who the hell would do that?”

“Someone who wants to get some! And wants it rough” She chuckled

“Sasha it’s not funny! I could not have a job tomorrow morning if someone from the company found these”

“Who do you think did this?” She asked seriously

“How am I supposed to know? I have no fucking clue!”

“Maybe someone who’s name starts with an R...” She smirked

“R?... What ar-... Oh hell no! Nu uh, that’s impossible!” She couldn’t be implying that Roman was behind this, was he? No! Of course not, that’s a dumb thing to think of...but a part of me wished it was him, even though I know it wasn’t.

“Why impossible? You’re a gorgeous woman Y/N! You two would make a beautiful couple, plus, I‘ve seen his handwriting before and I’m pretty sure it’s quite similar to this one” She said as she inspected the card closely.

“Obviously someone wants to make fun out of me, so I’ll just pretend this never happened” I took the card out of her hand and shoved inside the box.

“Or someone has an eye on you for a while and decided to finally make a move”

“Sasha, please don’t tell this to anyone”

“Your secret is safe with me babe. Just promise that when your secret admirer finally show up, you’ll tell me if you guys made a good use of his presents” She laughed

“You’re the worst!” I laughed along

I made my way back to my hotel room later that evening with my hands so full of packages I could barely walk. I opened the door and carefully placed the bags, along with the black box, on the floor.

I went to the bed and sat down on the edge, while I stared at the box.

*Could Sasha be right? Could it be Roman who did this?* Was the only thought that crossed my mind

I decided to forget all about it and take a shower to wash off the day.

As I was rinsing my hair I heard some noise coming from the bedroom

*What the hell was that?*

I blamed on my super active mind and turned the shower off.

I got changed into some clean oversized t- shirt, and went full on commando. I was brushing my damp hair, when I decided to lay out the contents of the black box on the bed.

I roamed my eyes on each item slowly, until they stopped on the lavender and purple happiness. I turned the vibrator on and felt slightly tempted to use it.

*Oh fuck it! Happy birthday to me I guess”

I got rid of the t-shirt and lay down on the bed naked.

I closed my eyes, letting my mind imagine my wet dream, in form of a man... his face, his body, his cock and how I wish I could feel it inside of me, stretching me as I teased my clit with the vibrator.

I moaned Roman’s name and heard someone clear their throat on the foot of the bed. My eyes shot open and my heart nearly stopped beating when I saw who was in front of me. The vision was so unexpected that I even forgot I was naked.

“I see you liked my gift then” He smirked

“Wh- What are you doing here? How did you get inside of my room?” I whispered

“Does it matter?” His eyes had an evil glimpse to it

“Roman... I- I can explain” I begin to stutter

He placed his index finger on his lips in a shh motion and I stopped talking. He hungrily stared at every inch of my naked body, making me feel quite self conscious of the imperfections of it. I grabbed the blanket to cover my nakedness, he notice what I was about to do and yanked the blankets off the bed

“I’ve been waiting for years to see you like this, so don’t you dare cover yourself from me now”

He took off his shirt and pants leaving only his boxers on, from where I was laying I could see the outline of his hard cock and the wet spot of pre cum near of it’s head. He crawled on top of me slowly, like a predator, with dangerous eyes that were glued to my own.

“At first I was only gonna watch you... I wanted to see you pleasure yourself with my gifts, but when I saw your body fully naked on this bed moaning my name” He grunted “I couldn’t control myself, I couldn’t see this” He took the vibrator off my hand and placed on the bed by our side “Having all the fun with you, enjoying every part of your beautiful body, stretching your sweet pussy while my own cock only got to watch, he wants to have his own fun with you baby girl. He wants to make you feel real good” He leaned closer to my face, his lips brushing mine as he asked “Do you want that Y/N? Do you want my cock to make you feel good? Do you want it to stretch you out baby? Do you want it to fuck you hard and rough? Or do you prefer it slow and sweet? Do you want me to fuck you from behind?...Or maybe I should eat you out first huh? Eat that sweet pussy until you’re begging me to stop, I can’t wait to feel you come on my mouth...around my cock,milking it really nice” He growled “Tell me Y/N, what do you want?”

“I want it all, I want everything” I panted as he dry humped me

“Will you let me do whatever I want with you baby girl? What I’ve always wanted to do?”

“Yes”

He smiled satisfied, leaning to kissed me roughly and sloppily as he grabbed both of my wrists into one of his big hands pining it over my head.

“If anything I do bothers you or you feel like your not feeling it or don’t like it, you let me know ok?”

I nodded

“I need words baby girl”

“Yes, I understand”

“Good” He smiled and I felt something cold close around my wrists. I looked up to see the handcuffs around my wrists being closed on the headboard of the bed. Roman sat up and looked down do my naked body at his disposal.

“Fuck, you’re such a gorgeous sight” He said as he palmed his hard cock through his boxers. “I can’t wait to bury my cock deep inside you” He panted

“Roman, please do something” I whispered

His hands roamed the sides of my body until he stopped at my breasts as his hands squeezed them hard while pinching my nipples.

“These were made just for me. Do you see how they perfectly fit my hands? I can only imagine how even more beautiful your breasts will look with my cock sliding in between them” His eyes were glued on my breasts.

I tugged at my handcuffed hands, begging “Roman, please, I need- something”

“Let’s take a look on this pussy...are you wet for me Y/N?”

“Soaked”

He raised his eyebrows “Really? Let‘s see” Two of his fingers slides through my folds “Fuck baby girl, you are soaked. Jesus, we won’t even need lube” His fingers traced lazy circles around my clit, making me moan in pleasure. One callused finger slipped inside of me.

“Oh baby girl, you’re so tight, fuck I will barely be able to move. I can’t wait to feel your sweet little pussy stretch around my cock”

He took his finger out and cleaned with his tongue, humming in pleasure to the taste of my juices.

“You taste amazing, Y/N. Fuck I need more” He slide down my body placing his head between my thighs. His tongue gave a long lick from my entrance to my clit sucking it. Making his way back to my entrance again dipping his tongue inside of me, beginning to fuck me with his tongue.

“Oh my god, Roman, please fuck me! I need you inside of me please” I whined

“As you wish baby” He smirked

He slides his cock through my folds to lube it up, then places the head of his cock at my entrance

“Are you sure about this baby girl? ‘Cause once I start I won’t be able to stop myself”

“Roman, just fuck me already would you?” I said impatiently

He chuckled lightly saying “Easy tiger, we’ll take this slow, I don’t want to hurt you” Roman leaned down to peck my lips and returned to his previous position.

He started to slowly slide inside of me, inch by inch, painfully slow. He’s the biggest man I’ve ever been with, so I knew that we needed to take it slow, but fuck he feels so good I just wish he would roughly thrust into me, so I wiggle my hips to take more of him.

“Fuck Y/N, slow down! You’re too tight and I’m not exactly small, if you keep rushing things you’re gonna end up hurting yourself and I don’t want that”

“I know is just that your cock feels so fucking good, I just want you to fuck me Ro”

“Trust me baby, there’s nothing that I want more then fuck you senseless, but I want you to enjoy it as well ok?” He kissed my nose then my lips

When all of him was finally inside of me we both moaned loudly, I’ve never felt so full before and it was both a dream and a nightmare

“Motherfucker! Jesus fuck Y/N, you’re so fuckin- Oh my god.. I gotta focus ‘cuz I feel like at the slightest move I’ll cum” He pressed his forehead to mine as his thumb slowly traced circles on my clit.

“Roman” I gasped “Please don’t tease me like that, fuck it feels so fucking good” I cried as I felt my walls tighten around him

“Oh fuck!” Roman growled loudly “Don’t do that baby girl, don’t squeeze my cock like that, you’re gonna make m-“

“Move,please” I circled my hips

“Fuck it” He said as he forcefully grabbed my hips and begin to quickly thrust me.

“Oh Roman...harder, I need harder”

“Harder?” He chuckled “Like this?” He pounded into me mercilessly

“Yes! Just like that, oh please, don’t stop” “Fuck Y/N you’re going to get me addicted to you baby girl” He kissed my lips vigorously

“I say we should push you a little further..” Roman took the vibrator from the bed and placed on my clit.

“Ooohhh”

“Fuck, you look so beautiful baby girl, a whimpering mess underneath me”

“Ro- Roman I’m gonna cum”

“Cum baby, I wanna feel you cum around my cock”

And I did. My orgasm was so hard that my juices made a mess on Roman’s thighs and the bedsheets.

“Y/N, fuck baby...so fucking gorgeous, my messy girl” He chuckled “Where do you want me to cum baby?”

“Inside” I panted while I felt another mini orgasm come through me

“Fuck, I’m officially addicted to you baby girl. You’re my wet dream come true...gorgeous face, delicious body, perfect pussy..so tight for me. And on top of it all, you want my cum inside of you?! You are beyond perfect Y/N”

He thrusts into me 3 more times before finally cum, filling me up with his seed.

As we tried to recover our breaths, Roman uncuffed my wrists and placed a sweet kiss into each one.

“You ok baby girl?”

“Mhmm” I hummed

“Did I hurt you? Was I too rough?”

“No, of course not. You were perfect!”

“Good baby” He smiled

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure thing baby”

“Why? Why me?”

“Why not you?” He asked sincerely while he brushed my hair with his fingers

“I don’t know, I can’t picture someone like you with someone like me.. I mean, there are so many beautiful women in the company that fit you better...I’ve never thought you could find me attractive”

“Are you serious? Have you looked yourself in the mirror? You’re gorgeous, so perfect Y/N. Yes, there are beautiful women in the company but they’re nothing compared to you baby. You stand out, exactly because you’re different from all of them. You’re unique”

“Still...I don’t know..”

“Oh so you don’t believe me? Maybe I’ll have to show you then”

I could feel his cock beginning to harden on my thigh

“Show me? How?”

“Well baby girl, good thing there are more items of the box for us to try it huh?”

“Us?”

“Yeah, you don’t really think that I’m gonna let you go right? Now that I’ve tasted you, you’ve got me hooked baby. We’ve got the whole night for me to change your mind about us together. And I bet you that I will” He smirked as he leaned down to kiss my neck...

What a great way to celebrate my birthday 🎁

[phykios]

honesty and promise me, part 5 [co-written with @darkmagyk] [read on ao3]

 Annabeth is making her periodic pilgrimage to the gynecologist when she gets Leo's call. It's very fitting--two uncomfortable and invasive things for the price of one. She answers her phone, ignoring the doctor's chastising frown. Surely she can place her new IUD while Annabeth deals with whatever Leo wants.

 "What are you doing on the 18th?" he asks, about the only type of hello she ever gets from Leo.

 The two of them never really grew out of pretending not to like each other, after they had gotten over their initial dislike. When he and Piper first got to Miss Minerva's, more or less straight out of juvie after Piper's dad made a lot of calls and called in a lot of favors, she and Leo had really hated each other. They used to fight over everything, from Piper's attention to the position of captain of the Mathletes team. And also, over Leo hating a rich white girl on principle, which, in retrospect, is totally fair. But then, by a weird twist of fate, they wound up in Boston together.

 If Annabeth had to choose between hanging out with her creepy, Norse mythology-obsessed uncle and hanging out with Leo, she'd pick Leo every time. They had gone through a lot together, things both big and small.

 "Of August?" she asks.

 "Please be still, Ms. Chase," says her doctor. Annabeth rolls her eyes.

 "Duh."

 Wracking her thoughts she can't think of any prior commitments she might have had. Maybe there's a concert that day, but if she can't remember, it probably wasn't that important anyway. "Not much."

 "Good, because we have plans."

 She frowns. "Piper didn't mention any--"

 "No, you and I have plans. I'll see you in Philly, yeah?"

 Philadelphia? Ew. "Why Philly?"

 "Our Smarter House thing won an award."

 "No shit?"

 "Eta Industries Award. The gala is on the 18th. You're my plus one."

 She sucks in air through her teeth, readjusting her hips as unobtrusively as possible. Eta Industries was… a very big deal. "Isn't that, like, an engineering specific award? Maybe you should accept it by yourself." She'd be better off staying out of the limelight for this one, she thinks, even as some part of her longs once again for recognition.

 Something electric whirs in the background, tinny and buzzing. "I'll see you on the 18th, then," says Leo, not having heard a word she said. "Also, you've been summoned to the castle."

 "Leo--" she jumps as the gyno touches something she really shouldn't have.

 "No arguments, she's expecting you today at two. Adios!" He clicks off.

 "Okay, Ms. Chase," says the doctor, a little too chipper for Annabeth's taste. "You should be all set."

 Annabeth leaves the doctor's office with her brand new IUD, a handful of medical literature which immediately gets tossed in the trash, and a sinking feeling in her gut as she gets on a train to Brooklyn, headed to Piper's place for another annoying and unnecessary fashion show. It's not that she doesn't enjoy being Piper's model--it's a position she's held since their time at Miss Minerva's, and it's never really a hardship to be told how gorgeous she is--but Piper has a way of just... getting information out of her that she doesn’t always want to share.

 Stopping off early, Annabeth gives herself a moment to walk down the Brooklyn Heights Promenade, to settle her nerves and indulge herself a bit. That skyline gets her every time.

 Turning down Pierrepont Street, she is once again struck by just how quiet the city can be. Manhattan is loud, rude, in-your-face, almost an entirely different world from the stately, deafeningly silent Brooklyn. For Annabeth, who is incapable of falling asleep without city horns blaring, it wigs her out a little.

 She barely has time to ring the doorbell on Piper's dad's place before the girl herself wrenches it open, grabbing Annabeth's hand and yanking her inside. "You're late!" she trills, suffering what Annabeth can only assume is the onset of a caffeine overdose.

 "I thought I had until two."

 "That was before I had the best idea."

 The brownstone is a mess, as per usual, reams of fabric tossed over every available surface, enough dressforms strewn about to make it look like Piper is hosting a party exclusively populated by headless zombies, adorned with a warehouse's worth of half-finished dresses and jackets. Based on the loud fabrics and structured angles, it looks like Piper is in the middle of a Klimt-ian phase of inspiration. Annabeth eyes a bright gold gown with a huge, extended collar, embroidered with silver eyes, the raw edges trailing the floor. "Please tell me this isn't your idea."

 "First of all," Piper releases her arm as they enter her kitchen-turned-photo studio, gingerly stepping over a box of assorted beads, "even though it would look amazing on you, that dress is for an actual paying client. Second of all--" she snatches up a dressform from its position behind the camera, setting it down in front of her with a flourish. "This is my idea."

 Annabeth was right--Piper is definitely on a Klimt-ian kick.

 Pulled straight from her art history classes, the dress looks like a two dimensional painting come to life, a stunning skirt like a column of liquid silver descending onto the black mat, pleats like fluted columns precisely draped over the dressform's hips… and not much else. Annabeth points. “Is that it?”

 Piper makes a face. "I have a bodice, promise. Now go take that shit off."

 Annabeth looks down at her repurposed The Police shirt, fished out of a thrift store bin some months ago, shirt collar cut and sides resewn to bring the waistline in. "I like this shirt."

 "Oh, I like the shirt plenty," she agrees. "But you could stand to wear a nicer pair of jeans."

 She does have a point there--her jeans are clinging to life at this point, the knees and hems all but obliterated, strings of fabric valiantly attempting to hold their original shape. "Fine. Be right back."

 When she emerges from the bathroom a minute later in just her bra and panties, Piper has laid out another bolt of fabric in that same color, silver with a blue shift beneath the studio lights. Piper, bent over with a strip of measuring tape, looks up at her, then squints. "So who is he?"

 Annabeth starts. "Excuse me?"

 "The guy you've been seeing."

 How... the fuck does Piper always know these things? "I don't know what you're talking about."

 She flicks her eyes down to Annabeth's thigh, Annabeth following her gaze to the remnants of the bruise that Percy had left there with his mouth two days ago. Dammit.

 Piper tsks, a smile distorting the sound. "Naughty, naughty, Annabeth."

 "How do you know it wasn't from a girl?" she asks, petulant.

 "Because if it had been a girl, you wouldn't be nearly so defensive."

 Shit. "We've been friends way too long," Annabeth grumbles.

 "That we have," says Piper. "And out of respect for our friendship, I will refrain from grilling you about him until you are more comfortable sharing."

 "So, for a few hours?"

 She shrugs. "More or less."

 "I suppose you want me to thank you for holding back."

 "Don't thank me yet," she grins, wide and toothy. "I've been cooped up here working on my collection for three days, and I am dying to talk to someone."

 Annabeth sighs, but obediently raises her arms, making room as Piper crouches down to pin the skirt on her. "Okay, you got me. I'm seeing this guy."

 "Seeing or seeing-seeing?"

 "Just seeing," she clarifies. "It's pretty casual."

 "Can't be that casual if you're telling me about it," Piper points out.

 Fuck. This is why she never tells Piper about her hookups. "You're the one who asked."

 "Another business bro, I assume?"

 "He's--" Piper swats at her as she automatically sucks her stomach in, their long held code for "stay put." "He's a dancer."

 She hums, arranging pleats over Annabeth's knees. "Like on Broadway?"

 "Ballet."

 Piper glances up at her, eyes sparkling. “Un danseur! Ooh la la,” she trills. “What’s his name?”

 “I can just leave,” Annabeth says, distinctly not thinking about how Percy will occasionally slip into French whenever he stubs his toe.

 “Okay, okay, no more boy talk.” Piper moves in front of her, adjusting the fabric about her waist. “Tell me about the thing you just won with Leo.”

 “I had honestly forgotten about it,” she says, lying a little, pulling her arms forward. “You remember his master’s thesis?”

 “The shmart kishen thing, right?” Piper asks around the tape measure in her mouth.

 Leo, the prodigal boy that he is, had spent his last year of school dedicated to a singular problem faced by people around the world: the sudden, out of control kitchen fire. Using very complicated electronics and engineering that Annabeth does not understand, he devised a handful of mechanisms to sense, contain, and ultimately douse random fires as soon as they popped up. Annabeth came on as his design partner after he had graduated and had gotten some funding to conceptualize an entire safe house.

 “Well, it just won an Eta Industries award.”

 Her head snaps up, hands freezing in their tracks. “Holy shit.”

 “Yeah.”

 “Congrats.”

 “Thanks,” she shrugs as Piper gets up to grab some more fabric. “I mean, it was mostly Leo’s doing. I just made sure he didn’t leave any stray pipes around.”

 Holding out her arms again, Piper slides them through the sleeves of a heavy, corset-like piece, structured and straight and very forgiving on Annabeth’s lack of curves. “You shouldn’t sell yourself short,” she says. “I’m sure your skills as a guinea pig were very valuable.”

 “Are you ever going to let that go?” Annabeth asks, she who has literally burnt pasta while it was submerged in water.

 “You’re just lucky my dad was out of town that weekend. Have you decided what you’re going to wear to the awards ceremony?”

 She shoots her friend a strange look. “I thought I was wearing this?” she gestures to the unfinished silver gown currently making her feel like an absolute goddess.

 Piper makes a face. “What do I look like, the fucking Flash? This isn’t going to be ready for another thirty hours, at least. I’ve got decals to add, Swarovskis to bead, not to mention all the hand-stitching on the neckline because for whatever reason my machine has decided to hate me this week.”

 “Okay, well,” says Annabeth, appropriately cowed, “then I guess I’ll wear the black one you gave me.”

 “2019 fall/winter?”

 Annabeth nods.

 “Styling?”

 “Luke gave me this really nice scarf for my birthday.”

 Throwing her head back, she groans.

 “What? What’s wrong?”

 “You’re so boring,” she moans, pulling Annabeth’s hair out of the way. “Let me guess, you’re going to pair it with the black shrug and opaque nude tights.”

 “Well… yeah, I was.”

 “Exactly! Boring.” Coming back around, she pushes Annabeth lightly into the light, before taking her place behind the camera. “You could do so much with that dress and you choose to make it boring. Why not some fishnets? Or a big statement necklace?”

 Annabeth waits after a few shutter clicks to answer. “Because I doubt that the people at Eta Industries are going to be big fans of my tattoos.”

 “That is a bald-faced lie and you know it,” Piper says. “Your tattoos and piercings are gorgeous and you would look absolutely rocking with them. Knock all the old farts right off their feet. Turn.”

 Obediently, Annabeth rotates, letting Piper snap off as many pictures as she likes. “This isn’t a Vogue event, Pipes,” she says, rolling her eyes where her friend can’t see them. “Punk isn’t exactly accepted practice yet.”

 “Punk was the Met Gala theme almost a decade ago, babe. It has filtered down from Vogue. It's practically cerulean now. Side.”

 Annabeth turns again, keeping her eyes straight. Side-eye would ruin the shot, no matter how much she wants to give it.

 “I will never understand why you both refuse to wear halfway decent jeans and then refuse to go guns out in my dresses that demand it. I can almost guarantee you that Leo will show up in those stupid suspenders with grease on his face. And you’ll have to get him to leave his tool belt in the car.”

 “Then it’s probably for the best that I have a modicum of professionalism, huh?”

 Piper leans out from behind the camera, glaring. “At the very least,” she hedges, “will you let me set you up with some shoes?”

 “I don’t know…”

 “You are not allowed to wear those horrid Manolo pumps you wear everywhere. And your nude Louboutins won’t look right with the black.”

 “What did you have in mind?”

 Piper’s grin is evil, and the way she scampers out of the room means she’s got something she’d been trying to force on Annabeth for a long time.

 Five minutes later, Annabeth is presented with a set of black strappy sandals, its edges detailed in a gold zipper, with safety pin pull to match. She frowns. “Are you sure? They look kind of… hardcore for something like this.”

 “They’re Versace,” Piper says. “I was not lying about punk’s democratization.”

 Well. They are pretty cool.

 “It’s either this or the McQueen boots. They have studs.”

 Annabeth sighs, holding out her hand. Piper squeals, bouncing a little, wrapping her in a brief, but exuberant hug, kissing her cheek with a loud, wet, smack. “You’re the best!”

 “I haven’t even done anything.”

 “I am saving up favors to cash in. Now,” she releases Annabeth, retreating behind the camera. “If you’ve got some time, can I borrow your head? I’m working on a helmet and all my mannequins are busy.”

 ***

 “Hey,” Percy begins. It is so late at night, the dawn is on the edge of breaking, and they are both exhausted from some particularly good sex. Which is saying something, because all their sex is particularly good. “You doing anything on the 18th?”

 “Yeah,” She says, distractedly, snuggling down into his bed. The fact that she’s also snuggling into him is just a coincidence.

 “Oh.”

 “Why?”

 “Nothing. Was going to invite you to a thing if you weren’t.” She nods her head against his shoulder and falls asleep in his arms, thinking absolutely nothing about it.

 She continues to think nothing of it on the train to Philadelphia on the 18th, half-asleep and listening to Paramore to pass the time, blasting Misery Business on repeat as she changes in her hotel room.

 The Eta Industries event is pretty much exactly what she expected: a lot of old rich white people milling about, sipping champagne and verbally circle jerking each other, the insipid strains of classical music spilling out of the ballroom as Annabeth steps up to claim her name tag. “Name?” asks the young, college-aged girl, skimming her printed guest list over the rim of her glasses.

 “Annabeth Chase.”

 She runs a long fingernail over the assorted collection of name tags, before settling on the correct one, handing it to Annabeth, her star tattoo on the inside of her wrist free and open to anyone who would care to look. “Here you are, Ms. Chase,” she says, smiling. “Have a wonderful night!”

 Automatically, Annabeth goes to pin it on Luke’s scarf, before she remembers that something is already occupying that place--Percy’s Acropolis pin. She had taken to keeping it in her pocket these days, something of a good luck charm, and thought that it might… she doesn’t know, maybe send a subconscious signal to Percy that she’s thinking of him. Even though there is, quite literally, no way he could know, she hopes that maybe he can sense it, and that maybe he’s thinking about her, too.

 Ugh. She snatches up a flute of champagne from a wandering waiter, eager to get that thought out of her head, making a beeline straight for the refreshments table. It’s there that Leo finds her, not five minutes later, munching on some chocolate covered strawberries.

 “And here I thought you might ditch me entirely,” he says, even as he bumps her shoulder. True to form, he is absolutely, 100% dressed in those stupid suspenders, a smudge of grease behind his ear.

 “You’ve got a…” Annabeth trails off, motioning behind her own ear.

 “Huh? Oh!” He snatches up a napkin, rubbing discreetly. “Thanks.”

 She squints. Something about him is distinctly different. “Are you taller?”

 Kicking out a foot, he wiggles it, triumphant. “Platform shoes.”

 “Seriously?”

 “Hey, if they're good enough for Robert Downey Jr., then they’re good enough for me. After all, I am Ir--”

 She groans, good-natured, taking another gulp of champagne. “If you quote Marvel in your speech, I’m leaving.”

 “Fine by me, Your Highness, they’ll give me the award either way.”

 “Excuse me, Mr. Valdez?” The same college girl from before sidles up to them, clipboard clutched in her hand. “They’re about to start.”

 He claps his hands, rubbing them together. “Excellent. You coming?”

 “I…” She casts her gaze to the makeshift stage they’ve constructed, eyeing the bright “Eta Industries” placard, the sharp angles shiny and alluring, the siren-song of recognition.

 This is a big deal. There are photographers in the audience. In the write-ups and reviews, she would be listed as a co-winner of the award, a co-designer of the world’s safest house, a thought so happy she practically starts flying.

 “I think I should stay out of the limelight for this one, Leo,” she says, politely. “This is your moment. I don’t want to ruin it.”

 He frowns. “You sure?”

 Were it not for the fact that people were watching, Annabeth would have leapt up onto that stage without a second thought, snatching up the trophy like she had just won the Oscar, holding it up like the goddamn Olympic torch. “What, you want a white woman stealing your glory?” she says instead, arching a brow.

 “You get a pass this one time,” he quips, holding out his hand. “Don’t make me regret it.”

 Whatever social grace she has left crumbles. She’s denied it enough--she wants to be up there. “Oh, fine. Since you insist,” she says, following clipboard-girl to the stage.

 There’s a quick burst of feedback, then an elderly gentleman at the podium begins speaking into the mic. “Excuse me--sorry about that. Yes, yes, thank you all for coming tonight to the annual Eta Industries awards presentation ceremony. It is always such a pleasure to come together with our hard-working and generous board members and shareholders to honor the best and brightest upcoming talent in engineering.”

 Internally, she rolls her eyes. Rich people.

 “It is my pleasure, however, to introduce the young man who is the recipient of this year’s Millennium Prize for innovation and safety. One of MIT’s youngest and most decorated graduates, he was a recipient of the Mead Prize for Students, the Friedman Young Engineer Award, and the Collingwood Prize, among several others. His master’s thesis, ‘Towards the Design and Implementation of Autonomous Safety Measures in Commercial Kitchens,’ formed the basis of the project which we recognize tonight, the so-called ‘SmartSafe House,’ reflects the pioneering spirit and outstanding creative vision of not only Eta Industries, but also the field of engineering as a whole. Please join me in congratulating this year’s Millennium Prize recipient, Leo Valdez.”

 From the sidelines, she claps enthusiastically with the rest of the crowd as her friend takes the stage, shakes hands with the Vice President of Eta Industries, and accepts the award, a blue, blocky triangle which almost seems to glow in the light of the ballroom. “Thank you, Mr. Helms. This is--this is a really big honor.”

 She can see him shaking a bit, taking a quick drink from his water glass. Public speaking was never really his strong suit.

 “As--as a lot of you probably know, this project is very near and dear to my heart. Growing up in Houston with my mother, a car mechanic, I was eight years old when her beloved shop went up in flames, like that.” He snaps his fingers, his other hand pressed to the podium where no one can see, joints white with pressure. Annabeth is proud of him--he hasn’t been able to speak this candidly about it in years. She knows firsthand how much his mother’s near-death haunts him still. “Thankfully, we were able to rebuild, and my mother went on to bigger and better things--including a shop with cleaner vents. But I can definitely pinpoint that moment as the day I knew I wanted to make the world a safer place, for my mom, if not for everyone else.”

 She remembers, so clearly, that snowy night in the dorms at Miss Minerva’s. The power had gone out, and Leo had made them an illicit campfire out of their trash bin and Annabeth’s failed English exam. Cold and miserable and with dying phones, they passed the time instead telling scary stories and funny memories, until the conversation had gotten suddenly, intensely real.

 “But I would be remiss,” he goes on, cheerful, “if I didn’t acknowledge my friend and collaborator, without whose work I wouldn’t be here today: Annabeth Chase,” he waves to his side, indicating her. The whole crowd, as one, turns their gazes on her. She straightens up, imperceptibly, hoping she doesn’t look too haughty or anything. “I’ve never been very good with people. My mama says I’m just like my dad that way. Give me a car, or a computer, or pages of multiplication tables, and I’m golden. But people?” He blows out a breath, and the crowd chuckles, naturally. “Now, if it had been left up to me, the SmartSafe House would have been a top of the line, cutting-edge metal box, efficient to a fault, but completely unlivable. Thank God I had Annabeth on my team to remind me what the project was really about: a home that families could feel safe in, so that what happened to me and my mom might never happen to anyone else.” He hoists his award above his head, leaning into the mic. “Ma, este es para ti. Thank you all.”

 Stepping down from the stage, they reenter the crowd, ready to receive adoration. In another life, she might have been embarrassed by such praise. Here and now, however, she takes each handshake and word of congratulations like a starving man in a desert who just came across an oasis, hungry and greedy.

 Hey, it’s her night, too.

 After what feels like a whole-ass sixty minutes of shaking old people's hands and polite nodding, though, she is in desperate need of a break. Escaping the throng of mingling bodies, she darts into a dark corner of the ballroom, leaning against the back of a rounded stone column, just barely out of sight of the party.

 Rubbing her hands over her face, she sighs, just short of a scream. Blowing out all her air, she lets the faint music and fake laughs melt into each other, becoming white noise, a blank canvas, empty of concrete thoughts and feelings.

 Then, her ear picks up a strand of conversation.

 “...announcing tomorrow that the CEO of Pallas Inc. is choosing a successor,” a woman says, the sneer in her voice almost visible. “About time.”

 “I thought she already picked a successor,” says the woman’s conversation partner, a man with the kind of cookie-cutter cadence that she heard every time she took a business major to bed. “Pallas is a family business, isn’t it?”

 “You haven’t heard?” Annabeth can almost picture it, the furtive glance around the room, the woman placing her hand on her partner’s arm, leaning in to share a juicy secret. “Supposedly she was grooming her daughter for the role, before she went in for rehab.”

 “Rehab? Really?”

 “What else could it be?” says the woman. “She’s disappeared off the face of the earth, and her mother refuses to talk about her. Let’s be honest, if she were dead, she would have raised a bigger stink about it.”

 Annabeth closes her eyes, sucking air in through her teeth. That… wasn’t totally untrue.

 But the woman doesn’t stop. “It’s always the same story,” she scoffs. “You throw countless hours of schooling and millions of dollars into girls like her, and what do they do? Turn around and blow it all on drugs and partying. Honestly, she should be grateful her mother is even bothering with her rehab at all. Hasn’t she wasted enough of the family’s money already?”

 Blood roars in her ears, drowning out the fancy party. Sharp points dig into her palm, pinpricks of pain, before she realizes that they’re her own fingernails.

 The lady has got it all wrong. Her mom couldn’t even be bothered with that.

 Luke’s scarf, the shrug, it’s choking her, suffocating and constricting. Percy’s pin feels heavy on her chest.

 Blinders on, she would have sprinted for the exit were it not for the Piper’s stupid Versace heels, reduced instead to a teetering, tottering wreck, like a baby colt running from a predator. The night is hot and humid, heavy with the threat of rain, and Annabeth can barely breathe, dark spots in her eyes, until she ducks into a nearby Target, the frigid blast of air a welcome distraction.

 Almost in a daze, she watches herself pick up a few things--clippers, an electric razor, beef jerky, a blue Gatorade she considers for a moment before putting it back, choosing a lemonade instead--practically throwing them at the poor cashier who begins checking her out, mechanically. He doesn’t spare her a single glance for her odd assortment of items. He doesn’t even look at her at all.

 The walk to her hotel room disappears in the blink of an eye. Blink--she breezes past the check-in counter, slipping into the empty elevator. Blink--she kicks off her heels in her room, nearly hitting the wall mirror, leaving a scuff mark on the white plaster. Blink--she’s down to her underwear and tights in the bathroom, shaving the right side of her curls clean off. She’d gotten them professionally done for the night, perfect spirals held together by expensive products. And now she wants them gone.

 She pauses and breathes too hard, looking at herself in the mirror. Her mother didn’t like that she was blonde. Maybe because of dumb blonde stereotypes, maybe just because it reminded Athena too much of her failed romance with Annabeth’s dad. And that thought stays her hand from getting rid of the rest of them.

 That, and maybe the idea of Percy, of some broke dancer, tangling his fingers in it as they lie together.

 Fuck her mother, and the fucking stories she tells.

 She likes it. She likes her blonde hair and her fresh undercut.

 She can get Thalia to touch this up later, maybe. Now, though, she needs this.

 It doesn’t look perfect. The left side of hair is too long, her gold laurel earrings too fancy for a homegrown haircut like this, her makeup too pristine. Shoving her hand under the running water, she rubs at her eyes, mascara and eyeliner smearing until they’ve reached something much more respectable for the failure that she really is.

 She misses her industrial. And her eyebrow rings. And the tongue piercing. But this will have to do for now.

 Breathing heavily, eyes hot, she doesn’t register her phone blinking, signaling an unread text message.

 It’s from Thalia. surprised you weren’t at kelp heads bday party, it reads. was pretty boring. Kno he missed you  

[jackidy]

To Be Struck

Rating: T Pairings: EnnoTana Characters: Various, focus on Karasuno and Ennoshita.  Universe: Canon Summary: “He has no idea, does he.” Yamaguchi states, having waited with the third years and Tsukishima for the captain to show up only to bare witness to him be accosted by a group of boys. They can’t tell for sure what’s being said only that Ennoshita seems to be surprised, hands up in mock surrender before a relaxed, more apologetic pose takes over, the tell-tale sign of nervousness as he scratches the back of his neck.

“Oh no, theres not a single thought of how handsome he actually is behind those big old brown eyes.” Narita states, earning a grunt of agreement from the other third years and something akin to a laugh from Tsukishima. “The boy is oblivious to how handsome he is.”

AO3

---

The shirt fits better than he thought it would, taking the quiet moments before the rest of the team would show up to simply get used to the new found feeling of confidence that he had gained over the school break but also seemed to multiply as soon as he’d donned the number 1 shirt. Would Daichi be proud of his progress? Probably, Sugawara? Definitely, smile tugging at his lips in memory of this morning’s phone call, the former Karasuno setter clearly running late for university but still making time to give Ennoshita a fairly out of breath pep talk about he’s got this.

He offers good mornings to Ukai as their coach yawns past, followed by the team who seem to be either the same level of tired or overly excited to either be back with the team after the long break or the potential new players who would be joining. More had signed up this year than ever before, the team’s success at nationals having attracted more attention than Ennoshita had, truthfully, expected, hating that this would happen during his tenure as captain and not to another.

But then, would he really want to inflict this on anyone else?

“We missed you at lunch today, not avoiding us now that you’re captain, are ya?” Kinoshita teases, Ennoshita laughing at the over dramatics as the tawny haired man launched into an over dramatic spiel, leaning against Narita as he lamented over being left behind on the benches, beckoning Yamaguchi in to join him only to be rejected by the second year. “Our boy gets promoted and now he’s too good for us mere bench warmers.”

“No, no, I had to go see Takeda senpai and sort out club stuff, more so since they’re planning a Miyagi based training camp this year.” Ennoshita laughs out more than speaks, pulling the team fleece on, pushing his locker closed only to pause as everything goes quiet. Staring at the team in mild confusion, they just stare back, a few slacked jaws and even a few rosy cheeks amongst them, turning to Kinoshita and Narita for help only to find them in a similar state.

“What?” He asks the silent room, looking with increasing confusion and anxiety between his teammates, hoping one of them would give in and explain just why everyone had gone quiet only to find nothing to cure his nervous curiosity. “Alright then, I need to talk to coach so I guess I’ll see you in the gym.” Ennoshita adds after a few more moments of silence, sighing and dismissing himself from the locker room.

He’s only somewhat confused and mostly annoyed when the talking almost immediately picks up again after he leaves, the team speaking in hushed whispers over something that would undoubtedly cause trouble for him later.

---

The constant giggling confuses him more than anything, Ennoshita frowning as another group of first years pass him in the corridor, the group breaking into hushed whispers, giggles with one or more cheeks flushed a pale pink. He’d assumed it was in response to one of the others, his fellow third years nothing short of attractive, his thoughts lingering on the teams ace a little too long before sighing and shaking his head.

Tanaka Ryuunosuke was a subject best not dwelled on, least he end up losing himself to a train of thought best not considered. The ace wasn’t interested in him beyond friendship, Tanaka’s romantic interests focused on cute dark-haired girls with striking features, the only part of that list Ennoshita could be associated with was the dark hair.

“Hi, Ennoshita.”

“Umm…hi?” He’s confused, more giggling before the group of third years is gone, Ennoshita’s frown deepening as he headed for the back of the class where everyone was waiting for him, food in various stages of being eaten. They hadn’t waited for him and he’s thankful for it, sliding into the chair between Kinoshita and Tanaka with a groan, sliding further into the seat as hands fumbled with his bag for his lunch, still frowning as he dug in without a word.

“You keep frowning like that and your face’ll stick.” Noya speaks around a mouthful of food, both Narita and Kinoshita grimacing before Narita smacks his arm with a comment to stop being gross. It works for the most part, the libero chewing and swallowing with such vigour the rest of the group is surprised he doesn’t choke. “What’s bothering you, cap?”

Ennoshita pauses, trying to find the words to accurately describe his issue before sighing. “People keep giggling when I walk past them, I have no idea why though.” He replies honestly, oblivious to the looks the others were giving him as he continued his train of thought. “At first I thought it was because I was with one of you guys but they continued even when it was just me.”

The shared look between Kinoshita, Narita and Nishinoya only adds to his ever growing confusion, head turning to the left with hope of getting an answer from Tanaka only to be met with a flushed yet mystified look. Why was he looking at him like that? What was he missing that everyone else was apparently so clearly aware of? Snapping his fingers in front of the others face, Ennoshita bites back a laugh as Tanaka jumps, nearly spilling his drink on himself.

“Wait, why did you think the giggling was down to one of us four?” Narita pipes up after a moment, Ennoshita looking over to him whilst the group focused on the captain once more. Ennoshita shrugs, faking a thoughtful look before grinning lazily, something teasing and mischievous in his tone.

“Because you’re all a bunch of clowns.”

---

The trip to Johzenji is by no means quiet but the din of Nishinoya and Hinata hyping up the nervous first years isn’t enough to break him from his thoughts of the incident a mere thirty minutes ago. A second year, from Yamaguchi’s class if memory serves, had confessed to him. Face flushed, voice stammering and a love letter clutched so tightly in her hands Ennoshita was surprised she hadn’t ripped the letter by accident.

He wasn’t going to return her feelings, he only just recognised her never mind the fact he didn’t know her name, but he didn’t even get a chance to politely reject her before Tanaka had come from seemingly nowhere, taken his wrist and dragged him away with a gruff comment of how they were going to be late. The girl had just seen the look on Tanaka’s fae, looked at the tan hand clamped around his wrist and just profusely apologised saying she’d misunderstood.

What had she misunderstood? There wasn’t anything to misunderstand! Sure, Tanaka had perhaps been a little more gruff than usual but hadn’t his last class of the day been maths? It wasn’t one of his stronger subjects, maybe it had just put the vice-captain into an irritable mood. But doubts had only began to settle in when the other had spent the majority of the ride sat next to Haruka, the team’s new libero, who had made it his life mission to cheer the Ace up.

“Gummy for your thoughts?” Yachi asks, voice a hushed whisper as she offers the bag of gummies to Ennoshita, looking around the seat as she checked to see if the rest of the team had heard her at all. He takes one, mulling over if he would tell her anyway, the team manager hastily shoving the sweets back into her bag as Kageyama stalked past to ask Coach Ukai something.

“This is the part where you tell me what’s troubling you.” Yachi teased when Ennoshita remained silent, Ennoshita laughing before shrugging. He’d grown close to Yachi since she’d joined the team, more so after Daichi announced him as the next captain and they started working together more frequently once the year began. It had earned no short amount of teasing over his ability to talk to girls easily from Kinoshita and the question of if they were dating from one of the overly curious first years.

“It’s nothing, I’m just a little confused about somethings is all.”

“Such as?”

Ennoshita clicks his tongue, elbow against the window frame and jaw resting in his palm, silently wishing the vibrations caused by bad suspension would perhaps shake the thoughts out so he could finally focus on things more important than everyone’s new reactions to him. “People keep paying attention to me and, just now, had a girl confess her feelings for me. Only to apologise when Tanaka grabbed me and dragged me off so we could go, saying she’d misunderstood.”

“I don’t get what there was to misunderstand.” Other than the fact she had feelings for me, he adds silently, a troubled look on his face, accepting another gummy when Yachi offered it to him, the younger blonde seemingly lost in her thoughts as he continued. “He just took my wrist and said we were running late.”

He doesn’t confess as to how he can still feel the ghost of that touch on his wrist, that he humoured the idea that Tanaka was so annoyed about the interaction because he was jealous and not because they were going to be late. That the concept of her misunderstanding was that they were dating any not something else that was more trivial than the idea of them dating.

“Maybe she thought you two were, you know, together.”

He chokes, wheezing and waving off the hand of Narita dangerously close to hitting him in the back, waiting for the middle blocker to sit back down and resume conversation with Kinoshita before turning his attention to Yachi. She looks concerned for the most part, a hint of underlying smugness so reminiscent of Kiyoko when she made an all too correct assumption about something that, for a brief moment, Ennoshita feels like he’s sat with her instead.

“Okay, even if she did think that, it doesn’t explain everything else.”

“No but I’m sure you’ll figure it out, captain.”

---

It takes only five seconds of knowing Terushima Yuuji for Ennoshita to realise the man is tenacious if not a little bit odd, leaning away as the fellow captain leaned in, the feeling of being observed by a predator becoming increasingly more present. Pregame handshakes weren’t supposed to last this long, remembering how even the tense ones between Daichi and Kuroo the year before had never seemed to be endless.

Should he be the one to let go first? The want for the contact to be over already battling against his will to not be seen as weak, the handshake finally coming to an end when one of the coaches, the Johzenji one, shouts for Terushima to stop antagonising him. Was it still antagonising someone if it felt like Terushima was wanting a reaction from him that wasn’t annoyance? Ennoshita didn’t know and wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to find out either.

“I look forward to see you play, Ennoshita.”

Hand finally free, Ennoshita wipes it on his shorts leg with theatrical disdain, snorting in vague amusement at the just as dramatic gasp from behind him as he walked back to his team. What game was he playing at? Why had he pronounced his name like that, too much emphasis on the shi that he’d drawled out for far too long for it to be anything short of annoying.

He hates that his mind goes immediately to how it would be less annoying coming from Tanaka.

The practise match goes better than expected, the boost of adrenaline in his veins from being on the court only seemingly nullified during breaks when Narita and Kinoshita began their lament of being Ennoshita leaving on the benches, managing to drag Yamaguchi into joining in, even if the second year could not keep a straight face throughout the entire thing. They win, by no means a crushing victory but enough to know what needs to be improved upon with the new team dynamic, thinking over ideas he could go over with the Coach when they got back to school when feels the arms slink over his shoulder, smells the marker and feels the hand over his shoulders take hold of his forearm almost too gently.

Strong body spray and an obnoxious shade of yellow. The feel of a sharpie against his skin as it scrawled ink and numbers across his skin, Ennoshita stood like a deer in the head lights at the hum in his ear, the pop of lips as the writing was finally done. “Call me whenever, it would be a shame to not know you better, Chikara.” His arm is released, Terushima leaving without any further contact, Ennoshita only breaking out of his stunned state when someone yells at the Johzenji captain.

What…what just happened?

His state of being is nothing short of catatonic, walking in his bemused stupor to where the rest of the team are waiting, staring at the number signed with a heart scrawled across his skin. Why had he said his name like that?! A low drawl, the rolled and extended a at the end of his name, the fact it had made his face flush rosy like he was a first year. He had no interest in the other captain in both terms of friendship and relationship. So why, why was he reacting like that?

Forgetting to pull down his sleeve has never had such dire consequences, helping Takeda to gather the team and attendance to make sure nobody was left behind, most having the wherewithal to stay quiet at the number scrawled on his arm. All bar Kendo, the would-be wing spiker’s eyes lightning up before practically yelling. “Yo, Captain! Whose number did you get?”

The drive home is too rowdy, Ennoshita wishing Ukai would wake up and bellow at them all to shut up as question after question is fired at him. Whose number is it? Terushima’s. Are you dating? No. Do you like him? Not really. Would you date him if he asked you? No. Does Tanaka become captain if you fall for another captain and die? No, Haruka, but thank you for the concern.

Perhaps it’s the sap in him but Ennoshita finds he doesn’t mind the questions so much anymore, when he notices Tanaka is no longer in a mood but laughing along with the fellow third years as Ennoshita wilts under the sheer number of questions thrown at him about his supposed affair with Terushima.

---

“He has no idea, does he.” Yamaguchi states, having waited with the third years and Tsukishima for the captain to show up only to bare witness to him be accosted by a group of boys. They can’t tell for sure what’s being said only that Ennoshita seems to be surprised, hands up in mock surrender before a relaxed, more apologetic pose takes over, the tell-tale sign of nervousness as he scratches the back of his neck.

“Oh no, theres not a single thought of how handsome he actually is behind those big old brown eyes.” Narita states, earning a grunt of agreement from the other third years and something akin to a laugh from Tsukishima. “The boy is oblivious to how handsome he is.”

He’d always been handsome, Tanaka thinks, it just became more obvious over the end of year break, bewildered as to how in the span of a month he had seemed to bloom in confidence and lose the stubborn bit of baby fat that clung to his cheeks and body. It’s bothersome, annoying really, how Ennoshita believed through this metamorphosis that he’s still something not worth looking twice at, Ennoshita haven’t never stated it but it was all too clear from the way he confusedly pointed out how he couldn’t understand why their fellow students seemed to linger on him.

“Also oblivious to Tanaka’s pining.” Nishinoya adds on a little too cheerfully, the libero cackling with laughter as he used Tsukishima as a shield as Tanaka attempted to grab him before running behind Ennoshita as the captain finally joined them with a humoured confused look. “Save me, captain! He’s gone feral.”

“Oh please, Noya, he’s a big puppy at worst.” Ennoshita remarks, giving the vice captain a pat on the head as he passed by, ducking past Narita to get to the gym doors before unlocking them, throwing Yamaguchi the keys so he could unlock the changing rooms with a smile. “Go get changed and help me set up the gym before the actually feral children get here.”

Tanaka is the first one back, finding Ennoshita in the middle of setting up the nets, silently thankful that the rest of the team had shown up just as he was leaving the locker room, giving him a good 5 minutes alone with Ennoshita before they were interrupted by each coach, Yachi or someone from the team announcing their arrival with utter dramatics and a slammed open door. “So, what did they want?” He asks, holding the net steady for Ennoshita as he tied it, somewhat distracted by the look of concentration on the others face. Furrowed brows and a slightly screwed mouth, he’d be ridiculous if he thought, even for a moment, that it was adorable.

“I think he was trying to confess his feelings but it came out sounding like he was asking me to marry him.” Ennoshita mused, checking how secure the knots were before moving to the other side and repeating the process there. “Rejected him, was informed he would win my heart before I graduated and his friends were very enthusiastic about this prospect.” Ennoshita seems strangely fond over this, though as to why Tanaka did not know.

“Do we have a name for your future beloved?”

“Oh, heavens no, never told me it in the time it took him to propose to me and declare he’d win me over.” Ennoshita laughed, Tanaka finding himself unable to not join in, finishing with the first net before starting work on the second one. “I named him mini Ryuu though, he reminded me of you with Kiyoko during the majority of first year.”

He flushes at that, muttering shut up under his breath and earning another laugh, wishing he had the confidence he had with Kiyoko to approach Ennoshita with the same enthusiasm. But they’re different, the same yet different. Kiyoko was an obsession, an undignified act of teenage love that he never bothered to subdue, taking some form of pleasure out of every rejection. He had the same thing with Ennoshita but he kept it close, kept it more subtle, for no other reason than the uncertainty of what would happen when he ultimately got rejected because, for the first time, he sees no weird joy in it.

“Are you planning on growing your hair out?” He ask, tying the last knot, the first few members of the team stumbling into the gym, Kageyama snapping something at Hinata and the first years as the setter is more or less shoved into the gym by the rowdy bunch. Tanaka blinks, reaching up to touch his hair, feeling fluff instead of the usual buzzcut, wondering when the last time he’d asked Saeko to cut it for him even was.

“Nah, I keep forgetting to ask Saeko to cut it for me.” Tanaka shrugs in his response, tugging at his hair gently and contemplating if he should cut it off or not, the thought of Ennoshita’s hand on it earlier halting his train of thought far too quickly for his liking. He knows it’s a crush but it was just a touch, an innocent if not somewhat patronising pat to the head, it shouldn’t have this affect on him. Shouldn’t make him wonder how it would feel if they were running through it instead.

No.

He wasn’t dwelling on the thought of calloused hands weaving through it when he’s had a stressful day, it being ruffled with amused affection whenever he was sulking over something trivial. Of fingers gripping it tight and pulling when he…

NO.

“Sorry, what was that?”

“I said you should keep it longer; it looks good on you.”

He was never cutting his hair again.

---

If Tanaka sits closer to him during the study session, neither of them mention it, Ennoshita leaning in to Tanaka’s side to read over what he’d written and smiling. “You got them all right, Ryuu.” He’s not sure when he switched to using just his first name to refer to him, believing it to be around the time the member of the baseball team more or less vowed to win his heart by years end. It seemed to make sense to do as much, he had referred to the kid as mini Ryuu as opposed to mini Tanaka after all.

“It just makes more sense when you explain it.” Tanaka mumbles, scratching the back of his head bashfully, Ennoshita letting out a hum in response before looking up and at the ace when he feels eyes on him. Oh, how had he not realised how close they were? His lips were so painfully close and if he were a stronger man he’d lean forward and kiss him but, for all the confidence he had gained between the end of his second year and the start of his third, he’s not confident enough to close that gap and find out just how unrequited his crush was.

He’s all too happy to let Tanaka take the lead as he takes the initiative, warm fingers sliding between his perpetually cold ones, eyes flicking down to their linked hands before back up to the ace, swallowing thickly. Maybe he should, maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t as unreachable as he first thought, so close to kissing him when a door slams open.

The distance feels like miles, the lingering warmth on his hand from where Tanaka was holding offering only little comfort when the ace refused to look at him. He wants to ask, wants to ask what it meant, why he’d looked at him like that, if what he was feeling and what he assumed Tanaka was feeling actually aligned and it wasn’t just a fool’s folly to long for something more than friendship.

“Hey, Ryuu! Did you-” Saeko makes her presence known with a shout and the door opening, looking between the pair and going silent. Did she know? He knew Tanaka’s shared everything. Meals, food, lesser secrets about crushes and friendship dramas. Was she aware of whatever was going on between the pair of them? The panic begins to build up in his chest as he continues to overthink the situation only to let out a choked noise as he’s grabbed by the elder Tanaka and pulled to his feet.

It’s a similar situation to Terushima, Ennoshita feeling more and more like he’s being stared down by a predator only it’s welcomed this time, Saeko gripping his chin and observing his face before she turns to look at Ryuunosuke who seems to be on edge more than Ennoshita was. “I know you said he got hot over break but damn, Chika, you’re fuckin gorgeous.”

“Umm…thank you?” He doesn’t take compliments well, he never has, laughing nervously as he’s spun, her hands gripping his shoulders, feeling like he’s being presented to Ryuunosuke as a prize that he had just won. I know you said he got hot over break. What did that mean? Was that a Ennoshita thing or a Tanaka thing? Ennoshita focusing on his teammates face, noticing the familiar look he got whenever he felt Saeko was about to embarrass him.

“You gotta snap him up before someone else does, look at those cheek bones.” He feels the nails of Saeko’s right hand brush against his skin and he shudders despite himself, face still enflamed from the shared moment before and the endless compliments. “That jaw line, those sleepy brown eyes of yours. You are still single, right?”

“I…yeah?”

He chooses to not mention the plethora of confessions he had received the past few months, looking at Ryuu in hopes of a rescue only to find him shooting a look brimming with annoyed daring, baiting Saeko into continuing her commentary. Ennoshita knows the look well, one he’s been on the receiving end of from his own little brother whenever he learnt something he shouldn’t and threatened to hold it over him for the foreseeable future.

Saeko just grins, dangerous, like she is aware of something Ennoshita should be, hands clapping his shoulders, giving them a firm squeeze before she lets go and leaves. He watches he go, a thumbs up thrown in as a goodbye before she closes the door much softer than she had when she opened it. There’s a tension in the room, Ennoshita fumbling with his fingers as the silence leaves him to focus on those words.

I know you said he got hot over break. You’re fucking gorgeous.

You said he got hot. You’re fucking gorgeous.

You’re hot. You’re fucking gorgeous.

He’s ashamed as the voice morphs from Saeko’s to Ryuunosuke’s, the constant repetition of ‘you’re fucking gorgeous’ setting his cheeks aflame and his heart beating faster than a drum. He should leave, shouldn’t he? His confidence having melted away, Ennoshita feeling once again like a first year, unable to find his voice and on the brink of panicking as he over thought every possibility now laid out before him.

“Chikara,” his voice is soft, all to calming to hear, Ennoshita looking down at the other only to be met with a face of mild confusion and concern. “I’m stuck with problem ten.” Settling back down, Ennoshita goes back to helping, hoping for any distraction from the thought of Tanaka finding him attractive and the growing disappointment that he wasn’t brave enough to take Tanaka’s hand is his own again.

---

Its never brought up again but it changes their dynamic, Tanaka meeting him at lunch time, the welcome relief from being bothered by strangers with confessions. The hilarious moment of Tanaka fighting with his miniature self until Ennoshita dragged Tanaka away by the hand, the younger boy by someone Ennoshita guessed to also be on his team. It’s never brought up again but Tanaka doesn’t shake off his hand until its time to eat, despite the teasing looks sent his way by the other third years.

They sit together on the coach to practice matches, Ennoshita almost always waking up with his head on Tanaka’s shoulder, Tanaka’s head leaning against his and hands not quite touching but it always feels a little too intimate for just friends. Its how they end up travelling to the Miyagi summer camp, waking up as they pull onto the Shiratorizawa grounds only to find their fingers linked this time, it making up for the lack of head resting against his.

It’s three days before something snaps. Ennoshita in the middle of talking rotation with coach Ukai, mentioning his own anxiety in suddenly being thrust onto the court during an important match, making a joke at both Tanaka’s and Daichi’s expense as he brings up the Wakutani South match the year before. He excuses himself as he hears the arguing behind him, sighing at the sight of Tanaka and Noya shouting at a group of younger players, Karasuno’s own first years seeming to only encourage their behaviour.

Daichi had made this seem too easy, Yamaguchi was going to despise him for leaving this team in his capable hands when the year was through, Ennoshita feeling a migraine beginning to build as he made his way over. Where was Yahaba or Shirabu? He’d pray for even Futakuchi to show up to offer at least some form of assistance in dealing with the would be fight between their teams.

He more than well aware he’s not as intimidating as Daichi, Kenma having pointed this out when the teams met for a practise match a month prior, Ennoshita having simply laughed in response and returned the favour by pointing out that Kenma didn’t quite carry the same presence that Kuroo did. Any remaining tension between them had dissipated as soon as they had spotted Tanaka and Taketora, both huddled in a corner whispering conspiratorially, matching statements of “idiots” slipping out as sighs.

He’s not as intimidating but he can still command presence, hands clamping down on the shoulders of Tanaka and Nishinoya, squeezing tightly as he smiled a little too softly at the gathering who seemed to slowly sink under the weight of it. “I believe you were all returning to your teams, yes?” His tone leaves no room for argument, at least that’s what he hopes, watching with baited breath as they disperse, waiting until they had gone before finally allowing himself to relax.

“They were-”

“You don’t need to tell me.” Ennoshita sighs, cutting off Noya, already knowing that whatever reason they had to get into the fight was, it didn’t need explaining. He trusted his team enough for that. “Just…Just try not to do it again, please.”

---

It’s late on a Tuesday when everything is finally addressed, thirteen days since the incident in Tanaka’s home and thirteen days since they’ve danced around the subject, Ennoshita looking up when he feels someone sit next to him on the bench, surprised to find Tanaka sat there but not at all finding it unwelcomed. “What brings you out here?” Ennoshita asks, dog earring the page he was on and closing his book, cheek resting against his brought up knees and his hand on offer on the chance the Ace wanted to hold it.

“Was looking for the love of my life.” Tanaka states, voice subdued and its unsettling, too used to the confident and boisterous side of him that bellowed across courts and ripped his shirt off in victory. Tanaka is loud, headstrong, a focal point made flesh, he didn’t do quiet moments often, didn’t let his voice drop so low in volume it could barely be considered a whisper. It’s strange but he loves it all the same, a small selfish part of him wishing he’d be the only one to ever here the other like this.

“Did you find them?” He doesn’t try to hide the hope on his voice, too wrapped up in the idea that he might just be what Tanaka was into, be good enough to be the object of his affections even if just for a brief time. He had gained confidence since becoming the Captain, had grown into himself and learnt to become more assertive but the other was able to reduce him back to the shy mess he had been when he was younger like Tanaka was flames and he was made of matches.

Hands find each other, cold and pale meeting warm and tan, the grip loose enough to be comfortable yet firm enough to know it couldn’t be broken that easily. He would have been happy with that, cheeks flushing pink as a hand gently pried his cheek from his knees, calloused thumb brushing over his cheek before lips meet.

It’s brief but that’s all it needs to be, first kiss pressed to the corner of his lips before the second one captures them, the grip on his hand tightening briefly as they pull apart, Ennoshita admiring the flustered look of Tanaka’s cheeks, knowing full well he was in a similar state if not worse.

In his fantasies, he’d pictured Tanaka making any confession into a big affair, loud and unabashed, proclaiming his love for all of Japan to hear like he had with Kiyoko at any given moment. He’d thoroughly embarrass Ennoshita, grinning proudly without a care in the world. He hadn’t pictured it would be quietly, sat on a bench by the school gardens at Shiratorizawa, a fond smile tugging at his lips as he realises that he wouldn’t have had it any other way.

“Yeah, I think I did.”

[crystalas]

Blazing Blue part 2

Chapter 2: So, it’s not a play date?

Pigsy was closing up shop when MK stuck his head around the door sheepishly.

“There you are! I was getting worried, did things with Monkey King run late or something?” he asked gruffly as he put away the last of the cooking pots for the day.

“Well, no…but I got held up by something…hey do we have any leftover noodles?” MK asked trying his best to be nonchalant, Pigsy glanced at him and gestured to the fridge.

“I know how hungry you get after your training sessions” Pigsy exclaimed, and raised an eyebrow at MK who was smiling a bit too broadly and looking…twitchy which was never a good sign. “Ok what is it?” he sighed.

“Well… I have a someone who needs to crash somewhere for a while so I was hoping…just for tonight?” MK said ever so sweetly and Pigsy face palmed.

“Ok I really don’t want to ask but I feel I need to, who is it?”

“…Red Son?”

Pigsy stared at him, gave a growl of frustration before rubbing the bridge of his snout to try and elevate the stress headache he can already feel coming on.

“Kid…times like this I really wish this wasn’t based on a children’s cartoon, because what I really want to say to that is not allowed for a kid audience!”

“Oh, but this is a fanfic written by an adult, who really needs to get out more.” MK offered.

“It is? Oh good” Pigsy took a deep breath and then said as calmly as possible “Fuck no!”

“Com’on, he’s is in a bit of a rough spot and needs somewhere to stay! We’re even truce buddies!”

“I never agreed to that term!” Red Son called from outside, MK reached out the door and dragged him in.

“He’s a demon? He is the son of one of your enemies? He tried to turn you into ash countless times? Need I continue to list reason why this is a bad idea??!” Pigsy shouted angrily.

“Look, I know where I’m not wanted, I shall take my leave!” Red Son growled and began to walk back out when MK grabbed his sleeve. “This is pointless he’s isn’t going to let me stay!”

“Damn right I’m not!” Pigsy retorted.

“Last time I checked I own the apartment above the noodle shop so really…” MK said slyly and Pigsy put a hand in front of his face.

“I rent it to you, so don’t even give me that nonsense that you have a say!”

“UGH fine!” MK growled and lead Red Son out of the Noodle shop, only for him to drag him behind the alleyway and use his staff to leap up to his apartment window, gesturing for Red Son to follow.

“You’re seriously going behind your friend’s back for me?” Red Son asked as he leapt up and through the window. MK walked in and started to tidy up the apartment to a more acceptable level of messy as Red Son looked around, last time he was in here he had burnt a lot of stuff. MK must have had to replace many belongings… so why was he this willing to help him?

“Pigsy just needs time to get to know you” MK explained as he got out a spare blanket and laid it out on the sofa. “Umm…is this, okay? I mean I’ve only got the one bed…”

“I may be a demon but even I have good manners when it comes to being a guest” Red Son declared loftily, besides he thought to himself as he sat down, I’ve been sleeping on the floor of our destroyed home for the last few weeks. This is heaven compared to that.

“Don’t worry we’ll find you somewhere tomorrow” MK said as he took off his jacket to get ready for bed and noticed that Red Son had not moved. “Umm…wanna take off your coat and get comfortable?”

Red Son gripped his coat and glanced away.

“Kind of hard to get comfortable in the home of an enemy…” he muttered.

“Now none of that! Remember we are Truce Buddies, I’m not so underhanded that I’d attack you in your sleep” MK declared confidently.

He might though MK suddenly thought to himself as it dawned on him that this could go wrong very quickly.

“Look, do you demons have anything to …I don’t know swear by? Because I’ve just realised this might be a long con or something to lure me into a false sense of security.” MK asked, Red Son sighed and looked up at him.

“It took you this long to think of that scenario? Noodle Boy are you really that naïve?” he demanded angrily but stood up anyway, “Normally I would have sworn on my family name but…given certain circumstances that’s not an option. So, I’ll swear on my flame that I will not do anything to intentionally endanger you or your friends so long as you swear on The Monkey Staff that you do the same!” he held out his hand and a small fire ball appeared and held out the other to shake with, MK took out his staff and took Red Son’s hand and shook it in agreement.

“Right, we are officially Truce Buddies!” MK beamed happily.

“I didn’t agree to that name!” Red Son snapped.

 The next morning Tang walked in to grab his noodles for lunch, Pigsy was dicing up the vegetables to make the first batch for the day but had a fire extinguisher strapped to his back …and Red Son was sitting at a table looking grumpier than usual and also that he looked like he had fought a car wash and lost.

“Ok I feel like I missed something?” Tang declared.

“MK thought it would be a brilliant idea to sneak Demon Boy in for a sleep over, but didn’t take into consideration that fire alarms exist!” Pigsy exclaimed angrily “Now MK is on kitchen clean up duty for eternity for going behind my back and NEARLY SETTING FIRE TO MY BUILDING!!”

“In my defence” Red Son announced “I only sneezed.”

“I ain’t taking any chances Demon boy! You try anything and I’mma hosing you down!”

Tang sat down keeping Red Son in his peripherals and saw MK mopping the floor with an embarrassed look of defeat on his face.

“So, just to acknowledge the elephant in the room…why is Red Son here?” he asked gently.

“Because MK wanted a pet!”

“RED SON IS NO ONE’S PET!” Red Son shouted flaring up as he did so and got a face full of extinguisher foam in his face for his troubles. “WILL YOU STOP THAT??!”

“Okay…and the real reason MK?” Tang inquired as MK came out to mop up the foam for the third time that morning.

“We kind of have a Truce going on.” He said simply.

“That seems…fair I guess?”

“Yeah, well he can go home now cos I don’t want him here disturbing my business!” Pigsy growled and Red Son suddenly hunched over and glared at the wall angrily.

“If this is how you treat your patrons then maybe I’m not the problem!” he growled under this breath. Pigsy gave him a look and then turned back to his stove, he tried to turn it on but…nothing. He tried again and again for a few minutes but still nothing happened.

“Com’on! Com’on you piece of junk!” Pigsy muttered under his breath.

“I keep telling you need a new stove” Tang exclaimed.

“Last time I checked they don’t give them out for free! The freaking lighters are dead I’ll have to…” Pigsy said but stopped as a small fire ball flit past both of them and lit the stove top. They both spun around to see Red Son putting his hand down.

“Uhm…thanks?”

“Don’t read too much into it, I’m just hungry” he said quietly.

Pigsy shrugged and got to work and soon he brought out two bowls of noodle soup and placed one of them gingerly near Red Son, who took it and ate it quietly. After a few minutes Pigsy looked up to see Red Son smiling softly.

“What are you so happy about?” he demanded gruffly.

“Family recipe?” Red Son asked.

“Handed down through the generations. Why?” Pigsy replied cautiously.

“They remind me of this noodle stand I used to go to a lot when I was a child, it was my favourite place to eat back then. I suppose the taste makes me nostalgic” Red Son explained, Pigsy looked at him warily and then back at his photo wall.

“Pull the other one kid, my family started this business on a noodle stand but that belong to my great, great grandfather. You’re not even old enough to be around when this shop opened!”

“I’m a lot older than I look, don’t forget demons count their lifespans in decades not years…in fact if I remember correctly back then photographs were only just becoming a thing and I was there when they took the photo. The guy looked proud as anything of his little noodle stall”

Pigsy spun around and scanned his photo wall, and sure enough there was the photo that was handed down along with the recipes. It was tattered and faded over the years but it still showed the look of absolute pride that Noodle chief had of his livelihood not knowing of what a family business he was about to create. And in the background was a kid with flaming spikey hair sitting at the stall while holding a bowl.

“Wait…that’s you?!”

“Why would I lie about that?”

“And the flavour just as good as Great, Great Grand pappy’s?”

“Even better I’d say”

Tang slammed down his bowl and ran up to Red Son.

“WAIT A SECOND!” He cried in ecstatic glee “You’re immortal??!”

“No…demons can age and die we just live longer. Think of it as reverse dog years” Red Son said a bit put off by this sudden attention of the quiet book worm.

“Then you’ve must have seen a lot in your time!” Tang squealed “I bet you’ve even met some of the other legends throughout the ages!”

Red Son gave a cocky smile and gestured confidently.

“Why yes, I have, though I’ve never spoke to them I have seen many historical figures come and go not to mention the rise and fall of emperors and kings, to be honest it gets a bit boring after a while!” he declared smugly, now enjoying the fact that Tang was practically frothing at the mouth at the idea of questioning a being that probably lived through most of his text books.

“Have you met any of the sages…I mean besides Monkey King?” Tang asked eagerly Red Son’s cocky smile evaporated for a second and his hand wandered up to his neck before shrugging.

“I guess so, but I was very little when that happened…” he said dismissively.

“What were they like?” Tang kept on.

“… …scary” Red Son whispered. “I remember them being very scary.”

“Pardon? I didn’t quite catch that?”

“They were pompous jerks who picked on a little kid, whose only crime was being born okay??” he snapped angrily and stood up. MK who had been watching this from the kitchen walked up quickly to the angry demon before Pigsy had to get the fire extinguisher again.

“Ok maybe we should talk to Sandy about that problem now hey? Pigsy? can I take off now?” the three looked up at Pigsy who was still standing there with a look of blissful glee.

“Good as Great, Great Grand pappy’s” he sighed happily before snapping out of it. “Uh yeah sure seeing as Demon boy didn’t burn down my shop and helped out a little, I guess I can be lenient…but don’t try anything like this again got it??!”

MK saluted and Red Son wiped off the last of the foam from his hair as they left.

“So now what?” Red Son asked.

“We see if Sandy has a spare bed for you…hey were you serious about Pigsy’s family stall thing?”

“Like I said I had no need to lie about it.”

“And you’re seriously like…really, really old?”

“I’m still a child compared to others of my kind but yes”

“Why do you look human?”

“What’s with all the questions?”

“It’s just, except for your mom and you every other demon I met looked…I don’t know weird.”

“And seriously how often do we get to question a person like you? It’s like interviewing a keshin!” Tang interjected as he walked in between them causing both boys to leap out of their skins and glare at him.

“You will have to excuse me if I don’t want to expose all my family secrets in one sitting with the people who are considered my enemies!” Red Son growled; MK opened his mouth but before he could say anything Red Son held up a hand to him. “Yes, yes ‘Truce Buddies’ I know but just because I am on that agreement doesn’t mean my family is!”

“So, let’s hope we don’t run into Demon Bull King huh?” Tang declared. “Because that would be super awkward for all parties, wouldn’t it?”

“Trust me I doubt my father even notices…and wasn’t the whole point of this ‘Truce Buddies’ thing was to FORGET about my family and your mentor, to just enjoy the day, have fun or whatever happy go lucky idea you suggested?!” Red Son exclaimed angrily “Quizzing me on my family history seems to be a bit off the mark wouldn’t you say?”

“Oh right, right” MK mumbled and rubbed the back of his head.

“Wait…you two agreed to a play date?” Tang asked.

“ITS NOT A PLAY DATE!”  both boys screamed in horror.

As they headed to Sandy’s ship MK was on his phone texting Mai.

“Okay so Mai knows what’s going on and she’s going to meet us at Sandy’s. Also, she’s bringing snacks and her favourite video games so she can … ‘Show red boy how to have a good time, hero style’…” he said as he read the text out. Red Son gave a weary sigh remembering that massive hero speech she had given him while they were getting the peach of immortality. Then to hint at his father with all the subtly of a cannon launched brick through a glass window that he had done “Good hero work” …it took him forever to get over that humiliation.

As he contemplated the fact, he now has to endure her company and she probably will take this “Truce Buddies” agreement as a sign that he is going to become a hero and won’t shut up about it, his train of thought was destroyed as something smacked him on the back sending him stumbling and nearly hitting the pavement.

“HEY!” he shouted looked back, fire ball in hand ready to roast whoever responsible. “HOW DARE YOU TRY TO TRIP UP RED SON??!” but no one was there to enact his rage on.

“You okay Red?” Tang asked.

“…fine I’m fine…must have tripped or something…” he growled. As they walked on, they didn’t see the shadows following them purple eyes grinning in the darkness.

“This got a lot more fun…” Macaque sniggered.

[coffeebeannate]

From This Prompt List

“If a person is destined to have a soulmate in this life, they will find that one of their eyes has changed colour, reflecting the colour of their anticipated soulmate.

For this to occur, the two must be in close proximity to one another (most studies say no less than several miles, but others claim that there have been some variations), and that, upon meeting, the eyes will revert to normal.

In some legendary, and notable cases, the eye colours will remain heterochromatic for the rest of their lives.

Of course, keep in mind that these stories are not always the same, and not every couple has a soulmate status. And that there is nothing less valid about non-soulmate couples.”

“Nicky?”

Nicky looked up, hastily closing the cover over his tablet, “Ah, sorry, can I help you?” 

“The computers broken, again.” His co-worker sounds the most interesting combination of annoyed and sheepish, “Do we have to call tech support?”

“No, no, let me take a look, it’s alright.” Standing up from the desk, “The one we use for catalogue searching?”

“What else?”

He sighs, muttering curses under his breath, “Thing is about as good as a piece of scrap metal, at this point.” Resigning himself to an afternoon tinkering with the world’s most stubborn library resource computer. “It’s alright, go back to work, I’ll let you know if it decides to behave.”

“Thanks, Nicky, call me if you need help.”

“Yeah, yeah no problem” Facing the not-ancient but absolutely useless desktop, “You going to behave, or do we have to fight?”

Predictably, the computer blinks at him, Nicky sighs again and settles before it.

---

It isn’t that Nicky hates his life. Because he doesn’t, and despite what people might think, he’s fairly content. Working full-time as the head librarian might seem like an outdated job, but Nicky’s only 32, and he likes to argue that libraries are a vital part of society. Upgraded as they are, and some facets available entirely online. Besides, he had a degree in the stuff, and plenty of practice.

Andy might’ve had a series of interesting names for his life. His small apartment, three cats, more books and tech than is strictly necessary for a single man to have, and a car that is really a ridiculous thing, but it runs and he loves it and maybe the radio doesn’t work and it has no AC and the heater is also dying, but it’s a good car and he happens to find it charming.

He’s fine.

He’s dated, some one night stands, but nothing sticks.

“Are you reading that book again?” Andy asks, when she catches the soulmates book opened up on his tablet for what is definitely not the 10th, 12th, let’s not talk about it time.

“I think it’s comforting,” Nicky retorts, catching her look of disbelief.

“You know that in most cases, that shit’s a load of crap, yeah? Quynh and I have been married for eight years, no issue. She’s my soulmate, magical eyeballs aside.”

“I know I know..I just think it’s sweet.”

Nicky does not tell her that, for the last six or seven months he’s been glued to the damned thing. Everything feels antsy. He’s not an anxious man at all. His life has never felt empty, nor hollow. And yet, a few months back everything started feeling weird. Like he just couldn’t settle. Bee’s beneath his skin. Ghosting sensations across his scalp. Tingles.

He’d casually mentioned it during his yearly physical, but the doctor determined nothing out of sorts physically, and Nicky had been delaying calling a psychiatrist.

“Maybe you just need a change of scenery.” Andy suggested, stirring too much sugar into her coffee. ‘Maybe your library is finally getting to you.”

Nicky had declined to respond, but filed it away in the back of his mind regardless.

--

The morning that it happens, Nicky is running late, and doesn’t bother to look in a mirror much beyond ‘brushing teeth and running a comb over hair” before heading into work. 

They’re finally upgrading the useless front computer, and he has to let the techs inside. Meaning he’s supposed to be at work an hour before he’d usually be, fiddling with his keys and muttering apologies as he opens the door fifteen minutes after he was supposed to let them in. Offering to buy them coffee for the troubles.

He’s that sort, after all.

He stands in the early morning crowd rush at the cafe yawning and buzzing, body thrumming with tension he can’t pinpoint, nor understand. It’s ridiculous and by the time he stumbles his way through the unfamiliar order, he feels much like he’s about to explode from it all.

The techs are thankful for their coffees, at least, Nicky tries to do some work in his office, and by the time he finally takes a break from his unsatisfactory work, it’s nearly noon.

There, in the libraries Men’s Room, is when he finally notices it.

His left eye isn’t grey, or green, or blue.

(Or whatever true colour his eyes seem to think they are)

It’s dark brown. So dark Nicky can barely see any other colour to it beyond pupil.

He blinks. Splashes water across his face, scrubs his cheeks.

It’s still there.

He takes a selfie with his camera, and stares.

Still there.

It’s still there after work, and the next day, and the Friday when he meets Andy for their usual after work time at the bar, Andy staring at him.

“So it’s not a contact?”

“No, I don’t wear contacts, or glasses! You know that.”

“You think your flowery soulmate shits legit then?”

“What else could it possibly be, Andy?”

Andy studies her beer, for once, she has no answer.

---

It is an extremely boring Wednesday morning when Nicky scrolls through his emails and finds something that bothers him for absolutely no reason at all.

It’s from one of the other departments, and it’s about the national art show being hosted at their oh so esteemed library. Nicky’s library is a popular venue because the building is historic and has a nice receiving room.

That’s not what bothers Nicky. He looks forward to this show. And it’s the first time he’d be in charge of much of it since becoming head librarian some eight months back, but no, it’s the shows headline artist that is prickling at him for yet again, reasons he can’t discern.

Nicky scrolls past the necessary details, but keeps going back to the beginning.

Headline Artist: Mixed Mediums. Classics with a Twist. Yusuf al-Kaysani

Nicky saves the email.

Again, no reason at all.

--

“Do you think it means anything?” He asks Andy and Quynh while four beers in and sitting on their couch.

“Some artist’s name you’ve never even met or heard of?” Quynh snorts, ‘Yep, definitely cracked some universal secret code there Nicky.”

He sighs, “Hand me another..”

Maybe they’re right.

Maybe he’s being ridiculous.

--

“Sorry, are you uh,,Nicky..Genova?”

Yes, okay, that does sound odd. But to his credit! He was named  Nicolò thank you very much. His mother had made some comment about classics, traditions, blah blah.

“Yeah! Sorry just let me-”

He’s at the top of a ladder, fiddling with a birds nest, of all things. The outside of the library (again historic building) attracted plenty of them.

“Take your time, I don’t usually yell at people on ladders, on principle and all.”

The voice is nice.

It’s the dumbest thought Nicky has had in his head in months.

“Good practice, that.” Finally gasping the nest, starting to climb down the ladder, “Okay!” When he’s returned to solid ground.

“So, what can I do for-”

Nicky, quite elegantly, forgets how to think. Or breathe. Or do anything appropriately life sustaining like that.

The man before him, nice voice man, his brain helpfully supplies. is..gorgeous. And see, Nicky has SEEN gorgeous men and is nicely partial to them. But this man is gorgeous, attractive and, most distractingly, has one blue-grey-green who actually knows eye, and one dark brown one.

And! Nicky notices, has completely lost his own ability to speak. The two of them seem to amend this moments later by pointing at each other’s face mostly rudely, stunned and confused.

Nicky seems to find intelligent language first, but only manages to say, “..Are you Yusuf al-Kaysani?”

The equally stunned gorgeous man confirms this, and Nicky is quite sure he either faints, or dies.

(He does neither of these things, thank you very much)

“..It’s nice to meet you, Nicky.” Yusuf says, finding actual intelligence far before Nicky does. Nicky just swallows.

--

Their eyes never reverse to their birth states.

Not at the first date.

Not at the proposal.

Nor the engagement party.

Or the wedding.

--

10 years later, Andy remarks that ‘the most romantic bastard she knows’ would indeed, find an even MORE romantic sap, and that they’d have the perfect book romance.

--

Joe’s cleaning out the closet one evening when he finds a well-worn paper back version of the novel that Nicky had read endlessly on his tablet all those years ago.

“Hey babe, you never told me you had a paper copy of this.”

“Hmm?” Nicky pokes his head out of the bathroom, “I do? Oh, yeah, it’s a bit worn out.”

Joe flips open the cover of it, peering down into the slightly musty paper, reading aloud and finding his way to join Nicky at the vanity.

~~

“Before reading this book, we must advise and remind that soulmates in this manner are rare, and that there is little scientific study to show a truth. Please do not fret if you never fall into this concept.”

Nicky hums, accepting the arm to his waist, the familiar kiss to his cheek, ghosting along the side of his lips.

“Go on,” Nicky says, casually.

“You know this story, my heart.” Joe chuckles, but continues.

“This rare phenomenon has been observed throughout history..”

[court-of-abs]

Update on “Maybe Tomorrow” [Final Chapter; Chapter 17]

Hello, hello my ducklings. 

It’s been nearly two years since I’ve last been on Tumblr and well over that time since I’ve written anything for my Elorcan fanfic “Maybe Tomorrow.” I actually just finished up reading a Court of Silver Flames and I remembered this page existed. 

As you all might’ve guessed, I never did finish writing that last chapter, or the epilogue, even. And while I no longer intend to finish writing that last chapter now, I decided it would be fun to post what I had written so far as well as a bulleted list for the ideas I had for the epilogue. Please keep in mind two things: this was written over two years ago and I’m not letting myself attempt to edit it (although I did read through it quickly) and there is a potential trigger warning: this chapter covers themes of mental health, therapy, and topics related to it. I’ll also be adding this warning to the previous chapter, as I feel in hindsight I most definitely should’ve included it.

This community and these books were my everything in 2017-2018. I was going through a pretty tough time then, and I am so so happy to say I’m doing much better now despite everything going on in the world. I still keep up with each series to this day (I even cried the BIG tears when I finished Kingdom of Ash) and it will ALWAYS hold a special place in my heart. 

Enjoy!! Let me know what you guys think <3 I miss and love you all, and I hope you’re doing well.

~

Naitivity. To herself, to her problems, to the pain flowing through her veins every step she took. That was why Saturday night had affected her so much.

In the almost nine years since their death, Elide had never acknowledged what had happened. She’d never grieved, barely faltered- she got away with it by not thinking about it, not talking about it. By not accepting the cards the fate had handed her, by turning a blind eye, it became so much easier to pretend it didn’t happen. It became so much easier to pretend she hadn’t changed.

Elide knew now that she wasn’t being strong for it. She was just being naive.

Elide wrapped her arms around herself and leaned forward to rest her head on the steering wheel of her car. She breathed, deeply, taking in the muffled sounds of students walking towards the front of the school- their voices, their laughter.

She smiled, then, thinking about what today was.

Then she frowned, thinking about what today was. The elections and then…

Another breath. In and out, just like the therapist had told her. Elide reached for her school books and swung open the door of her car, stepping out into the heat. She just needed to focus on today, just today.

And then, with the support of her friends, those that cared about her, she’d focus on the next. And the next, and the next…

Elide made it all of three steps away from her car when she ran into Aelin, Lysandra, and Manon standing by the rear of her car, their arms crossed and faces tight.

Elide swallowed and reached for the words she’d been saying over and over in her head for the last 24 hours. They were on the tip of her tongue-

“Manon!” Lysandra’s shout was cut off by Manon barrelling into Elide, pulling her into one of the most suffocating bear hugs she’d ever received. It was exactly what she needed.

“You scared the ever-living daylights out of us” she said into Elide’s hair.

Elide leaned her head on Manon’s shoulder. “I know. I’m sorry.”

Manon shook her head, and Elide watched as Lysandra and Aelin took a few steps forward, readying to pull Manon away should Elide need them to.

“There’s no need to be sorry, but Jesus, Elide, you just… disappeared after Saturday night. No one could get in touch with you all of Sunday, not even Lorcan.” Elide froze at his name. She mumbled another “sorry” into Manon’s shoulder and gripped her harder so that she wouldn’t notice.

“All right, all right” Lysandra said as she gently pried Manon’s arms off of Elide. “Don’t smother her.”

Elide smiled at her. “It’s alright-” and then Lysandra was gripping her in another extremely tight bear hug.

“Hey!” Manon shouted, scowling at Lysandra.

“You had plenty of time with her, it’s my turn now.”

“I got less than a minute-”

“Ladies” Aelin said, stepping between them. “This is about Elide right now, not you.” Aelin stepped towards Lysandra and Lysandra took a step away. 

“Don’t even try, Aelin. You’ll get your turn in a minute.” Elide giggled as Aelin sighed and took a step back.

Lysandra smoothed down the hair on top of her head and said, “Do you want to tell us what happened- after Saturday, I mean. It’s okay if you’re not ready.”

Elide smiled up at her, at all of them, and took a small step forward- Lysandra reluctantly loosened her grip.

“It’s true,” Elide swallowed, “what Maeve said about my parents. That’s all true.” She wrapped her arms around herself, tighter, remembering what Dr. Ren had told her.

“I’ve spent the last nine or so years of my life… in denial. My parents, when they died, they were all I had. I was horrible at making friends, and when Vernon became my guardian, well, you might imagine why he didn’t exactly give me someone to talk to. The SDD tried to get me to talk, to acknowledge what had happened. They worked tirelessly to try and convince my uncle that I needed therapy but my uncle doesn’t really believe in mental illness, of any sort, and I… it was just too much for me,” Elide tried to meet all of their eyes as she talked but the bareness of the moment forced her eyes down to the pavement, “I didn’t talk for almost an entire year after they died. I had no outlet for the pain,” her voice cracked on the word, “the utter pain I was going through. Eventually I learned it was easier to shove it all down. Everyone said that since I was young I would quickly get past it and I took that as meaning that I had to quickly get past it. And so I did everything you’re not supposed to do when trying to grieve about the death of your loved ones.” 

Elide gestured a hand to all of them, “I pushed people away... and I let the mention of the most amazing parents in the world become a trigger for my concealed anxiety and grief. And after Saturday, I couldn’t push it all back down after Saturday. And so nine years of pent up… everything came tumbling out.”

None of them spoke for a moment.

Then: “You talked to one hell of a therapist yesterday, didn’t you,” Manon said. 

Elide let out a nervous chuckle. “Yeah, he set me straight.” Elide said, tracing the lines on one of her textbooks.

“So you’re okay?” Lysandra asked, wrapping her arms tentatively around Elide.

“No” Elide said, “I’m actually far from it. But …” Elide cleared her throat and hastily brushed away a fallen tear. “That’s okay. I know that.” 

“Good” Aelin said. She reached for Elide, then, waving off a pissed Lysandra. “We’re going to be right here while you get through all of it, Elide. Absolutely all of it.”

“Thank you” Elide said, gladly accepting her third bear hug of the day. “And I’m sorry about how I reacted on Saturday, it must have been so scary for all of you. I’m really, truly sorry-”

“Don’t apologize” Aelin said, smoothing down her hair. “You don’t need to. What Maeve did was the definition of malicious, and you didn’t hear it but everyone booed her off stage after Lorcan rushed you out of the room.”

“I’m surprised they didn’t disqualify her from the race after that,” Lysandra said, and then she grimaced. “Gods I can still remember the look on her face-”

“Lysandra” Manon warned, “we all know she’s a bitch, but we don’t need to debate how much of one she is right at this second.”

Lysandra looked down at her feet and mumbled, “Sorry.” 

“It’s okay, really” Elide said. “I don’t mind talking about how much of a bitch she is at all.”

“Oh thank the gods” Lysandra sighed, rushing over to Elide and grasping her hand. “Let’s all go sit down somewhere and discuss this. It’s going to be a lengthy conversation- there is so much bitchy-ness about her that you don’t even know about it.”

“Are we really doing this?” Manon said, raising a single brow. “Doesn’t that make us a bit petty?” A snort from Lysandra.

They all turned to Aelin, but Aelin just shrugged. “What Elide says, goes.”

Manon’s jaw twitched and then she threw up her hands. “What the hell.”

Elide giggled as the four of them linked arms and walked towards the school together. Manon had been right- she had talked to one hell of a shrink yesterday. But she hadn’t just helped her sift through the memories, figure out how to deal with the pain.

Lysandra cackled at something Manon said, and Aelin smiled back at them, unrestrained.

No, she’d also helped her realize how amazing her friends were. And that was best part of all.

~  

If he couldn’t find her before the end of the day- he didn’t know what he was going to do. He just had to talk to her. He just had to know if she was alright.

His feet pounded into the concrete of the school parking lot... (I’m sorry I stopped typing here)

Here’s how I originally outlined the chapter (you can see some changes for when I actually sat down and wrote it):

Chp 17 Summary

Monday morning- day of election results. Elide is a mess. She hasn’t talked to anyone since Saturday night: this includes Lorcan. At school she’s confronted by friends and they’re all worried about her. They make up- Elide opens up to them about it. Lorcan clears things up with Rowan in the parking lot, they walk towards the school together. Then Lorcan comes over and asks to speak with Elide alone- they talk, and Lorcan gives her a new backpack (green like the carpet in the library). Asks if she could take care of Hellas for him- she says yes. They walk into the school hand in hand, knowing what they are and what they could be would have to wait for now.

Chapter Specifics

Outside of School

Elide sitting in her car again, contemplating the weekend. Reflective of first chapter- when she’s sitting there, not sure how things are going to go. 

Walks towards the school in a daze. Aelin & Co waiting for her a few feet from the school. Everyone is tentative but then Manon comes running over and gives Elide a hug. It’s just what she needs.

Elide says she’s sorry and opens up to them about her thought. They all just tell her it’s not her fault for any of it and they’re sorry that happened to her.

Lorcan & Rowan Meeting

Lorcan walking towards Elide when Rowan steps in front of him. The two tersely talk 

Flashback scene of sorts about what Rowan did for him the night before (Cain trying to goad Lorcan into a fight of sorts and Rowan stepping in)

at the end of it the two shake hands and are on good terms again.

Lorcan walks over to Elide and asks to speak with her alone. Bell rings for class to start but Lorcan leads them down a trail to talk.

He’s awkward until Elide leans up and kisses him. She tells him thank you

He gives her the backpack. Elide opens it up to find a copy of A Court of Wings and Ruin, and the picture of her parents protruding from it. 

Lorcan says he wishes he could have made her happy like that. Elide says he did. In the short time they had, he did.

Lorcan asks her to take care of Hellas. She says of course.

Elide leans up and kisses him again and says that she’ll always care about him. And maybe in the future they’ll be something (make sure you don’t rush this!!)

Lorcan starts stuttering and Elide shakes her head. She explains that as much as she cares about him, she knows how much the long distance thing will wear down on them- and that he needs to be his own person when he comes back to her.

Outdoors speakers announce that Aelin and her team had won the election as they approach the school building.

Elide walks into the school with Lorcan, prepared for the day ahead. And the next. And then the next, and the next…

Epilogue

I actually don’t have any notes for this (I THOUGHT I DID I’M SORRY) but I think I had it so that they bump into each other at Terrasen University or something like that and they start as friends but eventually begin dating and then get married in the library and the last scene is them at their spot in the library in their wedding apparel just holding each other (because I’m sappy like that)

Thank you all, again. Writing this was a pleasure and I could not have asked for a better community and support group

- Abs

[whatispersonalspacejyp]

SKZ Reaction; How you meet

Genre: Fluff

I changed the theme a bit for Felix’s

Bang Chan

You were a new producer at JYP Entertainment. You were exploring the building, making mental notes where everything was. But you were snapped out of your thoughts when you walked into something. 

“I’m sorry, are you alright?” a man’s voice said as hand lies on your shoulder. “I did’t see you when I opened the door.” The man had an Australian accent. 

“I’m okay, at least I think so.” You looked up at the man, nodding. “Thank god, but I still feel bad. So please I would like it if you joined me to get some coffee. You know as an apology.” The male now showed a smile in which his dimple was shown. “Fine by me. I’m y/n by the way.” “I;m Bang Chan, but you can call me Chan.” 

Both of you walked towards a coffee shop where the start of a new friendship was born.

Lee Minho

You worked in an animal shelter, for a in-service training period and of course for earning money. 

You were checking the cats, feeding them when the doorbell rang (you know those ones which ring when the door opens). A young man looks around the shelter as you walked to the counter. “Hello sir, how can I help you?” 

The male smiled. “Hello, I would like to adopt a cat please.”  you made a motion to the man for him to follow you to the back where the cats were. “Sir did you have any kind of idea what for cat you would like?” The male shook his head. “Feel free to look around and ask me questions, I still have to feed some of the cats.”

The male was there for nearly half an hour until he found a kitten. “Miss, I think I found my match.” You stood up and walked to him and the cat. “Ah, the kitten doesn’t have it’s parents anymore. It’s a sweet kitten. Please walk with me to the counter to fill in the application form and I’ll get the kitten.” 

The male filled in everything and payed as I handed him the kitten. “I’m curious sir, do you have a name already?” “I have, the name Dori. Also please call me Minho, miss y/n. Cause I will be here more often.” The young man said and then left the store. 

Seo Changbin

You were a trainee at JYP, you already were sorted into a new group. JYP decided they wanted a co-ed group. Today was a evaluation day with the sorting of position in the group. You were a rapper, together with your best friend. 

As you were preparing, JYP and some other idols walked in. “Hello, are you ready for the evaluation?” your whole group nodded. “With me I have Changbin from Stray Kids, Yugyeom from Got7 and Nayeon from Twice. Their going to help me and you go get better with your positions.”

You were chosen as last to perform. As nerves settle in you got a feeling of nausea, but quickly dismissed it when you walked in front of them. You had chosen the song Bermuda Triangle from Zico. You got the feeling that everything went alright, but the faces in front of you said otherwise. “You are an amazing rapper, I say main rapper.” the others next to JYP nodded too. Until Changbin spoke. “How about a collab. I like your raptone, I’m sure that we could make a great song.” You quickly said yes, and that was the start of a great friendship.

Hwang Hyunjin

You have been a backup dancer for a while, and you were assigned to Stray Kids official backup dancer. Right now your whole squad where with DanceRacha learning the new choreo for their new song. 

You kept on stumbling and messing up nearly more then half of the times. You had never heard your name being called this many times. “Y/n, you’re not doing it right again. You bring us and the team down, I swear if you don’t have it by tomorrow, I’ll kick you off the squad.” Minho yelled, while the rest were either looking at you in sympathy or annoyed. “It’s no use for you all to go further. Since y/n screws up everytime. So go and pack your stuff, we’ll see you tomorrow. And y/n I mean it, step up your game otherwise your dead.” With that everybody left except for Hyunjin. 

“I’m sorry for Minho-hyungs behavior. He’s just tired, I’ll learn ya the whole song okay? I play the song, you dance and I’ll help you get it correctly.”

Nearly the whole evening the two of you were dancing and fixing the choreo. Around midnight, Hyunjin left. While you stayed until the wee hours. You even fell asleep in the practice room only to be woken up in the morning by voices. You realized what happened and decided to play it out as if you just arrived and were practicing.

You danced the whole routine perfectly, it even made Minho smile. “I’m sorry about yesterday. You did great.” Both Hyunjin and Felix smiled at you, while Hyunjin walks to you and hugs you. “You did it, Friend.”

Han Jisung

Your parents forced you too study in Malaysia at the R.E.A.L International School. Since you were a new student, it wasn’t that easy to find your classroom for the first period. Luckily some other students were so nice to help you around the place. 

As you walked into the classroom, the students were already there and so was the teacher. “Hello, I’m the new student.” The teacher stood up and walks in front of the class. “Class, we have a new student.”

“Hello, I’m y/n.” The teacher smiled. “Welcome, you can take place next to mr. Han, please raise your hand.” A boy in the last row raised his hand and you went to the place next to him. 

“Hello, I’m Peter Han, or Han Jisung. What ever suits you.” He held his hand out for a handshake which you took. “Don’t worry y/n, I’ll stay with you as a friend. So you don’t get lost or lonely.”

Lee Felix 

You two were friends since birth, all the fold of your mothers being best friends. Now the two of you were laying on Felix’ bed watching a movie. 

It was clear to you that Felix mentally wasn’t in the room. “Lix, what are you thinking about?” He keeps his mouth and wraps his arms around your body. “You know your my best friend right?” You felt confused by his words. “Yes?”

Felix let out a deep breath. “I want to ask you to prom.” He said bluntly, which clearly shocked you. “Uhm, sure. I didn’t have a date yet, so your luckily.” You joked, but Felix wasn’t smiling. “What’s wrong?” 

“After graduation I leave. I’m going to South Korea to pursue a music carrier. You know like those Kpop idols. I auditioned for JYP Entertainment and got accepted.” The aura of the bedroom was a feeling of sadness and happiness at the same time. “Lix, I’m happy you got accepted and sad since your leaving me here.” The both of you joked for a while until Felix’ mom yelled that dinner was ready.

Kim Seungmin

You were an Idol, and the sister of Brian, aka Young K from Day6. Today you were going to visit your brother at the Entertainment. Security let you through as they stopped the fansites. As you walked through the wall of JYP Entertainment you realized you were a bit lost. 

Seungmin was walking through the halls of the entertainment for a reason he didn’t even know. He was listening to your solo songs, as he was a fan of you. He walked around the corner and saw a female standing there. When he looks closer he realized that he sees his favorite female solo artist. He walks up to you shyly. “Hello, What bring you here.” He bows.

You in the meantime nearly got a heart attack since you didn’t hear the boy coming towards you. You saw the face and also bowed. “I’m searching for the room Day6 is in. Wait aren’t you in Stray Kids? Seungmin?” Seungmin nods, feeling joy wash over him. “I know where they are, I’ll bring you there.” The both of you were talking the whole way to the band room. “Y/n, can I maybe ask for a photo?” You smiled at his cuteness and nodded. “Seungmin, text me sometime. You seem like a nice friend.”

Yang Jeongin

You have been a Stay since Stray Kids debuted. Right now you back in your hotel from the concert. You sat on the bed clearly still enjoying the concert even if it was over, that was until you could hear a voice outside of the door. 

So you did the thing that sounded the best for you, that was opening the door. To your surprise a face which you recognized stood in front of you in confusion. “Sorry, I but this is my room.” You looked at Jeongin in shock. “No, I booked this room, I have proof.”

You went inside again to grab the information that this was your room. Jeongin still stood by the door, looking inside too see if his luggage was in there. You walked back to Jeongin and showed him the info. “Oh... Then I don’t know where my room is.” He looks confused and overall very awkward. “I can help you look for it. I don’t mind.” The young boy looks uncertain at first but still accepted the request. 

After searching for a while and not finding the room, the two of you went to the reception to ask. Fortunately they could tell exactly in which room he needed to be. You walked with him to the room. “Wait for a second, I want to repay you.” Before you could say anything he walked in the room and with a few minutes later walked out again and handed you a note. The both of you bid farewell as you walked back to your room, reading the note.

‘Hi Stay,

I know that you knew me, I saw the lightstick on the nightstand. I want to repay you with some coffee, so here’s my number, text me.

xxx Jeongin’

Gifs go to their rightfull owners!

[chipper9906]

Hello, Stranger

WARNING: SPOILERS FOR SEASON 15 EPISODE 18 ‘DESPAIR’ AND SEASON 15 EPISODE 19 ‘INHERIT THE EARTH’

Pairings: Castiel/Dean Winchester

Rating: General Audiences

Word Count: 6,201

Status: One Shot - Complete

Summary/Preview

The man above him was panting heavily, wheezing for breath through pained grunts, and usually, Dean would find some comfort in knowing he at least got a few good licks in.

Instead, all he could do was drop his head back into the carpet with gritted teeth. Great. He was Dean Winchester; He had taken on monsters that most believed to be fairy tales, he had taken on Lucifer, he had taken on God. Hell, he had even killed Hitler.

And now he was about to be killed by some goddamn junkie that had broken into his apartment.

Fan-friggen-tastic.

* * *

A post episode/ post season fix it fic because my heart hurts and I needed some happiness.

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                                                            * * *

Dean Winchester is a homeowner.

Well, he signed a contract that lets him rent a shitty, musty, one-bedroom apartment that has questionable stains on the carpet and the lingering smell of weed soaked into the walls, but it’s his. It’s also situated between a few bars and a pizza place that serves the best damn meat lover’s pizza he’s ever tasted in his life, so y’know. Silver linings.

The off-yellow, fluorescent light of the fridge hums obnoxiously at him, lighting the two last bottles of beer he has sat snugly in the corner. Dean pulls one out, grumbling to himself as he pats at the chipped kitchen counter for the bottle opener. He flips the cap off with a flick he has done many times, chucking the cap somewhere to the side (he swears he’ll throw them away later) and flopping down onto his couch with a groan.

His phone shrills at him from within his jean’s pocket and Dean throws his head back with an exasperated sigh. This was what he signed up for, after all. He just didn’t know how Bobby did it. The whole ‘normal job whilst also acting as an information source for the hunter network’ crap. If it were up to him, he’d just do the ‘hunter network’ stuff. You know, what actually matters. But he’s too old to be living out of motels which were paid for with fake credit cards and cash from hustling, so he has to do it the legal way. That’s not to say the apartment is a huge step up from the usual dumps he and Sammy used to stay in when on the road, but still. It’s his place.

Relief floods through him when he finally yanks the phone out of his pocket and sees Sam’s name plastered across the screen. Looks like he was free from hunter duties for a while yet.

“Heya Sammy,” Dean greets him the second he has the phone to his ear, his smile practically audible through the phone. “Is this an ‘another apocalypse’ phone call or…?”

“No, you jerk,” Sam chuckles down the phone. “It’s a regular phone call. You know, that thing normal people do when they check up on family?”

Dean nearly snorted into his beer. “Yeah, well, we’re far from normal, Sammy.”

“Funnily enough, I’m aware of that. But this is as close to ‘normal’ as we’re going to get. It’s the best we’re going to get.”

Dean hummed thoughtfully, swallowing down a mouthful of beer. “Yeah? Tell that to the dumbass newbie at work who decided he didn’t need to put the oil cap back on after changing the oil… oil everywhere Sammy. Everywhere. I can hack off vampire heads all day, but dealing with people? It’s a nightmare, Sam.”

“You’ll get used to it,” Sam assured him. “We’ll get used to it. It’s… Dean, you know how nice it is to hear you complain about work? Hearing ‘my co-workers a pain in the ass’ instead of ‘there’s a Were on my tail, bring the silver’ is something I never thought I’d get to experience.”

“Were on my tail? Wow, great pun there Sam…” Dean mumbled into the phone, getting a half-amused half annoyed snort from his brother. “Maybe one day I’ll go full ‘Bobby’. Get a cabin out in the middle of nowhere, open up my own mechanic shop… though, doubt I could go back to the old way of looking up the lore… Hey, they do satellite internet, right?”

Sam had suddenly gone very quiet. Dean raised his eyebrows as he waited for his brother's response, the white-noise from the other end of the line the only reassurance to Dean that the line hadn’t gone dead.

“Uh… yeah. Yeah, I think that’s something you could get set up.” Sam finally answered. “But… you know you can do all that without the whole ‘hunting network’ thing, right? That is still an option-,”

“I know, Sam,” Dean cut off his little brother abruptly. “I know that’s an option. And maybe one day I’ll realize just how old and broken down I am and accept that. But-,”

“But you won’t,” Sam sighed subtly.

“Maybe one day,” Dean repeated softly. “I just… I don’t think I’ll ever be able to quit cold turkey, Sam. I just… I need to do something.”

“Have you been on any hunts?”

Dean shrugged his shoulders, forgetting that Sam couldn’t see him. “Eh, a few. No solo hunts, before you panic. There was a hunter going through town, uh, Jason White? Hadn’t heard of him before, but-,” Dean huffed quietly in laughter. “-He sure as hell heard of me. Seems the Winchester name still has its rep around the hunter community.”

“I can never tell if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.”

“Dude was giddy to work with me, so I’d say it was a good thing.” Dean took another swig of beer. “And that’s when they don’t even know we kicked God’s ass!”

“Jack kicked God’s ass,” Sam corrected him. “We got our asses kicked by God.”

“Yeah, but… we needed to get Chuck to beat us up for the plan to work, so… I think it’s fair to say we brought down God.”

“Depending on who you tell that to, you might end up being flayed rather than hailed as a hero.”

Dean paused with the bottle of beer to his lips. “Point taken… maybe it would be better to keep it to ourselves.”

“Probably,” Sam agreed with a chuckle.

“How ‘bout you, Sammy? How’s college life treating you? Again?”

“It’s…” Sam was about to do the usual ‘everything’s great’ spiel, but something about Dean’s inquiring tone made him pause. “… it’s more difficult than I’d thought. I don’t know, maybe I should have had some kind of buffering time between, try and adjust a little before going back.”

“I can imagine.”

“Back then, I felt like I belonged in college, you know? I felt… on par with everyone around me, but now? I stick out like a sore thumb.”

“Yeah? Well, you are an old man amongst eighteen to twenty-year old’s.”

“Thirty-seven isn’t old, jerk. Plenty of people go back to college when they’re…”

“…older?” Dean finished his sentence with glee.

“Shut up.”

Dean laughed smugly at his brother’s annoyed grumbles, though he quickly pulled himself back together. “Seriously though Sammy, I… I hope you know I’m proud of you for this. I know it’s not exactly what we – what I imagined, but… I’m glad to see you living out the life you set out for yourself. I know I wasn’t supportive of you when you first left for college, and I know it’s gonna be tough for you. But if you can go up against God and win, I’m sure you can pass your bar exam.”

“Thanks, Dean.” Sam’s voice sounded a little choked. “How are you doing, anyway? I didn’t really ask.”

“Living the dream, Sammy. Living the dream.” Dean answered dryly, staring sombrely at the last dregs of beer in the bottle and wondering whether it’s worth grabbing the last bottle from the fridge. Future Dean will hate him if he does…

“Seriously, Dean.” If Sam’s voice was anything to go by, he had the puppy dog eyes on full effect right now. “How are you? You okay? I know it’s been hard since… since…”

Dean swallowed hard, letting his eyes flutter shut and his head lean back against the couch. “No, Sam. I’m pretty damn far from okay. And I’m not sure if I ever will be, but… I’ll learn to cope.”

“Dean, it’s… don’t be afraid to ask for help with this kind of stuff. I know it’s a bit unconventional when it comes to our lives, but-,”

“A bit unconventional?” Dean spluttered. “Sam, how the hell would I go about explaining any of this to a shrink, huh? ‘Hey, I had the literal Death trying to kill me, and one of the few people I love sacrificed himself to save me by telling me he loves me.’ Yeah, I’m sure that’ll go down a-,”

“What did you just say?” Sam interrupted in a quiet, shocked voice. “Dean, you… did Cas say-,”

“I’m not talking about that, Sammy.” Dean’s tone left no room for argument.

“Cas was my friend too you know, Dean,” Sam argued back, his voice understanding but digging too much for Dean’s liking. “I know you don’t like talking about this, but-,”

“No, Sam. I don’t like talking about it.” Dean snapped curtly.

“But-,”

“Cas was my Eileen, Sam.” Dean could hear Sam’s mouth snap close, the stunned silence on the other end of the phone too loud in Dean’s ear. “And I know you sure as hell don’t like talking about her. I had to… Fuck, do you have any idea, Sam? I never let myself think about it, about what Cas was to me. He could be a stubborn bastard and hard to read at times, and this whole damn time, he loved me and… he never told me. All this time he’d been holding that to himself and he just… I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t say anything. He was just gone, and I…”

“You loved him.”

It wasn’t a question. Dean squeezed his eyes shut at Sam’s words. “Yeah. Yeah, I did. And he never got to know. He never heard me say it.”

Dean ran a tense hand through his hair, pulling at the strands with a pained grimace. “I still see him sometimes, Sammy. I feel like I’m going crazy. I’ll see a flash of him in a crowd, see that stupid tax-accountant get up of his out of the corner of my eye, and… I keep telling myself he’s gone, that I need to move on.”

“You will, Dean. Sometimes, after… after Jess, I’d see her, too. Grief does strange things to the mind.”

“Yeah, I know, but… I can’t help but think about when I lost him in purgatory. When I kept seeing him, back then, and… all that time, he was trying to reach out to me.”

“This isn’t like then, Dean.” Sam’s response was like a punch to the chest. “Cas was in Purgatory. When he was trying to contact you, he was back on Earth, right? Cas is… he’s in the Empty. The only being with enough power to get him out was Jack, but-,”

“But Jack’s not gonna be hands-on,” Dean said miserably.

“Right…” Sam replied with a sigh. “I’m sorry, Dean. I wish it was Cas, you know I do, but… he’s gone.”

“I know. I know that, Sammy. I’m not denying he’s gone, I just… I miss him. Guess I always assumed we’d win this thing together, you know? ‘Paradise on Earth’ and all that.”

“I don’t even know what Cas would have done after all this,” Sam said with a mild tone of amusement. “After meeting Cas, it felt like we had to stop one apocalypse after the other.”

“Poor guy never really got to catch a break,” Dean agreed sadly. “Maybe I could have trained him up to be a proper hunter, just like he wanted. Or… maybe he would have flown home.”

“Home?”

“Yeah, y’know; Heaven. If the other winged dicks let him back in, that is.”

“Dean… I don’t think ‘Heaven’ is Cas’ home. At least, it hasn’t been for a while, anyway. If Cas was still here, well… whatever he decided to do next, I can’t imagine anything that didn’t involve being by your side, Dean.”

 * * *

The later into the night it got, the more tempted Dean was to break out the bottle of whisky he has hidden under his cupboard for ‘emergencies only’.

The only saving grace was that Dean had the day off tomorrow, so it’s not like he had to worry about work. Tonight was just going to be… one of those nights. Getting off the phone with Sammy always left him feeling bittersweet; happy to hear his brother’s voice, but the reminder that he was so far away only worsening the dull ache he felt in his chest that he could only fix by drinking until everything went black and numb.

‘THUMP’

Dean was upright from his bed in seconds, fingers curling around the comforting grip of his pistol under the pillow. The sound hadn’t come from his room, rather somewhere else in the apartment – the living room, perhaps? The kitchen? He slowly peeled off the covers, untangling them from his legs and stepping softly onto the dusty carpet, thankful it would mute his footsteps.

Dean cautiously approached his closed bedroom door, placing his ear up to the door and straining his hearing. Nothing. For a moment, he wondered if he had simply imagined the noise, his emotional and exhausted mind caught between sleep and lucidity, conjuring up a sound to distract him.

Maybe, if Dean were a normal person, he’d have waved it off and headed back to bed. Hunter's instincts are hard to shake off though, and not checking the apartment simply wasn’t an option. Sure, he had thrown up all the usual sigils in the apartment the second he had moved in (and likely ruined any chance of getting his deposit back), but you never know.

Dean clasps his free hand around the rounded doorknob, painstakingly turning it until he hears the ‘click’ of the lock, wincing at how loud the usually quiet sound felt in the silence of the room. Dean swings the door open slowly, peering out of the room and into the pitch-blackness of his apartment. He can barely make out the shadowed outline of his furniture, lit up only by the muted lights of passing traffic peeking in through the partly opened blinds.

Dean takes a single step out into the living room when a hand clasps around his shoulder.

He whirls around in an instant, knocking off the assailant’s arm and lifting his pistol to aim. The gun is wrenched out of his hands in an instant, the unexpectedly strong pull nearly sending him tumbling straight into his attacker. Dean hears his gun clatter to the floor, and he throws a punch out of instinct, feeling his knuckles connect with the strangers’ jaw. There’s a pained grunt from the man, definitely a man by his posture and deep, surprised groan of pain, and Dean jabs out his fist again before the man can counter. His fist lands squarely in the man's gut and Dean knows by the sound the man makes that he had just had the wind knocked out of him.

Dean’s next hit isn’t as successful, the man catching Dean’s fist mid-swing and twisting him away, pushing him forward until his chest hits the wall with a resounding ‘thud’. Dean grimaces at the pressure against his back and arm, kicking out a leg backward and feeling it connect with the guy’s knee. It buckles, the pressure on his back gone and Dean takes the advantage, spinning around and shoving the guy hard. He sees the blurry black figure go sprawling backward, slamming into the wall opposite with another pained grunt. Dean scrambles to the floor in search of his gun, blinking rapidly in an attempt to adjust to the darkness of the room. He just about catches a glint of metal, reaching for the gun before it’s gone again, kicked out of sight by his attacker. Dean growls in frustration, jumping to his feet as fast as his body will let him. It seems he isn’t as fast as he once was, the man grabbing him by the arm and slamming him back down to the ground before he can even blink.

His back hits the floor hard, the air leaving his lungs in one giant ‘whoosh’, dust erupting from the unkempt carpet under him. His attacker had clambered over him, the heavy pressure he felt on his wrists surely the man pinning him down, the weight on top of his legs surely that of the stranger. His head was spinning, vision blurry from the dark, and the hit to the back of his head when he landed. The man above him was panting heavily, wheezing for breath through pained grunts, and usually, Dean would find some comfort in knowing he at least got a few good licks in.

Instead, all he could do was drop his head back into the carpet with gritted teeth. Great. He was Dean Winchester; He had taken on monsters that most believed to be fairy tales, he had taken on Lucifer, he had taken on God. Hell, he had even killed Hitler.

And now he was about to be killed by some goddamn junkie that had broken into his apartment. Fan-friggen-tastic.

“Hello, Dean.”

His heart stops. Pauses, for just a moment. When it kicks back into gear, it's with a hard, resounding thump. The voice was gruff, grated, that of a man who had either smoked ten packs of cigarettes a day or had had his vocal cords shredded apart. It was familiar, like coming home, and he wants to scream to the Universe how fucking cruel it is for him to be losing his mind like this, that it was bad enough to be seeing him, but to be hearing him too?

Unless…

He squirms underneath the man’s grip, his shallow, quick intakes of air a sure sign of an approaching panic attack. To Dean’s surprise, the man's grip slackened, and he let Dean scramble up to his feet. Dean stumbled back into the wall as the man smoothly got to his feet, stood there silently watching Dean panic as he slapped his hand against the wall, searching for the light switch. Dean’s hand passes over the smooth cool plastic of the panel, and he smacks down hard on the switch.

The light bursts to life, bathing the room in that sickening bright white. It’s blinding - as if lightning had struck inside his apartment. Dean still has his hand glued to the light switch; his gaze glued to the stranger stood opposite him.

Except, that was no stranger.

There’s a thin trail of blood slipping down a split lip that’s curved up into a subtle smile, blue eyes glossy with unshed tears that are scanning up and down Dean like he can’t quite believe he’s there. His chest is still heaving with exasperated breaths from their scuffle and he’s holding himself awkwardly, one leg taking more of his weight than the other – likely a result of Dean’s attempt at defending himself.

“Cas? Cas, is this… is that really you?” Dean’s voice is breathy, uncertainty laced in every word.

“I spent the whole drive over here thinking about what to say when I saw you,” Castiel said. “And now all I can think is how I should be scolding you for not checking to see if I’m a shifter or a demon first.”

Dean blinked owlishly at Cas, the shock mixed with the adrenaline sending his brain into overdrive. Cas’s shy smile widened briefly for a moment, barely wincing at the sting of his split lip being pulled.

“Actually, I… I was worried for a moment that I had been told the wrong address and had broken into someone else’s residence. But then you were pulling a gun on me and it seemed a bit too late to ask, so I-,”

Dean rushes forward before Cas can finish his sentence, throwing his arms around Cas’s shoulders and burying his head into his neck. He’s fully aware his hands are shaking, scrunching up the back of Castiel’s trench coat so tightly that he can feel some threads popping loose under his fingers. Castiel’s hands were wrapped around his back in return, squeezing Dean close with all his worth, eyes squeezed shut in content with his head nestled next to Dean’s.

When Dean pulls away, it’s to hold Cas at arm’s length and just… look. Take him all in. To savor the warmth of Cas’s under his hands, to drink in the smile he never thought he’d get to see again. Because there’s a part of him that still doesn’t know if this is real, and he wants to take the time to memorize the feel of Castiel in his arms.

“You, uh…” Dean says somewhat awkwardly. “You need a drink?”

 * * *

Dean’s been staring at Cas for way too long then is socially acceptable now.

He’s perched on what Dean knows from experience is an incredibly uncomfortable bar stool at the end of the kitchen counter, the beer Dean had offered him pressed against his split lip from their, um… reunion. Dean tapped his fingers against the cool glass of whisky he held, watching Cas as his eyes scanned curiously around the apartment, and Dean starts to feel guilty for not keeping on top of the cleaning as much as he should. In his defense, he wasn’t exactly expecting company.

“How… how are you here, Cas?”

“I had to hot-wire a car that had been left parked in a desolate road near a field in Illinois. In my defense, it seemed rather neglected, so I doubt it’ll be missed. It was quite difficult finding you actually, your number no longer worked and I had to visit many, many bars to find some hunters who had some knowledge on your whereabouts-,”

“Cas, that’s… that’s not what I’m talking about. I mean how are you here?”

Castiel pulled the bottle away from his lip, placing it down delicately on the countertop. The signature frown was back on his face, along with the cocked head that Dean found much too endearing. “Dean, have you not noticed?”

Dean followed Castiel’s hands to where he had placed a finger on his split lip, wincing when he pressed down a bit too hard.

“What? That I greeted my best friends return from the dead by giving him a beating? Yeah, I kinda noticed.”

Castiel sighed quietly, and Dean grinned at the exasperation. “Have you not noticed that it hasn't healed?”

Dean frowned at him in confusion. “Oh. Why haven’t you…?”

It finally clicked.

Dean sat up straight as it hit him; looking to the split lip, to the bruise that had already begun forming on the edge of Cas’s jaw, to the way he held out his leg at an odd angle like it was bothering him.

Almost as if…

“You’re human?”

“I believe so, yes. My grace was… warped. It’s been through a lot, through the fall… but… I believe it had been different from the very start. Chuck was right, in a way. I was ‘the angel with a crack in his chassis’. Maybe that’s why I was the only one. Out of all the other me’s that exist… I was the angel that began to feel. The angel to fall in love with the righteous man. Angels aren’t supposed to love, you see. Emotions are seen as distractions. Emotions were thought only possible to humans because of one thing.”

“Souls,” Dean answered for him.

Castiel nodded. “Dean, do you understand what the Empty is? What happens to us? It’s… it seems almost peaceful when you think about it. To spent eternity just… sleeping. But we don’t sleep. We dream. We dream of all that we regret. For most angels and demon’s, they have only one regret; their death. What they did wrong to meet their end, tortured endlessly by that mistake. I didn’t dream of my death though, Dean. My death was no mistake. Instead, I dreamt of you. I dreamt of all the times I let you down, of all the things I should have done or said but never did. Angels aren’t supposed to do that, Dean. Those aren’t the regrets soldiers of God are meant to have.

“The Empty isn’t a complicated being. It’s… it’s nothingness, and it wants to exist as nothingness. Billy made it promises she wouldn’t keep, keeping it awake when all it wanted to do was to return to sleep. So when it had dragged us into that place, when I fell into that sleep… perhaps it assumed it would be able to return to sleep. But my dreams, my regrets… they weren’t of the type that any another being in the Empty had. My grace wasn’t settling, it was… it was like an animal in a cage, it was…”

“It was keeping the Empty awake.”

“The Empty wanted me to suffer. But in doing so, it was suffering itself. It didn’t understand why; I didn’t understand why. Why my grace. What made it different? It wasn’t until I had been spat back out here; when the Empty had figured it out before me that I realized. It wasn’t my grace, Dean. It wasn’t grace at all, not anymore. I’m… I’m still not sure how it happened, whether it had been happening for a while, if it was the reason my grace had been diminishing over the years, or… if maybe Jack had a part to play in it, or… or if it was just myself. If me falling for you, to be the first angel to do that… maybe it’s something that could happen to all angels.”

Dean had never been more confused in his life. “What are you talking about, Cas?”

“My grace was changed, Dean. An angel’s grace, it’s a source of power, a piece of God himself; just like a soul. I’m not just an angel who has lost his grace, Dean. My grace is still here, just changed. Adapted. I’m human in every sense of the word.”

Dean knew what Cas was getting at, but he couldn’t quite believe it himself. “…You have a soul?”

“I have a soul,” Castiel confirmed, giving Dean a watery smile. “Humans were not meant to exist in the Empty. It’s not something the Empty has ever had to deal with - emotions. The Empty is a powerful being. It can tear into your mind, to know all that makes you suffer. But a soul? It doesn’t know how to approach that. It doesn’t know how to make it quiet.”

“So… so what does that mean now for you?”

“It means I’m here,” Castiel answered simply, his wandering gaze returning to their surroundings.

Dean smiled, glancing down to the whisky in his hand to avoid seeing Castiel’s judgment of his shitty apartment. “Yeah? And what do you think of… here?”

Castiel hummed thoughtfully, taking his sweet time to look around the abysmal contents of the room which Dean knows full well only takes about ten seconds to take in.

“It’s rather small,” Castiel finally gives his verdict. Dean ducks his head with embarrassed laughter, scratching awkwardly at the back of his head.

“Yeah, well… a high-school dropout who has barely any prior job experience and next to no references doesn’t exactly get many calls for interviews.”

“I see,” Castiel replied with an understanding yet sad smile. “Why did you and Sam leave the bunker?”

“Well, after Sammy decided he wanted to give college another shot, and after you and Jack, it was… the bunker was too empty. Too quiet. Too many memories, I guess. And it’s not like I was gonna be hunting like I used to without Sammy…”

“You’re not hunting?” Castiel asked, surprise clearly written across his features.

“Sometimes,” Dean replied with a shrug. “It’s… Sammy wanted another shot at the normal life, and after everything… that doesn’t even begin to cover what the kid deserves.”

“And what about you?” Castiel said with a questioning frown. “What about what you deserve?”

Dean laughed one humorless chuckle. “Cas, I always expected to go out in a blaze of glory. Maybe with Sammy by my side, maybe not, but-,” Dean paused, turning his eyes down. “I didn’t… I didn’t picture a scenario where I lived and you didn’t. I didn’t know what life was going to be like after that, after you… I didn’t think it was a pain I’d have to live with, you know?”

Cas’s calloused hand rests over Dean’s, thumb gently sweeping over his wrist. There’s a sadness and regret to Cas’s gaze, but a comforting smile curled onto his lips. “When I took that deal… a part of me never expected for it to be claimed. I thought the Empty had made some colossal mistake on its part, because… I couldn’t envision a scenario where I’d be happy. A scenario where we beat God and we made it out alive. But then I wondered… I wondered how much the Empty knew of me. It had tortured me with it once, with what I feared and… of who I loved. And Dean, it was almost funny when I realized, when I assumed the Empty had surely made that mistake. It knew what I wanted most, and yet, it was something I could never have.”

“What you wanted?”

Cas’s smile turned sad. “You, Dean Winchester. I wanted to know the touch of your lips, of the feel of your skin under my hands… I wanted to know what it would be like to wake up next to you, to be something that brought you some sense of happiness… I wanted to know what it was like to be seen as something more than family, a friend, a brother… I wanted what angels aren’t supposed to want. I wanted your love, Dean Winchester.”

“…Cas-”

“But there was a simplicity to it.” Cas continued before Dean could form the words he wanted to say. “I couldn’t get that happiness because… because I wouldn’t let myself feel it. It was easier to just push it down, to pretend as if this hadn’t been something eating at me ever since I had rebelled. And to just… to just say it. In letting myself feel it, in telling you, in telling myself… that was my own form of happiness. It wasn’t in knowing you felt the same way, it wasn’t that I needed you to say it back… I said it because I needed you to know.”

How did Cas do this? Every time he thought he knew what to say, Cas found a way to rip the words right of his mouth. Dean was thrown through a loop again, his brain brought to a standstill. None of it made sense in his mind. The thought that he was Cas’s happiness, that he had somehow made an angel of the lord love, it was just… why him?

“In a way, the Empty lost,” Cas told him. “It wanted me to suffer. It was cruel, yes, but genius on its part, I must admit. To only take me once I had found happiness on Earth, but… I didn’t suffer as it took me, Dean. To die, knowing you were safe? That I had kept you safe? My mission is and always will be to save Dean Winchester. If my ending was the one where you get to live the life you deserve? Then… that was my happiness.”

Dean huffed, staring down at his whisky, absentmindedly spinning the glass across the counter. “You had found your peace. I get that, Cas, I really do,” Dean stopped spinning the glass, eyes flickering up to meet Cas’s. “But if you think the life I deserve is one that didn’t have you in it, then…”

Dean chuckled dryly, taking a small sip of his drink, welcoming the burning sensation that crawled down his throat.

“Dean, don’t think I wouldn’t have wanted… this,” Castiel insisted, brows furrowing. “I would have been content to carry on the way we are. I would of course wanted to stay with you, and Sam, and Jack, just as we were.”

Dean licks his lips nervously, tasting the lingering leftovers of his whisky. “And what if I’m not content with that?”

Cas frowned at him, a brief look of panic flashing across his face. “I don’t get what you mean?”

Dean laughs. He can’t help it. They’re small hushed snorts of laughter, dropping his chin down into his chest and shaking his head, his shoulders shaking with every chuckle. “Oh, Cas… We’re both idiots, aren’t we? Biggest damn idiots there are.”

Castiel was only getting more and more confused.

“Cas, what the hell did you think that mixtape meant?” Dean asked once he lifted his head back up. “What did you think that prayer back in Purgatory meant, huh? Both times? When I prayed to you every damn night in that hellhole?”

“I… I assumed-,”

“Assumed… yeah, we both kept making assumptions about the other, huh? You know I’m not great with words, Cas. I’m… I speak better with my actions, you know? But this… you… I didn’t know how to handle the way I felt for you. Calling you my brother was easy because that was a love I knew how to process. It was easy. You knew I cared for you, and I thought that was enough.”

“It was enough,” Castiel assured him.

“No, it wasn’t, Cas,” Dean insisted. “I was too much of a coward to tell you the truth.”

“Dean, you don’t have to-,”

Dean grabbed Castiel by the lapels of his trench coat to shut him up, tugging him forward and damn near dragging him over the counter. Castiel had gone wide-eyed, bracing himself by grabbing onto Dean's arms, keeping him suspended over the counter.

“Listen to me,” Dean stresses the words, keeping his eyes locked with Cas. “You’re not just my best friend. You’re not just my brother. You’re all that and more. You’re not just what I want, you’re all that I need. And I’m telling you this now because I should have told you all those years ago. I should have told you when you told me. I love you, too. You got that? I love you.”

And then Dean kisses the shocked look right off of Cas’s face, just to drive the point home.

It’s far from the best kiss Dean’s ever had. The taste of Castiel’s blood is metallic and tangy under his lips, and he went into the kiss a bit too rushed and hard. There’s definitely a clash of teeth at first, and a kiss was apparently the last thing Cas was expecting as his lips remained frozen in disbelief for some good few seconds. And yet, it was perfect.

Because it was Cas.

It’s not until Dean’s hands frame Cas’s face that he gets a response. His lips move under Dean’s, chapped yet addictingly soft. Dean’s thumb brushes down Cas’s cheek, the burn of stubble against his skin something new, but a reminder that this was Cas. It was Cas’s lips on his. It was Cas’s hands brushing through the short strands of hair at the back of his neck.  It was Cas pressing his body into him, fitting together like two pieces of a puzzle that never thought the other piece would fit.

When they break away, it’s with a surprised “Oh,” from Cas that has Dean shaking quietly with repressed laughter, his forehead pressed against Cas with matching smiles on both men's faces.

“Like I said-,” Dean said softly. “-Idiots. Both of us.”

“I prefer the term ‘fools in love’,” Cas said with a grin. “Still idiots, but we have an excuse.”

“Yeah... yeah, I like the sound of that.” Dean agreed, returning Cas's gentle smile. “So, back on Earth, grace gone – or, changed into a soul. What’s the plan now?”

“Just... live life, I suppose. Experience humanity, of all there is to offer. Grow old...”

“Hmmm,’ Dean hummed in content. “Can you perhaps picture a little cozy cabin out in the woods? Maybe a yappy dog that won’t shut up and is constantly shedding all over the damn place, but you love anyway?”

“I think I could get on board with that... so long as there’s a cat running around that’ll provide the dog with some company,” Cas paused, squinting suspiciously at Dean. “Is there already a dog?”

“Apartment has a ‘no pets' rule. Miracle’s shacked up with Sammy for the time being, keeping the kid sane through exams.”

“...Miracle?”

“Yeah. Y'know, coz she was a miracle.” Dean swallowed nervously, struggling to get the next words out. “And... in this vision of the future... maybe you see yourself growing older with a grizzled, greying green-eyed hunter?”

“...Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“If you really have to ask that question, then I’m afraid I’m going to use to demote you back to ‘idiot'.”

“Wow,” Dean blanched. “Having a soul has made you a sassy dick.”

“You say that like you don’t love it.”

“I deal with it, but only because I love you. There’s a difference.”

Dean’s word elicited a beaming smile from Cas, that toothy smile he so rarely sees from Cas that he knows he’s going to be spending the rest of his life trying to see as often as possible. And really, what else can he do but smile back, just two idiots smiling at each other in a cramped, barely lit kitchen?

“I never thought I’d hear you say it…” Castiel admitted quietly.

“Well, be prepared to hear it until you get sick of it, coz I’ve got a lot of times I should have said it to make up for.”

[onyourzeus]

all alone | kyh

ykcyj ➝ arskyh

title: all alone pairing: kang younghyun (youngk of day6) & you  genre: heavy angst, fictional universe words: 3.7k

inspired by: 50 proof by eaJ (give it a listen if you please, here)  author’s note: this is my first fic in years, feedback appreciated.

content warning: alcohol use, swearing, description of anxiety and loneliness

any requests? check my pinned post if i’m accepting any at the moment, thanks!

It’s not a matter of when, but of how you’re going to stop yourself. They keep saying it heals with time, but no one ever tells you how much time you need to feel completely fine again. 

So, instead of waiting for that moment, you take it upon yourself to numb the pain inside. It’s easier to keep it bottled up, then pretend to wash it away with age-old whiskey taken from a nearly empty cabinet. 

Your friend reminded you to buy anything other than 50 proof alcohol, but that’s what’s left on your grocery list nowadays. 

She’d come by to keep you company, but there’s always an excuse. An emergency meeting, a family gathering, a blind date across town. 

It’s okay, you text her repeatedly. At this point, you’d rather she focus on herself than judge you for decisions affecting your life. 

The moment they get angry at you, it is time to push them away. 

You’re not about to be the reason for another falling out; another heartbreak; another memory turned sour and hard to swallow. 

A big gulp of fiery hot liquid comes into contact with your throat, and you exhale with a wince. Ah, just the way you think you like it. 

But no one’s stopping you, so why not keep going? You haven’t reached your limit yet, even though you’re not sure what that would look like. It’s no matter, though, it’s your apartment— your bathroom floor, your money, and your own fate decided. 

Once the tears trail down your cheek, you have a moment of self-awareness. What are you doing? Glancing at your slippers, sweaty oversized shirt, and frizzy strands of hair sticking out of your head— when exactly did you start looking like this and decided, “Yeah, I feel comfortable in my own skin.”?

You dart your tongue out slightly, tasting salt on the corner of your mouth. It’s wet as the tears keep coming. Tonight’s one of those nights, you laugh sarcastically. 

You’re probably going to play russian roulette with your medicine cabinet tomorrow; you’ll either be lucky and find a couple of painkillers lying around or be reminded of the emptiness that surrounds you. Usually it’s the latter, but maybe you’ll be lucky this time?

You scoff loudly at the idea. Another gulp of alcohol, and it stops the tears momentarily. Just so you can indulge in the sound of your heavy breathing, vision blurring the sight of your kitchen. 

Your phone lights up on the couch, buzzing and emitting a soft light that disturbs the dimness of the room. It can’t be your friend, it was a double date night with her co-worker, or some shit you don’t really care for. Although you remember pieces of memories that include you being in the same exact situation a few months prior;  it’s a bit hazy now, probably due to the alcohol. 

But also because you use what coordinated strength you have to approach the ringing sound. You can’t make up the caller ID which should be the first red flag that you shouldn’t answer the phone. 

You never do when you’re like this, but something inside you just doesn’t care anymore. 

You slide your finger across the screen, fumble through the circles you can make out until a static hum goes off louder than usual. Finally on speaker mode, you put the phone back on the couch as your body drops down on the floor. 

Resting the bottle on your side, you cradle your heavy head against the palm of your hand and exhale a long drawn out, “Heyyyyyyy, who’s this?”

God, you sound horrible. 

You hear nothing but static, and wonder if there never was a call at all. “Is anyone there? Hello? Hello?” You’re starting to get annoyed, grabbing hold of the bottle’s neck and taking a short swig. It causes you to cough, your fist pounding helplessly against your chest.

“What are you doing?” He sounds sad, disappointed, and concerned on the other end. You don’t know who it is, but the knots in his voice deem familiar to you, somehow. 

“Who is this? I’m gonna call the cops on you,” you drawl out, not understanding your own logic. “Why are you calling me at—” you try and check for a watch on your wrist to no avail, so you leave the question at that. 

Hiccuping, you blurt out, “I don’t know who you are.”

“It’s Younghyun. Leehi keeps calling me, asking to check up on you. Did you receive her messages?” 

Frankly, you understood at least two words with his reply. Leehi and messages, immediately you seethe with anger once again. Your friend on the double date texted you? With droopy eyes, you check your notifications, and the caller is telling the truth. 

10 text messages left unread, and none of those words she sent mean shit. 

“Tell her to fuck off.”

“I won’t do that. Where are you? At the bar or in your apartment?” He keeps asking all these questions he doesn’t have the right to in the first place. You feel your face scrunch up in frustration, figuring out who’s so concerned at your well-being so randomly on a Thursday night. 

“I’m not telling you anything. I don’t know you! Please stop bothering me, sir,” your voice cracks in the end, a semblance of fear creeping up onto you. This is why you never answer calls with alcohol controlling your system. 

“It sounds quiet in there, so you’re in your apartment,” he continues, ignoring your nonsensical pleas. “I’m nearby, can you please stay put for another 20 minutes or so? I’m coming to check up on you.” 

“I told you I’m calling the police if you even come near my doorstep!” Your frantic tone causes your body to shiver, welled up tears leaving eyes that start to sting.

 No one has been at your apartment for months; it’s not that they don’t ask. You don’t want them to come in. You don’t want anyone to see how you’ve been when you’re all alone. 

He calls your name on the other end, and again, and again he whispers it like a gentle reminder. A song to soothe your anxious mind, and it works. For a moment, you remember the feeling of comfort and security in the form of arms wrapped around you, and this very same voice to calm you down. 

“It’s Younghyun, okay? Please take deep breaths, you’re okay. You’ll be okay. I’m on my way very soon,” Younghyun instructs. His hushed voice contrasts your shaking whimpers, yet you follow what he says with relative ease. It’s so familiar, fragments of flashbacks filling your mind one after the other. 

“Please unlock the door soon so I can come inside. I don’t have a spare key anymore,” he continues. That’s weird, he always had it to access your apartment whenever he wanted. You were the one to insist on that, too, since he basically lived with you for… a while. 

Reality tries to get in the way of the memories, you block it off for just a little bit more with the last drop of alcohol. It should last you throughout the night. 

In a daze, you do what Younghyun told you: unlock the door, and take deep breaths. You don’t want to be completely sober, so you refrain from drinking water even if your throat has been begging you to. 

A lucky soju bottle hides itself from an empty carton of milk inside the fridge, so you grab it hastily. No shot glasses needed, you go straight for it.

Younghyun didn’t tell you to stop, so why should you? But something in your stomach suggests you do. It’s a wincing pain you’ve had before, but this time it digs deeper than that. A liver concern, dehydration, or perhaps guilt? 

You couldn’t think any longer as you heard a soft knock against the front door. Followed by Younghyun coming in quietly, his steps barely audible. As if he’s never set foot in your apartment before. Or at least, maybe it feels different this time. 

As if you haven’t seen him and remember his presence anymore. 

“Hey,” he greets you quietly, and his voice is so much better in person. “It’s dark in here.” 

You’re not sure how to move forward from here. You’re back on the floor, head laying weirdly on the couch that your neck has started to hurt. Your hands hold tight onto the soju bottle as if it’s about to be taken away from you. It’s the one tangible thing keeping you grounded. Your mind begins to float away again upon seeing Younghyun’s face. 

He has that effect on you, but you didn’t consider it ever happening in months. 

You think you’re sleepy, but really you become hyper aware of his every move. It’s just hard to see with droopy eyes, and the silent steps he takes on the hardwood floor. 

He turns the light on the hallway to the bathroom, and even with its faintness you squint at the source of any kind of brightness in the room. 

“Sorry, I just didn’t want to step on anything,” Younghyun apologizes. He places a plastic bag on the kitchen counter and takes out what looks to be a bottle. 

Definitely not alcohol, you frown.

“No, I’m fine. Thank you,” you tell him first, the croak of your voice so heavily dissimilar to the friendliness of his. Yours sound guarded, unsure of yourself. “I have this,” you add as you sway the soju bottle in the air. The liquid spills on top of your head, and Younghyun is quick to take it away from you. 

“H-hey—” you argue, but the cold bottle of water has now replaced your source of alcohol, and your lips continue to curl downard. Younghyun shortly laughs at your reaction, but you don’t find it funny. 

“That was mine.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Give it back.”

“I’ll think about it.” 

“Prick,” you mutter under your breath. “Don’t let it go to waste, then, drink.” 

Younghyun sighs, shaking his head while meeting your figure on the floor. The soju bottle remains on the counter, out of your reach. His slanted eyes point towards the neglected bottle around your grasp. 

You find yourself staring mindlessly, his face showing smooth textures and a hint of base make up doning his features. You’re in awe, just like before, of the beauty in front of you. So close to touch, just the tip of your fingertips to graze against his skin. 

If only you didn’t feel so guilty and looked like shit. 

“Staring at me won’t make you sober up any sooner,” he chastises you, sitting with his legs crossed. He looks dapper, a fine suit without a tie and two buttons opened up. Was he at a photoshoot? A company dinner? A date? 

That last thought shoots a strange numbing sensation on your chest. 

“Why are you here?” 

Younghyun looks taken aback at your bluntness. It doesn’t seem like you’re drinking that water anytime soon as your focus shifts at his presence in your apartment. He lets it go this time, then, entertains your question for the sake of your satisfaction. 

“I told you. Leehi called me. She’s been worried about you recently.”

“Oh, has she?” You sass him just for the sake of it. 

“Yes,” Younghyun doesn’t give in to your bluff, his voice suddenly firm and unnerving. “She cares about you a lot, and I understand if she hasn’t had the time to come see you very often anymore, but she works long hours and—”

“Why are you defending her? Did you just come here to lecture me like a little kid? I know how the world works, Younghyun. I know people can be busy, and that they have their own fucking problems to deal with. I know, okay? Fuck, I know that!” 

The words just leave your mouth like poison, it was ready to spill out of your guts all of a sudden. It just needed an opportunity to. 

You didn’t expect it to come tonight— in front of Younghyun, out of everyone. 

Maybe that would slap him cold and hard with what’s going on. Maybe that’s the final straw with you, not the uninviting welcome to your apartment, not the refusal to drink the water he’s bought you, but the words you have spoken. It’s always been the most hurtful. 

You avoid his gaze, suddenly feeling small and even more guilty of how you’re acting. You know you’re not supposed to lash out like this, you hate angry confrontations that can be avoided. But this is why you drink alone, cry alone, and fall asleep when the sun goes up— alone.

Younghyun was never supposed to be here witnessing this. 

Just like how you predicted, you see him stand up and walk away. It’s what you deserve, right? No one ever wanted to stay. 

But you don’t hear the door slam shut following his departure. You don’t hear his footsteps trudge their way out of the door, out of your life once again.  

Younghyun approaches the corner of the living room where the heater is, and turns it on.

“I don’t know how you do it, but I won’t be able to stand the cold like this,” he says with the same gentle, knowing tone of his. “I hope you don’t mind me turning the heat on a little bit. Are you warm, though?” 

You don’t understand what’s going on. 

Yes, it’s been a chilly autumn season but not that you cared. The alcohol hits you from within, igniting unfound frustration, anger, and desperation in every corner of your soul then almost instantly numbs it all for you. 

With parted, dry lips you manage a meek shake of the head. The sweat on your shirt dried up, and your shorts aren’t doing any better making you feel cozy either. You compensate by hugging yourself, the condensation of the bottled water touching the goosebumps on your skin. 

“You should probably drink that before it gets lukewarm,” Younghyun suggests, walking three steps forward to sit next to your figure. He gives you space, almost like a shield in between your bodies in which either of you are afraid of breaking. 

Finally, you relent to his wish and chug the water in seconds. It cools your throat along with your state of mind. A bit more stable now, with the way you see things, and process your surroundings. Your conscious eyes land on Younghyun’s worried gaze, and you struggle not to fall back into them. 

“I’m… not really mad at Leehi, I hope she knows that,” you quip quietly. The haziness drifts away from your consciousness and floats midair. It clings to the barrier in between you and Younghyun, frosting up unseen glass as Younghyun studies your features carefully. And he waits for more of what you have to say. 

You don’t follow through anymore, so he adds to the conversation. “I’m sure she knows. She’s just concerned about you.”

You reply with a subtle nod, wishing you had more water to drink. 

“I’m worried about you, too.” 

And he says the magic words that start the first broken piece of glass stopping you from seeing him eye to eye. You turn your figure away from his sitting one, knowing that the more you attempt to find the answers in his eyes the harsher the tears will come from your own. 

“You shouldn’t be. I’m fine.” What a massive fucking lie, you think bitterly. It’s not like you to lie out loud, You say what’s on your mind when needed. And if it isn’t, then you know best not to bother others and keep it to yourself. 

“C’mon, we both know that’s not true,” Younghyun disagrees— in the most polite way he can that it hurts. It hurts to hear him pander to your childish behavior right now, to have him tiptoe his way around your insecurities. 

This is what you didn’t want to happen, and yet in the end you meet your own demise this way. 

“How can I help?” He urges on.

He can’t.

“I want you to feel better.”

You won’t. 

“Please tell me how.” 

You don’t even know the answer to that. 

He sighs, but he tries hard not to let it bother you. Younghyun’s always been like that, so perfect and so accommodating. Wasn’t that supposed to be a sweet gesture from a lover? To know your needs, and meet you in the middle. You basically met a match made in heaven with him years ago. 

What went wrong?

“I can’t believe you still have that shirt,” Younghyun points out. He pulls his knees up to his chest, hugging them tight. He’s trying to look so small, innocent. 

It’s funny, you think, and recall the nights he convinces you to be the big spoon for once. His sturdy frame was difficult for your arms to gather in one warm embrace, but whenever you tried he never complained. And it was nice. 

You try to regain focus, and look down at the shirt you’re wearing. The print has faded so much that anyone who didn’t know its history wouldn’t have guessed what words were imprinted on it originally. But you do, and for a moment you thought you had forgotten— or at least, actively erased from your mind.

But this shirt has always made you feel like you have a sense of connection to this world, to a person you once held in your arms. 

“I can’t believe we had Dowoon design that logo before. Nobody really told us how it really looked,” Younghyun chuckles in the night air, temperature going up a few degrees. 

It wasn’t hot, you weren’t bothered, it was just… right. 

And suddenly, you remember what he’s talking about. Because you were there, and you were this close to dropping the truth onto them that yes, it’s hideous, no one will buy your merch, but the grin on their faces and the spark of excitement in the room was too huge to disrupt. You then convinced yourself that yes, their fans won’t mind, they love you for your music. They love you for you.

You were supposed to love Younghyun for who he is. 

“I liked it— eventually,” you admit and Younghyun raises an eyebrow. Defending yourself before he gets a say, you add, “It’s a sort of charm you and the others had. Up and coming in the scene, innocent boys singing their hearts out because you have nothing better to do.” 

“Hey now, I was in college with you. I had midterms literally the day after our first official gig,” Younghyun corrects you lightly, and you do remember that. You’re starting to remember it all, like a kaleidoscope of days, weeks, and years through Younghyun’s starry eyes.

You don’t realize the barrier has begun to shatter until you feel the heat of his hands hovering over yours. 

“What is it? Tell me, please. Tell me what’s on your mind,” you hear him say repeatedly. He has even moved so much closer to you, his hands grasping yours the way you held the bottle of whisky for nights on end. 

He holds you like he cares, like he doesn’t want for you to disappear. For a second time. 

“I let you go. I let you go, and now I’m left with nothing but haunted memories of you. Of us,” you sob into him, the sturdiness of his body keeping you from shaking terribly. 

Younghyun wraps his arms around you, the way he would when you fell asleep waiting for him late at night on the weekends. Younghyun cradles your fragile figure within his tight embrace, the same way he’d tuck you in bed when fatigue overcomes your system. Even when he’s tired himself, even when he’s on a tightrope of his own priorities— he made you his first. 

But you didn’t want that, you knew that wasn’t good for him, his career. The peak of his fame alongside friends he’s known as family for so long would be right around the time you decided to move to a different city and pursue your own passion. 

There was no way it’d work. You’d be too far away from their studio, his and his bandmates’ apartment, the company building, everything. Everything Younghyun built from the ground up with his talent, his opportunistic mind, his own purpose in life. 

The visits happened less often, the calls coming in at hours you couldn’t accommodate for anymore. People flock to him, and it’s the sort of crowd you flinch at, disassociate yourself with, it’s not who you want to be. 

But it was Younghyun’s, and you loved him so much to take that away from him. 

And yet, in the place you’ve buried yourself deep; hours away from where you once lived with Younghyun, months after the dreaded decision you falsely stood your ground for. He’s here, with you. 

Does he still love you now?

“Don’t think too much right now, okay? You worry your pretty face with all your troubled thoughts like that,” Younghyun reassures you softly. If you had the strength to react to his superfluous words, you’d do so just like before. But exhaustion overcomes you— from the drinking, the sobbing, and the weight of your guilt draping over Younghyun’s shoulders as he embraces you even further. 

You don’t deserve such warmth, such tender love, you hurt him. He can’t love you after that. 

“I’m sorry—”

“No,” Younghyun shakes his head, ruffling your hair next to his face. He lets you go for half a second, and before you know it his hands are secured around your waist again. You don’t protest, but your eyes seem mesmerized by the way his demand you to see him. 

“I’m sorry,” he shares your words, “for not coming sooner.” 

The next sunrise doesn’t sting you in the eyes this time. This time, you fall asleep without nightmares accompanying you in bed. And this time, you wake up to what seems like a beloved past of yours. But it’s not, it’s the next day, and Younghyun stayed. 

You let him. 

[uncloseted]

I hope to be better one day. I believe in only two genders because I believe science doesn’t care about your feelings and I feel trans people are really attention seeking and always seeking validation always need to be included always need to be reminding people. I was born female and I’m not always included in everything and I don’t turn around and call people sexist and transphobic, sometimes u get left out cos that’s called life. I’ve tried changing I cant. I just keep my opinion to myself and just agree publicly with what others say. I know I am not a bad person but just wonder what it is that I don’t get it, I honestly think this is just me.

Against my better judgement, I'm going to answer this ask. I'm not entirely convinced it's a question that's in good faith, and the fact that this ask is in my inbox at all suggests to me that you didn't really engage with the nearly 4,000 words I've already dedicated to this subject, so I don't know how much I'll be able to add to your thinking here. But I know a lot of people do genuinely have these questions or questions like these, and so I think it's important to take them seriously for anyone else who might read this answer. If you really hope to "be better" or to change your views, anon, maybe you'll get something from this, too.

Science Doesn't Care About Your Feelings

So, you start by saying that you "believe in only two genders because [you] believe science doesn’t care about your feelings". What exactly do you mean by this? Maybe science doesn't care about your feelings, but science also doesn't support the assertion that there are only two genders. The scientific community is in agreement that trans people exist. The scientific community created the term "gender dysphoria", and it appears as a medical diagnosis both in the DSM-5 and ICD-10 (and will appear in the ICD-11). The scientific community supports the use of medical and social transition to alleviate the stress and discomfort that trans people experience. The scientific community views social and medical transition as an important tool to reduce the number of trans people who will die by suicide. None of those positions are based on "feelings". They're based on scientific fact- on findings that are testable, observable, repeatable, universal, and measurable. If you want to dig into the scientific research that has been done on trans identities we can, but I have a feeling that's not really where you were going when you said "science doesn't care about your feelings."

Are you talking about "gender essentialism", where your gender is defined only by the sexual characteristics you have? In your previous ask, you yourself seemed to me to be unconvinced by biological essentialism. Are we just arguing over the proper use of the words, "sex" and "gender"? Science views sex and gender are fundamentally separate concepts that are often linked. For example, the World Health Organization, an international, scientific agency of the United Nations, says that, '[g]ender' refers to the socially constructed roles, behaviours, activities, and attributes that a given society considers appropriate for men and women" and that "'masculine' and 'feminine' are gender categories." The FDA, a federal, scientific agency of the US government, uses "sex" as a biological classification and defines "gender" as, "a person's self representation as male or female, or how that person is responded to by social institutions based on the individual's gender presentation."

But even if you were to take gender essentialism to be fact (and to be clear, I don't think we should), the idea that there are "two genders" is still incorrect. As many as 1.7% of people have at least one intersex trait, and there are many more who don't have all the sex characteristics we associate with being "a boy" or "a girl". As I mentioned in my previous post, some girls don’t have a menstrual cycle (due to menopause, hormonal birth control, low body weight, PCOS, etc), but they’re still "biological girls". Some girls don’t have a uterus (for example, if they’ve had a hysterectomy), but they’re still "biological girls". Some girls never develop breasts, but they’re still "biological girls". If you take gender essentialism to be fact, what is your definition of "a biological girl" or "a biological boy"? Could trans people who have transitioned be considered, perhaps, "a biological girl" or "a biological boy"? Why not? And where do intersex people fit into that paradigm? Would they, perhaps, be a third gender, if we take gender essentialism to be fact? And if not, why do intersex people get to be "a biological girl" or "a biological boy", but post-medical transition trans people don't?

Finally, there are very much times where science cares about your feelings. The entire scientific field of psychology is dedicated to caring about people's feelings and understanding what they mean. So is cognitive science, and psychiatry, and frequently, neuroscience. Behavioral economics and linguistics care about your feelings. Even the field of artificial intelligence and human/computer interaction cares about feelings. Feelings aren't a bad thing. They can help us to understand ourselves and others, and to create systems that work better for everyone. Feelings prompt us to ask the right questions so that science can answer them with facts. In this case, the feelings of gender dysphoria that trans people feel and a feeling of curiosity on the part of scientists led to scientific research about gender dysphoria and the development of scientifically supported treatments to alleviate that gender dysphoria.

Trans People Are Really Attention Seeking

"Trans people are really attention seeking and always seeking validation always need to be included always need to be reminding people" feels like a strawman argument to me. It's just something that can't really be proven or disproven. It's a feeling that you have, but not a scientific fact.

I think it's also an example of a "relevant logical fallacy", or what's more colloquially known as a "toupee fallacy." The toupee fallacy is a type of selection bias where a negative trait is obvious but neutral traits are not. Its nickname comes from the phrase, "all toupées look fake; I've never seen one that I couldn't tell was fake," which is an example of this fallacy. You've never seen a toupee that you can't tell was fake because you assume the ones that look real are just natural hair. The same applies to trans people. If a trans person passes, you may not know (or notice) that they're trans at all. Or if a trans person "acts normal", you may not notice because you're only looking for "toupees"- trans people who are, in your view, "acting inappropriately".

Which brings me to my second point, that this is also an example of the Baader-Meinhof (or "frequency" phenomenon. This is a phenomenon where, after you notice something for the first time, there's a tendency to notice it more often, especially if it's something that makes you react emotionally. Maybe it's not true that all "trans people are really attention seeking and always seeking validation always need to be included always need to be reminding people." Maybe it's that you're noticing it more frequently because it bothers you when this occurs, but you're not noticing all of the trans people who are just quietly living their lives.

Finally, I suspect that if we were more inclusive as a society, trans people would have to talk about their transness less frequently. If people are consistently calling trans people by their deadname or using incorrect pronouns for them, of course they're going to always be reminding people that they're trans. If people are consistently excluding them, of course they're going to be seeking inclusion. This is anecdotal, but one of my best friends is trans, and she never really talks about it unless it's directly relevant. And I think she can do that because she's always respected, included, and just generally treated like "one of the girls" (because she is just one of the girls). I said this in my last post, but I think it bears repeating- the people who are most insistent on their identity being respected tend to be the people who have been the most hurt by people not respecting who they are. Being insistent about who they are is the only way they feel they can be recognized or seen. They're operating from a place of pain. And isn't that sad more than it is annoying? It certainly is to me.

But even if we accept the (incorrect) premise that "trans people are really attention seeking and always seeking validation always need to be included always need to be reminding people".... so what? Does being attention seeking and validation seeking mean that a person's rights should be taken away from them? Because if it does, a whole lot of Instagram influencers are about to lose their rights. Does wanting to be included mean you should be ostracized from society? I think we all want to be included in one way or another. We all want to be part of a community that's bigger than we are. Does always reminding people of you are warrant people rejecting your identity? If you believe that, you should never correct that one person you know who always gets your name wrong and just accept that that's your new name now. You don't have to like people who you find annoying, but you can't just take away their rights or deny them rights because of it.

I Was Born Female and I'm Not Always Included

"I was born female and I’m not always included in everything and I don’t turn around and call people sexist and transphobic, sometimes u get left out cos that’s called life." Isn't that a bad thing, though? Don't you want to be included in spaces that you're excluded from right now? Don't you want people to be less sexist towards you? Don't you want the same rights that men have? I certainly do, and I think it's important to fight for those rights. It sucks to be left out, but more importantly, it's damaging to be left out. Being excluded from spaces has very tangible financial impacts on people, even if you don't care about the very real emotional impact it has. I don't want that exclusion to happen to me, and I don't want that to happen to the next generation of girls. Whatever I can do to make sure that stops, I'm going to do it. And yes, that includes calling people out on sexist behavior. It sucks to have to do that work, but if we don't advocate for ourselves, nobody will advocate for us. And I'm lucky that I'm in a position where I can try to be an ally to the trans community and use some of the privilege I have as a cis person to fight for them so they don't have to do it all themselves. I know how much I would love for men to use their privilege to advocate for women in spaces where we can't, and I hope I can do that for trans people in spaces where they can't advocate for themselves.

Final Thoughts

So once again, this brings me to my final thoughts, and a few questions I would encourage you to think about. What are you really worried about here? Are you worried that including trans women in women's spaces will make it more difficult to talk about issues that people with female sex characteristics face? Are you worried that trans people will center themselves in those discussions? Are you worried that cis men will masquerade as trans women to infiltrate women's spaces with nefarious intent? Are you worried that you'll say something wrong or offend someone? Are you worried that including trans women in women's issues will set women back in terms of the progress we've made? Is it a general discomfort with societal change?

Once you understand where your emotions are stemming from, then you'll be able to address them in a meaningful way. I don't think that "this is just [you]" or that you "can't change". But I do think it will be hard to change your view until you know the reasoning- might we even say... the feeling? - behind your views. You're not coming at this from a rational, emotionless, scientific perspective, and that's okay. But that means that, despite my best efforts, I probably won't be able to debate you into changing those feelings. Only you know where those feelings are coming from, and only you can choose to change them. I think you can "be better one day", but you have to choose that for yourself.

Extra Credit

If you're interested in digging further into this topic (or if you're looking for a fun and educational way to spend thirty minutes), I recommend the ContraPoints video "Pronouns":

It absolutely will not dissuade you of the notion that trans people are attention seeking, because Natalie is, at her core, a fabulous performer who uses elaborate aesthetics and sarcasm to illustrate her points and to make her philosophy lectures more fun. But it does directly argue against Ben "facts don't care about your feelings" Shapiro in a rational, logical way. It delves into a lot of the topics I was talking about the other day and also a lot of the topics you bring up in this ask. Natalie even talks herself about how the polite, easy thing to do is call someone by their preferred pronouns, but that she wants to truly understand why people use the preferred pronouns they do instead of defaulting to them because it's "dogmatically the woke thing to do". In my opinion, it's a good video, but even if you don't end up agreeing, it's not that long, so try it out anyway.

[wlntrsldler]

Shawarmas (Bucky Barnes Imagine)

The first time Bucky saw Y/N was at the Shawarma place that Tony loved so much. He sat sandwiched between Thor and Steve, laughing carelessly at the jokes that Sam told. The team took over the small restaurant, barely having enough space to walk around without bumping shoulders. 

You were working the register, your hair restrained under your hairnet and that God-awful yellow visor that they made you wear as your company uniform. Bucky had a full view of you, smiling to yourself once you overheard the conversations the team was having. You chuckled to yourself softly, not wanting to be seen eavesdropping on the team, but Bucky noticed. 

He wanted nothing else but to introduce himself and talk to you but he had forgotten how to talk to women, being frozen for over 70 years and all.

Next time, he thought to himself. He knew there was bound to be one. Tony loved this place, after all. 

-

Bucky was starting to raise suspicion from the team. Every time someone mentioned wanting to go get something to eat, Bucky would perk up and suggest the Shawarma place. It worked the first two times, for the most part, and he was so excited to see you again.

The first time was a Monday night. Steve, Nat and himself had finished a day-long training to make sure they weren’t getting rusty, a comment that Nat took to offense and brutally took apart the electronic dummy that Tony sent off to train them. Needless to say, Tony didn’t appreciate it and vowed to never suggest that Nat was getting rusty ever again. 

Bucky was the first one in the car and the first one out once Steve put the car in park at the shop’s parking lot. He smiled at the familiar neon sign outside of the restaurant, not wanting to wait another second to see you again. Once he entered, his smile faded when he realized you weren’t working that night. The man behind the register was not nearly as beautiful as you with his greasy hair, patchy beard, and what seemed like a toupee clipped on the company visor. 

“Geez, Bucky.” Steve laughed once he entered the establishment. “Didn’t know you liked Shawarma this much.”

“Yeah, right.” Bucky mumbled, trying not to show his disappointment as he fell in line behind the last customer. Bucky, Nat and Steve got their food to-go, Bucky’s request, and ate on the way back home.

The second time was after a successful mission. The whole team was bruised, tired, and most of all, hungry. Tony suggested that they just get food instead of trying to cook. The team agreed, wanting nothing else but to fill their stomachs with food that didn’t come from the pre-packaged meals in the ship. 

“How does Shawarma sound?” Bucky asked, apprehensively. 

The first person to be suspicious was Steve. He looked at Bucky with a cocked eyebrow, knowing that they just got Shawarma with Nat, who was assigned to a different mission and therefore was not with the group, two days ago. Bucky flashed him a shy smile, shrugging shoulders, as if saying, “What? I just like Shawarma.” Steve let it go and chimed in, “I’m okay with that.”

Tony patted Bucky’s back, “Good call, Old guy.”

“So, should we start heading out?” Bucky jumped up, his body suddenly feeling a burst of energy. “Which cars should we ta-”

“No need,” Tony yelled from across the room. “They deliver.”

Everyone else was too tired to notice Bucky’s sigh of disappointment, except for Steve. 

-

Bucky realized that if he mentioned the Shawarma place you worked at one more time, the team would personally chip in and buy him his own DIY-at-home Shawarma maker just to get him to finally shut up about Shawarma. Even Tony, the original lover of Shawarma, was getting tired of Bucky mentioning it. 

He decided that he would go in the shop, alone, to save himself the embarrassment of confessing his little crush on the cashier. Bucky took a deep breath and readjusted the cap he was wearing over his freshly cut hair before he entered the shop. He wasn’t used to having hair so short. It reminded him of his hair back in the 40′s. 

His heart stopped when he saw you, smiling graciously at the middle-aged woman who was reciting her order. Even under the shade of the visor, you seemed to glow. You hair was down, no hairnet in sight. He saw just how long it was, going past your elbows. He saw that you had two ear piercings on one ear and only one on the other. Bucky also saw that you had a tattoo above your ear, right before where your hair grew. He was so enchanted by your presence that he didn’t even notice that he was the next person. 

“Hey, dude,” the man behind him tapped his shoulder. Bucky turned around, a bit irritated that he would interrupt the trance that he was in. “She’s been calling you for like three minutes now.”

Bucky’s cheeks reddened, mumbling an incoherent, “Sorry.” He walked up to the register to be greeted by your smiling face.

“What can I get you today?”

Bucky had never been that close to you and his heart started beating a million times a minute because of it. He stumbled over his words when ordering his usual, mentally scolding himself for being so nervous. He thought he made an absolute fool of himself in front of you. If he couldn’t even tell you his order, how was he supposed to strike a conversation with you that went beyond wanting a large Dr. Pepper with his order?

-

Bucky felt like he blew his only chance with you. Because who would really want to give a chance to the blubbering man who couldn’t even say his order properly? 

He stopped bringing up the Shawarma place to the team, not wanting to go back and embarrass himself in front of you for the second time. It had been a week since that last encounter but it was still fresh in his mind. 

Tony was throwing a birthday party for Bucky that night, despite Bucky’s protests that everyone he knew was either dead or about to be dead, with the exception of Steve. Tony dismissed his concerns and reassured Bucky that his party will be grand. Knowing that no amount of complaints will ever stop a Stark party, Bucky just put on his best suit and the “Birthday Boy” sash that Tony insisted he wore. 

“So as everyone knows,” Tony spoke into the microphone, catching everyone’s attention. “Today is Mr. Bucky Barnes’s birthday and to celebrate that, I decided to get our favorite place to cater tonight’s event. Shawarmas for everyone!”

Bucky’s eyes widened as he saw the Shawarmas being wheeled into the compound. He was torn; He wanted to see you but at the same time he wished that you weren’t working his party, especially because he was turning a hundred-something years old. And if his moment of foolishness and absolute awkwardness wasn’t enough to turn you off, he was certain his age would be the last straw. 

“She’s here, you know.” 

Bucky jumped at the sound of Steve’s voice. He blushed, “What are you talking about?”

Steve chuckled, placing a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, “Pal, you know I’m not stupid, right?”

He groaned, realizing that Steve caught on to his little crush on you. “I don’t know how to talk to her.”

“That doesn’t sound like the Bucky that I know.” Steve stated. “Bucky, take a deep breath and just talk to her. She won’t bite.”

Bucky nodded, knowing that Steve was right and started making his way over to you. I can do this, he repeated to himself. 

“Hi.”

You looked up from your station to see a nervous Bucky, fidgeting with his fingers and giving dry laughs to fill the silence between you two. “Hi, what can I get you?”

“My name is Bucky.” He blurted out. That wasn’t the answer she was looking for, dumbass, the voice in his head hissed. “What’s yours?”

“Y/N.” You smiled. “Nice sash, birthday boy.”

Bucky had completely forgotten the embarrassing sash he sported, complete with goofy pictures of the Avengers and himself surrounding the words “Birthday Boy.” He wanted to kill Tony for that. “Thanks.”

“You like Shawarmas a lot, don’t you?” You laughed, starting to create his usual order. 

Bucky’s eyebrows raised in surprise as he watched you prepare the order he always gets, “You remember my order.”

“You’re a bit hard to forget.”

Bucky’s heart swelled at your words but then realized he had a metal arm. Of course he would be hard to forget. 

“Yeah,” He continued. “The arm is hard not to notice.”

“Not talking about the arm but you have a point.” You responded, sliding the plate towards him.

“What were you talking about?”

You blushed, debating if you should flirt with him. What’s the worse that can happen? “You have the nicest eyes I’ve ever seen. It’s hard to forget that.”

Now it was Bucky’s turn to blush. Had it been 1940 all over again, he would’ve maintained his composure and swept you off your feet with a subtle, yet corny, response. But his mind went blank. All he could do was utter a broken, “Thank you.”

-

By the end of the night, you had accepted that you misread Bucky’s signs. He was indeed interested in the Shawarma and not you. After you complimented his eyes, he walked away after muttering a “thank you” and didn’t speak to you for the rest of the night. You kept your head down, too embarrassed to look up, in fear that he would be looking right at you, laughing at your attempt to flirt with him.

Bucky was cursing himself for not making his move. He had the perfect window to. He watched the guests leave the party and slowly but surely, the Shawarmas were being finished. 

By 11PM, you and your co-workers started packing up, getting ready to leave. Bucky watched as you started to take apart the equipment, panicking because he knew this was the last chance he could have. He knew he couldn’t face you outside of the party, not after two failed attempts. 

He took the last sip of his drink and made his way over to you. “Y/N!”

You looked back and saw Bucky, reaching out for you. You turned to your co-workers, “I gotta take care of something. I’ll meet you in the truck.”

Bucky stopped in front of you. This is it, Barnes, make it count. “Would you like to go out and get some food with me?”

It took you by surprise. You didn’t expect him to ask you out, especially after he walked away from your attempt to flirt. You watched his eyes shift from your face to his feet, worried glances, thinking that you would reject him. You couldn’t help but get lost in the blue of his eyes. You meant it when you said he had the prettiest eyes you’ve ever seen. 

It took you all your might to not melt when he was staring at you at your job a week ago. His small smile as he stared at you, lips slightly parted, chest rising up and down, slowly, and his metal fingers toying with the hem of his t-shirt. He was a sight to see.

“Y-you don’t have to say yes.”

You didn’t realize how long you were enchanted by his eyes until he spoke up again. “What? Huh?”

“I said you don’t have to say yes, YN.” He sounded defeated.

“No, no.” You shook your head and watched his face drop with even more discouragement. Your eyes grew wide once you realized what you said. “No! I mean, yes, I would love to go out to get food with you.”

You saw him sigh in relief, “Oh thank God.”

You reached for the pen in your pocket and grabbed his human arm, scribbling down your phone number. “Call me, yeah?”

Bucky gave you a small nod and watched you wave goodbye before you joined the rest of your co-workers.

Fuck, Bucky thought. Where the hell am I supposed to take her if the only place I go to is the one she works at?  

[inevitably-johnlocked]

i think you’ve realised some lists, but could you link your friends to lovers lists? 💞 thank u so much !

ABSOLUTELY NONNY!

God It’s euphoric being in a great mood!! It’s felt like 80 years since I’ve felt this happy. It’s gonna go away the second it rains again, but ANYWAY.

YOU KNOW WHAT? I’m feeling generous so I’ll post this today and I’ve had the list “ready to post” for a few months. Here’s a part 2 list to my other list since I’ve enough to do it :D

FRIENDS-TO-LOVERS Pt. 2

See also:

T-RATED Pt. 1: Friends To Lovers Fics || [MOBILE LINK]

Enemies to Friends to Lovers

Friends to Lovers Pt. 1 [FULL POST] || [MOBILE POST]

Closeted by Sexxica (E, 2,762 w., 1 Ch. || Trapped in a Closet, Panicking Sherlock, Hand Jobs, Coming in Pants, Awkward Conversations, Love Confessions, First Kiss, Fluffy Ending) – An improvised hiding spot and a bit of accidental voyeurism leave John and Sherlock in an awkward position.

Better Late Than Never by sussexbound (NR (T), 3,021 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S4 / TFP Doesn’t Exist, Sherlock POV, Love Confessions, Drunk Sherlock / Sober John, John Takes Care of Sherlock, First Kiss, Jealous Sherlock, Emotional Turmoil) – He suddenly wants John Watson out of his bedroom, out of his flat, out of his life, because he has been lying to himself these last few months, he realises. He doesn’t want John here, not with the way things are. He doesn’t want 221b Baker Street to be nothing more than rest stop John returns to on his journeys between women. He doesn’t want to play co-parent if Rosie is going to be snatched away from him and placed in the arms of whatever nameless woman du jour John lands on next. He doesn’t want to keep being so careful, so generous, so, so…

The General Idea by agirlsname (T, 3,022 w., 1 Ch. || Retirement, Promise of Forever / Proposal, POV John, First Kiss, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Soft Sherlock, Idiots in Love, Crying / Emotional Sherlock, Love Confessions) – After twenty years of friendship, John is used to Sherlock acting weirdly. But the news Sherlock finally brings himself to deliver change the carefully built dynamics between them, and John realises it's time to act.

Nothing So Sweet by alexxphoenix42 (E, 5,275 w., 1 Ch. || Shopkeeper AU || Beekeeping, Sussex, Alternate First Meeting, Awkward First Time Sex, Self-Consciousness / Body Insecurity, Fluff, Hand Jobs) – In an alternate universe, Sherlock is busy keeping to himself, tending his bees, and selling lovely jars of honey when a soldier limps into his life quite unexpectedly. Part 1 of The Sweetest Things

Caffeine and Adaptive Programming by DemonicSymphony (E, 5,540 w., 1 Ch. || Androids AU / Bond Fusion || Android Sherlock, Coffee Shop AU, Pining John Hinted Bond / Q, Toplock) – Sherlock is a coffee shop android slowly falling for a regular customer. But he's not supposed to be able to feel emotions.

My First, My Only, and My Forever by vintagelilacs (E, 6,220 w., 1 Ch. || Post-ASiB, Virgin Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Sherlock’s Bum, John’s Scar, Sherlock POV, Body Worship, Fingering, Bottomlock, Promise of Forever / Proposals, Misunderstanding, First Kiss/Time, Loss of Virginity, Virginity Kink, Seduction) – Sherlock narrowed his eyes. He was missing a vital piece of data, he was sure. John had been looking at him oddly ever since they left Buckingham Palace, and the ensuing incident with Irene Adler had only exacerbated his erratic behaviour. What was it? Why would he care that Sherlock was a virgin? There was nothing reminiscent of mockery or pity in his gaze. And then it hit him. John Watson was aroused.

An Interpretation of Viewing Habits by akitsuko (E, 6,653 w., 1 Ch. || Porn Watching, Masturbation, Anal, Friends to Lovers, First Kiss / Time, Declarations of Love, Jealous Sherlock, Fantasizing, John in Denial / Internalized Homophobia, Bottomlock, Pining Idiots, Sherlock Has No Boundaries, Cockblocking Sherlock) – John watches porn. It's a perfectly normal thing to do.If every video he watches happens to feature actors with remarkable physical similarities to his flatmate, well, that's no one's business but his own. Or: John is in denial, until his infatuation with Sherlock is impossible to deny anymore.

Sometimes When We Touch by kedgeree (M, 7,755 w., 6 Ch. || Post-TRF, First Kiss/Time, Inappropriate Giggling, Romance, Friends to Lovers, Virgin Sherlock, John Whump, Touching) – John might be touching Sherlock a little more often than is strictly necessary. Sherlock probably hasn't even noticed. Right...?

Just Like That by sussexbound (E, 8,442 w., 1 Ch. || First Time/Kiss, Frottage, Virgin Sherlock, French Kissing, Anal, Emotional Lovemaking, Enthusiastic Consent, Tenderness, Crying John, Bathing/Washing, Insecure John, Toplock) – John doesn’t want to talk anymore. He wants. Oh dear god, how he wants. For the first time in what feels like years he WANTS.

The Haunting of 221B Baker Street by earlgreytea68 (M, 10,388 w., 2 Ch. || Post TRF, Halloween / Ghosts, Pining Sherlock, Ghost Sherlock, Stroppy Sherlock, Sherlock POV, First Kiss/Time, Angry Sex, Ghost Sex, Love Confessions, Open / Ambiguous Ending) – In which Sherlock Holmes is a ghost.

London Gods by a_different_equation (E, 11,092 w., 5 Ch. || American Gods Fusion || Magical Realism, Sex Magic, True Love, PTSD John, First Kiss/Time, Marathon Sex, Sensuality, Genie Sherlock, Human John, Internalized Homophobia, Star-Crossed Lovers, Soul Mates) – Sherlock Holmes is a jinn who does not grant wishes. However, when Dr. John H. Watson, recently returned from the war in Afghanistan, gets into his cab by "accident", it might not even need magic to grant both men their deepest wish: love.

Kintsugi by distantstarlight (E, 14,772 w., 1 Ch. || Post S4, Emotional Hurt / Comfort, Regret / Remorse, Loneliness, Separation, Drug Use, Healing, Protective John, Sad Sherlock, Dev. Rel., Complicated Relationships, Love, Angst With Happy Ending, Sherlock is Called Freak, John’s Penance, Voyeurism, Doctor/Caretaker John, Guilty John, Detox, Fingering, Love Confessions, Cuddling, Slight Non-Con Turns Enthusiastic Consent, Virgin Sherlock) – Sherlock Holmes becomes estranged from the man he had once considered his best friend after John lets him down horribly in public. It seems that the world's only consulting detective will be on his own once again...or will he?

The Burning of the Leaves by blueink3 (M, 15,915 w., 3 Ch. || Post S4, Angst, Reichenbach, Parentlock, Past Jolto, Idiot John, Sherlock’s a Mess, Puppies, Fluff, Possessive / Jealous Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Sherlock POV, Matchmaker Sholto, Melancholic Feelings, Emotional Sherlock, Domesticity, Love Confessions in the Rain, Kissing in the Rain, Pet Names, Panic Attack) – After the events of series 4, Major Sholto invites John and Sherlock to lunch one day. It nearly proves to be too much for their tenuous relationship as the past haunts the present, putting the future that Sherlock so desperately wants at risk.

A Silver Sixpence by _doodle (NC-17, 16,400 w., 2 Ch. || LJ Fic || For a Case / Case Fic, Fake Relationship, Humour, Romance, Marriage Proposal, Awkward Idiots, Cuddling, Touching, Kissing, Love Confessions, Bed Sharing, Friends to Lovers, Fake Until It’s Not, Schmoop and Fluff, Bottomlock) – “John, we need to get married. It’s for a case, not any romantic notions on my part pertaining to our partnership,” Sherlock said, with brutal honesty, and without even looking up.

The Palmyra Atoll by elwinglyre (E, 16,609 w., 3 Ch. || TSo3 Divergence / Episode Fix-It, Stockholm Syndrome, Kidnapped John Watson, John Whump, Evil Mary, Angst, Cuddling & Snuggling, Toplock, Limited 3rd John POV) – As John's preparing for the wedding, Sherlock is preparing to have his heart broken, and Mary is prepared to do the unthinkable. Intervention required. Enter Sherlock. Set before Sign of Three with a far different outcome. John is drugged, kidnapped, and left on an island, but not just any old island.

Out of the Woods by SilentAuror (E, 20,471 w., 1 Ch. || Post S4, Romance, Slow Burn, Flirting, Drunk Sex, Practical Jokes, POV Sherlock, Bottomlock, Possessive John, Pining Sherlock, Frustrated Wanking, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, First Kiss/Time, Virgin Sherlock, Love Confessions, Soft Sherlock, Dancing, Bum Appreciation, Hanging out with the Yard) – Sherlock is fairly certain that John has taken to flirting with him of late, but can't be entirely certain of it. At least, not until a case takes them into a forest, along with Lestrade's team and something happens that will change everything about their lives...

The Kepler Problem by kinklock (E, 24,270 w., 1 Ch. || Sci-Fi AU, Alien Sherlock, Space Repairman John, Alien Biology, Horny John) – Working in uncharted space exploration was not as exciting as John had hoped, especially when it turned out to be mostly bot maintenance on uninhabited planets. However, the mystery of the repeated, unexplained malfunctions on planet BAK 2212 might turn out to be exactly the kind of adventure he'd been craving.

Silhouettes by allonsys_girl (E, 28,585 w., 7 Ch. || Canon Compliant, POV John, Heavy Drinking, Sad/Depressed John, Grief/Mourning, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Reunion, Foot Jobs, Blow Jobs, Infidelity, Cheating, Drug Use/Abuse, Anal, Switchlock, Rimming, Parentlock) – Sherlock and John find comfort in each other's arms, but as ever with these two, it's not your typical relationship. It's fluffy at the beginning, gets deeply angsty in the middle, gets porny at the end.

A Home for Us by sussexbound (M, 30,581 w., 12 Ch. || Scars, Bedsharing, Grief, Doctor John, Hurt/Comfort, Post-TRF, Implied/Referenced Torture, Sherlock POV, Pining Sherlock, Suicidal Ideation, Heavy Emotions, Clingy Sherlock, Hallucinations, Disassociation, Emotional Turmoil) – He has been on the road for two years, and he is exhausted. He’s almost accepted that he will never see London (John) again—almost. But then there are nights like tonight, where he is weak, and all he can think of is the warmth of the flat they once shared, the crackle of the fire in the hearth, the teasing smile playing at the corner of John’s lips, the boxes of half-eaten Chinese takeaway balanced precariously in their laps. He aches at the memory of it, at the realisation that it is something he may never experience again.

The Whore of Babylon Was a Perfectly Nice Girl by out_there (E, 32,897 w., 1 Ch. || Past Drug Use, Blowjobs, Toplock, Mentions of Switching, Rough Sex, Background Cases, Sherlock’s Past, Sherlock’s Sexual History, Experienced Sherlock, Past One Night Stands, Fingering, Cuddling, Possessive Sherlock, Paris Holiday, Bed Sharing, Naked Lie-Ins, Bathing Together, Confessions, Worried Sherlock, Laying in Bed All Day, Meddling Mycroft, Naked Lazy Day) – Sherlock walks into a room and takes all the space right out of it. He does the same inside John's head.

carrying up his morning tea by darcylindbergh (E, 34,504 w., 5 Ch. || Post S3, Minor Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Wakes/Funerals, Estranged John, Pining Sherlock, Depression/Insecurity, Slow Burn, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Chronic Pain/Injury, Reconciliation, Awkwardness, Loneliness, Scars, Angst With Happy Ending) – His fingers tremble as he dials and he can’t force them steady. Familiar number, even though he hasn’t used it in two years. He isn’t even sure he should be calling it now, but she’d asked. She’d made him promise.

Guidelines by WithLoweredVoices (M, 43,018 w., 15 Ch. || Winglock || Angels, Fantasy, Angst, BAMF! John, War, Jealous Sherlock, Possessive Sherlock, Jealous John, Falling in Various Ways, Needy Sherlock, Wings) – The Good Soldier, one of the oldest and strongest of the fallen, is offered a bargain: to live as John Watson and to Guide a fledgling archangel so that he will stay on the path of good. Of course, Sherlock Holmes has different ideas about his destiny. Fantasy AU. Warnings for violence, occasional gore, and a whole load of hurt and angst.

The Real Great Perfumers by shelleysprometheus (E, 45,355 w., 68 Ch. || Case Fic, Alternating POV, Gay Sherlock / Bi John, Canon Compliant with Divergence at TRF, Friends to Lovers, Oral / Anal, Pining, First Kiss / Time, Dev. Rel., Drugging, Body Worship, Bathing, Love Confessions, Travelling, Bottomlock, Cranky Sherlock, BJ’s, Alternating POV, Jealous John) – The case, this case. This extraordinary, fascinating, scintillating case. A house. Designed entirely by its eccentric owner, built by no less than five hundred expert tradesmen in the heart of Marrakesh. A house that had, seemingly not only driven its owner out, but also to his quite unpleasant death. And a perfumer, a chemist no less, the very thought of the secrets that house could reveal, would reveal was irresistible. Sherlock had to have this case ... and it seems, he also had to have John! Part 1 of the Forethought and Fire series

Anchor Point by trickybonmot (E, 49,856 w., 80 Ch. || Truman Show AU || Psychological Drama, Suspense, Slow Burn, Dark Characters / Fic, Alternating First/Third Person, Protective John, Anxious/Worried Sherlock, Tender Moments, Love Confessions, Hand/Blow Jobs, Cuddling, Jealous John, First Kiss/Time) – The world tunes in nightly for Sherlock, the ultimate in reality TV: Sherlock Holmes, a real person with a legendary name, unknowingly lives out his life in a staged setting contrived by his brother. Things get complicated when a retired army doctor joins the show to play the part of Sherlock's closest friend. This fic borrows its concept from the 1998 film, the Truman Show. However, you don't need to have any knowledge of the movie to enjoy this story.

The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse by SilentAuror (E, 50,635 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S4/S4 Divergence, Case Fic, For a Case / Reverse Fake-Relationship, Conferences, Marriage Equality, Travelling / New York, Pride, Homophobia, Bottomlock, Marriage Proposal, John POV, Sexuality, Love Confessions, Emotional Love Making, Public Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, Passionate Kissing, Needy/Clingy Sherlock, Virgin Sherlock, Touching / Hand Holding, Bed Sharing, Little Spoon Sherlock, Intense Orgasms) – John and Sherlock go to New York to attend a conference run by the National Defence of Traditional Marriage Coalition in order to investigate the potential bombing of the annual Manhattan Pride parade. As the conference unfolds, John finds himself repulsed by the toxic ideology being presented, which becomes relevent to his own unacknowledged issues and his friendship with Sherlock...

Points by lifeonmars (E, 53,791 w., 42 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || HLV Rewrite / Canon Divergence, Married Life, Pregnancy / Baby Watson, Drinking to Cope, Boxing / Fisticuffs, Clueless John, Angst, Minor Medical Drama, Tattoos, Christmas, First Kiss/Time, Eventual Happy Ending, Love Confessions, Doctor John, Sexuality Crisis, Slow Burn, Case Fic, Drugging, Blow/Hand Job, Emotional Love Making, Parenthood, Passage of Time) – What if His Last Vow never happened? This fic picks up a few months after John and Mary's wedding, in an alternate universe where Magnussen doesn't exist, but Mary is still pregnant. Life continues -- just in a different direction. And slowly, Sherlock and John find their way to each other.

One Little Change by jadztone (E, 58,312 w. || ASiB Divergence, Fake Relationship, Bed Sharing, Mutual Pining, Friends to Lovers, First Kiss / Time, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bi John / Gay Demisexual Sherlock, Switchlock, Alternating POV, Jealousy, Misunderstandings, Case Fic, Angst with Happy Ending, Emotional Love Making, Butt Plugs, Cuddles) – Our story begins right after John and Sherlock's first meeting with Irene Adler in September. It splits off into an AU that imagines them taking a case where they act as bait to hook a killer targeting closeted gays in secret relationships. In the weeks leading up to Christmas, many things happen that have our boys wondering if maybe they have a chance with each other. Then Irene fakes her death on Christmas Eve, and things get a lot more complicated - especially since they still have a killer to catch.

Hell Sent, Heaven Bound by ConsultingHound (M, 64,381 w, 16 Ch. || Angels / Demons AU ||  Fallen Angel Sherlock / Angel Cop John, Alternate First Meeting, Slow Burn, Case Fic, John & Lestrade are Friends Before Sherlock, BAMF John, Mind Palace John, Friends to Lovers, John in Denial, Sherlock Picks Out John’s Clothing, Clubbing / Dancing, Mildly Jealous John, Awkwardness, Kidnapping, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Sacrifice, Worried / Anxious Sherlock, Angst with Happy Ending, Immortal to Mortal) – Ex-War healer and current angelic guard John Watson is not having the best day. He overslept, he’s underpaid, and now there’s someone tagging the Council’s building walls. However things may be about to get interesting: there’s an unusual stranger hanging around (the definition of tall, dark, and handsome), a literal underground cult is brewing, and rumblings are coming from hell. Can he keep his neighbourhood safe, how and why is he being connected to all this, and who the hell is Sherlock Holmes?

White Knight by DiscordantWords (M, 69,840 w., 13 Ch. || S4 Compliant/Post S4, Marriage For a Case, Jealous John, Pining John, Janine / Sherlock Fake Relationship, Serial Killers, Case Fic, Undercover as a Couple, Weddings, John is a Mess, Misunderstandings, Wedding Planning, Jealousy, Drunkenness, Love Confessions, Angst with Happy Ending) – Green. The word green was used to convey a great many things. Illness. Envy. Inexperience. Standing there amidst Janine's chattering bridesmaids, watching Sherlock furrow his brow and study fabric swatches, watching him smile and simper and flirt, John thought it a remarkably apt colour choice. Because he felt quite sick to his stomach, he feared the source of said sickness might very well be jealousy, and he had absolutely no idea at all what to do about it. Or: Sherlock needs to fake a relationship for a case. He doesn't ask John.

Being John Watson-ish by elwinglyre (E, 69,902 w., 17 Ch. || Bodysnatcher AU || Author John, Cranky Sherlock, Angst, Sexual Tension, First Kiss / Time, Falling in Love, BAMF John, Past Soldier John, Feelings, Inside Someone’s Brain, Shy Sherlock, Sherlock Loves John, POV Sherlock, Switchlock, Slow Burn, Internal Dialogue, Mental Turmoil) – When consulting detective Sherlock Holmes steps on one toe too many at a crime scene, he's consigned to a desk job in an archaic office on the seventh-and-a-half floor of the New Scotland Yard. It’s in this bleak office that Sherlock discovers a portal into the mind of renowned author John Watson. Grander than his mind palace, this new wonderland affords Sherlock new vistas of experimentation. To learn more about the mystery behind the portal, Sherlock seeks out and befriends Watson. But then it all goes wrong when others find the secret portal door—including the man whose brain he visits.

The Vapor Variant by 88thParallel (CanadaHolm) (M, 72,684 w., 18 Ch. || Post-THoB, John Whump, Protective Sherlock, Guilty Sherlock, Anxious/Worried Sherlock, Virgin Sherlock, Angst with Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, PTSD John, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Suspense, Virus, Sickfic, Big Brother Mycroft) – They stood face to face in the middle of a clearing. The dim light of the moon barely allowed Sherlock to see the glassy terror in John’s eyes and the sweat that glistened off his forehead. His nose was bleeding again, blood dripping in a slow stream from his right nostril. They were both gasping for air, John’s eyes locked on Sherlock’s. There was no recognition there, just wild animal fear. Time stood still for an eternal few seconds, and Sherlock took a shaky breath. “John—”Spell broken, John spun and bolted back into the woods. Still heaving for air, Sherlock took off after him.

The Summer Boy by khorazir (T, 94,706 w., 6 Ch. || Post S3/Post TAB/Alternate S4, Friends to Lovers, Flashbacks, Sussex, Bullying, 1980′s Kid Sherlock, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Inexperienced Sherlock, Grief/Mourning, Pining Sherlock, Background Case Fic) – About half a year after the fateful events at Appledore, Sherlock and John embark on a private case in Sussex. For Sherlock, it’s a journey into his past, bringing up memories both happy and sad that he has locked away for almost thirty years. For John, it means coming to terms with the present – and a potential future with Sherlock. Part 1 of the The Summer Boy series

Given In Evidence by verityburns (M, 97,884 w., 19 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post-TRF, Angst, Drama, Case Fic, Romance, BAMF!John, Submissive Sherlock, First Kiss, Humour) – Coming back from the dead can be a complicated business. With a new case on the horizon, rebuilding a life is one thing... rebuilding a friendship quite another. For Sherlock and John, things may never be just the same...

A Study in Winning by Jupiter_Ash (E, 106,658 w., 11 Ch. || Tennis AU || John POV, Dirty Talk, Mutual Pining, Misunderstandings, Happy Ending, Sherlock Speaks French, Switchlock, Wimbledon) – John and Sherlock are professional tennis players and it’s Wimbledon. One is a broken almost was at the end of his career, the other an arrogant rising star tipped for greatness. It should have been a straightforward tournament. It really should have been. How were they to know that a chance encounter would change everything? Part 1 of Tennis

A Further Sea by i_ship_an_armada & ShinySherlock (E, 125,492 w., 23 Ch. || Historical Pirates AU || Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Doctor John / Pirate Captain Sherlock, Sailing, UST / RST, Masturbation, Action / Adventure, Mild Angst & Peril, Romance, Shaving, Molly/Janine, Bottomlock, Hand / Blow Jobs, Past Drug Use, Slow Burn, Mild Violence, Happy Ending) – Here be a tale of adventure for both body and soul, but beware if ye be not of stout heart, for this be piratelock, ya savvy? Luckless ship's surgeon John Watson takes a chance, and finds himself eye to eye with The Ghost, the scourge of the seven seas and a definite thorn in the side of the blaggard, James Moriarty. But when John finds there's more to this most cunning pirate than be meetin' the eye, he has to choose... is it a pirate's life for him?

The Bang and the Clatter by earlgreytea68 (M, 137,049 w., 37 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Baseball AU || Slow Burn / Dev. Rel., Possessive/Obsessive Sherlock, Jealous Sherlock, Mutual Pining, Body Appreciation, Depression, Closeted Sexuality, Family, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Ogling Each Other, Anxious Sherlock, Panic Attack, Drunkenness, Talk of Forever, Big Feelings™) – Sherlock Holmes is a pitcher and John Watson is a catcher. No, no, no, it's a baseball AU. Part 1 of Baseball

Performance In a Leading Role by Mad_Lori (E, 156,714 w., 24 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Hollywood / Actor AU, Secret Relationship, Falling in Love, Slow Burn, Romance, Coming Out, Fluff and Angst, Pining) – Sherlock Holmes is an Oscar winner in the midst of a career slump. John Watson is an Everyman actor trapped in the rom-com ghetto. When they are cast as a gay couple in a new independent drama, will they surprise each other? Will their on-screen romance make its way into the real world? Part 1 of Performance in a Leading Role

Gimme Shelter by SinceWhenDoYouCallMe_John (E, 159,368 w., 21 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || 70′s Surfer AU || Period Typical Homophobia, Hawaii, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Professional Surfers, Gay John / Sherlock, Angst with Happy Ending, John was a Sailor, Misunderstandings) – All John Watson wants is the feeling of a freshly waxed surfboard under his feet and the hot California sun baking down onto his back. To finally go pro in the newly formed world of professional surfing and leave the dark memories of his past behind him as he rips across the face of a towering blue barrel. To lounge beside the beach bonfire every evening with an ice cold beer tucked into the cool sand beside him and listen to Pink Floyd and the Doors while the saltwater dries in his sun bleached hair. That's all he wants, that is, until the hot young phenom taking Oahu and the Hawaiian shores by storm steps up next to him in the sand in the second round of the 1976 International Surf Competition. (PUBLISHED AS ‘The Sea Ain’t Mine Alone’)

Proving A Point by elldotsee & J_Baillier (E, 186,270 w., 28 Ch. || Me Before You Fusion || Medical Realism, Insecure John, Depression, Romance, Angst, POV John, Sherlock Whump, Serious Illness, Doctor John, Injury Recovery, Assisted Suicide, Sherlock’s Violin, Awkward Sexual Situations, Alcoholism, Drugs, Idiots in Love, Slow Burn, Body Image, Friends to Lovers, Hurt / Comfort, Pain, Big Brother Mycroft, Intimacy, Anxiety, PTSD, Family Issues, Psychological Trauma, John Whump, Case Fics, Loneliness, Pain) – Invalided home from Afghanistan, running out of funds and convinced that his surgical career is over, John Watson accepts a mysterious job offer to provide care and companionship for a disabled person. Little does he know how much hangs in the balance of his performance as he settles into his new life at Musgrave Court.