#but i will say FUCK YOU to whoever fucked up the printing settings at the color printer at the library

[fandom-blackhole]

Guys I'm getting beat the fuck down this week.....

Edit: IT JUST GOT FUCKING WORSE

[fallingformatt]

SINCE WE’RE PLAYING GAMES M.S.

Matt x fem!reader

summary: what happens when you try to cheat your way to win a game of twister?

warnings: SMUTTTTTTTT! unprotected sex, slight bdsm.

word count: 2.5k

a/n: Yall are some freaky fucking fucks… over a thousand notes on my post? Yall are insane, im so thankful for yall dirty minded ass people. I truly did not expect that to happen on my second post ever. And thank you all for almost 300 followers yall are the GOATS!!!

Let me know if I should write a pt. 2 for FIRST GLANCE M.S. available here

post is not proofread

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I'm currently at the triplet's house. The sun is setting, casting a beautiful orange hue to the living room where we all are sitting, drinking some drinks, and just talking. The music in the background isn't loud but I can hear it clearly.

"I'm bored, let's do something fun," Matt says looking down into his half-empty cup. "Well I don't have any ideas," Chris shrugs his shoulders. "I have an amazing idea," Nick yells, startling me. "Nick, you scared me, I almost spilled my drink," I say out loudly slapping his shoulder. "Please ask me what my idea is, please, please, please," Nick tries to plead to make us ask him what his idea is.

"So what is ur 'amazing' idea?" I ask looking at him with a serious face. "We're all gonna play twister," Nick says ecstatically clapping his hands together like a kid. "No Nick, we are not playing twister, we're not five," Matt says annoyed. "Oh look I'm Matt, I'm so tuff and boring, I don't like to have fun," Nick mocks Matt, making me and Chris laugh.

"Well I don't know about y'all, but I'm tipsy, there's no way I could play twister right now," Matt says tugging on the collar of his black t-shirt, his eyes from across the room to meet mine, sending butterflies to my stomach.

I've always had a little crush on Matt, but I never really did anything about it, because I didn't want to ruin the friendship between us. I mean yeah, sure I would sometimes tease him, wearing something revealing, making his eyes wander to places they shouldn't, for example, today, I was wearing short, low-waisted shorts and a small leopard print baby tee, but I knew that, me doing something with Matt would probably change the dynamics of the group as a whole, so I left it as is, hoping my crush on Matt would sooner or later die down.

"You're just scared that you'll lose, so I have a proposition, whoever loses takes a shot of vodka," Nick says proudly. "That's the dumbest thing I have heard in my life," Matt says crossing his arms. "Well, as far as I know, five-year-olds can't drink vodka, so who's the five-year-old now huh?" Nick defends his idea. "We all are a bit tipsy so the chances of you winning are fair, you're just a pussy," Nick says trying to provoke Matt. "Yeah Matt, don't be a pussy," Chris joins in. "Okay, that's it, we're playing, and I'm going to win," Matt says and smiles confidently. Nick claps his hands excitedly as he stands up and walks to the pile of board games that are stacked on a shelf above the TV.

"Found it! Y'all are going down, I hope y'all like the taste of losing, because y'all are gonna be licking the L's shortly," Nick says with a devious smile. "Okay, this one's clearly had more than enough to drink," Matt says as he facepalms.

Nick sets up the game, laying the playing pad down on the floor and placing the spinner next to the mat. "So, who wants to go first?" Nick says grinning. "I'll go," Chris answers and bends down to spin the indicator. "Right foot on red." He says out loud and steps on the playing mat. We all take our turns and the game is starting to get intense.

"Nick you are going to lose," Matt says his voice getting higher at the end of the sentence. The poses we are in are criminal. We are four, grown adults standing on this little mat, meant for children. At this point in the game, the slightest movement could make us all fall down. "Chris, you look like a deformed frog," I say as I'm laughing, almost snorting. Chris's right foot is still on red, his left foot is on blue, his right hand on blue, in front of his left leg, and his left hand is in front of his right leg. Nick is chilling in a comfortable position, meanwhile, I'm stretched out, so close to fall.

We all spin a few times. When all of a sudden Chris loses his balance and falls. "Hah, it wasn't even your turn, you're out, take a shot," Nick yells, happy that he's still in the game. "This is so annoying, 100 bucks on Nick falling next," Chris says as he takes a shot of vodka. I'm now in a compromising position, both of my hands are on red and my feet are on green and yellow, my position is leaving my ass high up in the air. Nick is now barely staying in the game.

"Nick it's your turn," Chris says out loudly, the alcohol he's had, making him unaware of the volume he's speaking in. Nick spins the spinner, "right hand green," Chris says. As Nick tried to move his hand, he lost his balance and fell. "Fuck," he yells out as he stands up. "Where my money at?" Chris says as he hands Nick a shot of vodka.

"Spin it," I say to Matt, and he does. "Left hand red," I say and Matt starts to move his left hand. Now both of his hands need to be on red and the only place in order for him not to fall is on either side of my hands. As he moves over me he brushes against my ass making me lose my balance slightly. Placing his hand next to mine, his head is now next to mine, "sorry," he says quietly, his hot breath brushing against my skin, sending shivers down my spine.

It's now my turn and if I don't think of something quickly, I'm going to lose. I look over my shoulder to see what Chris and Nick are doing, they are currently in the kitchen getting some drinks. My lips move making a small grin, this is perfect.

As I reach for the spinner, I pop up my ass, making it brush against Matt's crotch. "Right hand red, looks like I'm safe for now," I say as I turn to Matt, a smirk appearing on my lips.

After taking my turn, I move back, again brushing against his crotch, now feeling something hard. "Don't do that," Matt says in an almost moaning tone. "Do what?" I say looking at him. "Don't try to act all innocent," he says in a serious tone. "It's your turn," I say, a smile plastered on my face.

Matt takes his turn and spins the spinner, "left foot green," He says, looking at the spinner. As he tries to move, I once again pop up my ass, making him brush against it once again, the tension on his crotch getting too much for him, making him lose his balance and he falls. "Ha, I win," I say as I stand up clapping my hands together. Nick and Chris rush over to the living room.

"Did Matt lose?" Nick asks. "Yeah because she cheated," he says, anger and frustration can be heard in his voice. "What did I do, that counts as cheating?" I ask, raising one eyebrow, as a smirk creeps on my lips again, knowing he can't say anything without explaining him further. "Nothing," Matt murmurs. "What's that? I couldn't hear you," I tease him. "I said, nothing," Matt raises his voice, standing up and storming off to his room.

"I am too drunk for this," Chris says throwing up his hands as he turns around and heads to his room. "Can you help me clean this up?" I ask Nick, and he nods kneeling down.

We cleaned everything up and put the game back in its place. "You ready to head to bed?" Nick asks. "You go, I'm going to come later, I'm going to check on Matt," I say as I start walking to Matt's room. "Goodnight Nick," I say smiling. "Goodnight." He answers.

Without knocking I open the door to Matt's room. "Hey, you okay?" I ask as I look at him. He's sitting on the edge of his bed looking straight at me. "I was waiting for you to come in, want to play a game?" Matt says. "Sure, what game?" I ask unsure what game he had planned.

"Since we're playing games, let's play a game you can't cheat in," he says a smirk creeping on his lips. "Simon says, close the door," Matt says. Oh shit, we're already playing. I close the door not moving an inch. "Simon says turn around and lock the door," his voice getting deeper. I do as he says. "Simon says turn back around and stand in front of me," he says. As I turn around, about to walk in front of Matt, my eyes meet his, his eyes grow dark and his lips form a slight grin.

"Simon says strip," he says his tone getting even deeper, a hint of lust accompanying his voice. "What?" I ask, my voice slightly trembling. "You heard me, Simon says strip," he repeats. I start off by taking off my baby tee throwing it on the ground leaving my upper body fully naked. I slip out of my shorts, letting them fall to my ankles before stepping out of them. I pick up my head to look at Matt, he stares me up and down licking his lips.

He stands up and walks closer to me, his hands move my hair to one side of my shoulder, then proceeds to leave a wet kiss on the back of my neck, sending shivers down my spine. His hand reaches over my body, touching my neck as he stands behind me "Left hand red." He says as slides his hand down my neck stopping at my breast. He massages my boob, pulling on my nipple making me moan.

"You like that?" He whispers in my ear. I don't answer. "Simon says answer," Matt says as his other hand slides down into my panties, pressing his finger against my clit before rubbing circles, making me moan. "Yes Matt I like that," I say as I throw back my head resting it on Matt's shoulder. He pulls out his hand, "Simon says turn around," Matt says and as soon as I do, he smashes his lips onto mine.

Matt wraps his hand around my waist taking small steps, leading us to his bed without breaking the kiss. I brush against his clothed cock, rubbing it slightly before I feel a slap on my hand making me break the kiss, I look up. "Nuh uh," Matt says shaking his finger, "Simon didn't say," he smirks and pulls his black t-shirt over his head throwing it to the ground next to my clothes.

He removes his belt, sliding it out of the belt loops of his oversized jean shorts, making them slide down a little, revealing the band of his boxers. He looks at me before moving his gaze to my hands.

"Simon says, extend your hands." His voice was demanding, I brought out my hands, and he grabbed them and put them together before wrapping and tying them together with his belt.

Matt puts his hand on my hips pushing them back, guiding me backward. As I take steps backward, I eventually fall on his bed. He crawls on top of me, spreading my legs with his knee, making space for himself.

He yanks up my hands by the tied belt, pinning them above my head, immediately, Matt attacks my neck with his lips, leaving a trail of kisses from my neck to my breasts, he kisses softly, slipping in a few bites. His hand slides up my thigh, stopping at my heat, his thumb starts to draw circles on my clit.

"Matt," I moan out. "Shhh, we don't want Nick or Chris hearing us do we?" He says looking up at me, taking his lips off of my breast. I shake my head in response and he smirks, "good girl," he says as he continues to rub circles on my clit his lips now moving back from my breast to my collarbone to my jaw before meeting my lips.

"Matt," I moan out as I try to pull my hands out of his grip. "Matt what?" He says as his hands push harder on mine, making sure I can't move. "Please, I need you," I whimper. He lets go of my hands and pulls away from my clit, making me let out a whimper from the loss of contact.

I immediately bring my hands down to my clit and start rubbing circles on my clit, pleasuring myself. As he unbuttons his jeans, he notices my hands, he grabs and pins them above my head again. "Are you gonna make me punish you?" He says his voice filthy and dark. "No," I say, shaking my head and looking at him. "Yeah, be a good girl for me," Matt says practically growling.

I move up and down my hips trying to get some relief as I watch him undo his jean shorts pulling them down, his boxers with them making his cock spring out, hitting his lower abdomen, precum glistening on his tip. Matt looks at me, "see what your little strategy to win did to me," he says raising his eyebrow.

"Please Matt, I can't take it anymore," I say as I scoot closer. Matt moves on top of me pinning my hands again, his other hand sliding my panties to the side before aligning himself with my heat. He pushes his cock in slowly before pulling it out almost completely, then pushing back in hard. "Oh- my- god- Matt-" I moan out between thrusts, his hand moving over my mouth to muffle my moans.

Matt fastens his thrusts, with each thrust going in deeper, making me moan out loud, he leans into my ear. "That's it, sweetheart, take my cock so good," Matt growls, pushing in me deeper than ever, his tip hitting my g-spot with every thrust. "Mmmm Matt you feel so good, I'm close," I moan out feeling my climax creeping up tension building in my stomach.

Matt moves his elbow next to my head, positioning himself so he's able to thrust even deeper. I arch my back as the pleasure takes over my body. His quiet moans landed in my ear, his hot breath sending me over the edge.

"Matt, I'm about to cum," I moan out. He smashes his lips onto mine in order to contain my moans as he plants a few more thrusts before I feel my walls tighten around his length, feeling the knot in my stomach releasing, my climax coming over me, I moan into the kiss. His hips continue to move as he thrusts in me a few more times before planting his cum inside me groaning, breaking the kiss.

He pulls out falling next to me, turning his head to look at me. "Who won?" He says smirking. "I did," I answer smiling, knowing this will piss him off. "Can you untie me?" I say as I shake my hands. "You didn't say Simon says," Matt answers teasing me back. "Simon says round two," I say as a devilish smirk appears on my lips.

I guess I won't be heading to Nick's room tonight.

[ariaste]

Hello, published author here who just noticed a thing in the s3 teaser that may help us to determine the timeline:

This is not an ARC. ARCs, aka "Advance Review Copies" or "Advance Reader Copies" are sent out in advance of the publication of a book in order for magazines/newspapers/whoever (and these days, online book influencers) to review it, and for booksellers to have a chance to read it so they can order copies for their store and hand-sell it better on publication day. ARCs usually go out around 3-4 months before publication.

ARCs are also sometimes called "advance uncorrected proofs" because they usually haven't been through copyedits yet (aka typo-finding and punctuation-checking). ARCs are always clearly marked on the front cover as what they are, to make it harder for people to sell them online and so that bookstores don't accidentally put them out as merchandise.

We know that the IWTV team knows this becaaaaause, from the end of s2e8:

*THAT'S* an ARC. You can see how it says so all over, both "advance reader's copy" and "advance uncorrected proof". It's also a paperback (as ARCs usually are) rather than the hardback that Lestat is holding -- all very typical and correct.

And here is a finished copy. And we know exactly how far after publication it is, because:

Daniel also gives a shout out to a "book fair" and Atlanta, which I take to mean the Decatur Book Festival, which takes place in October. So that means the book would have been published in June -- nice timing! Get all that good Pride Month promo for this gay-ass vampire memoir. So far we are nailing the Expected Publishing Industry Timeline And Behaviors.

So the only thing I can tell you definitively about what this means is that Louis got that ARC probably in February, aka around eight fucking months ago at the end of s2, and still hasn't even skimmed it, and that is HILARIOUS of him. not a shred of guilt on him about it either. (if you get a print ARC (as opposed to an e-ARC) and you don't even read it, it is polite to be a little embarrassed about that. not my personal best friend Louis DPDL tho.)

As for whether Daniel is a vampire during the s3 trailer -- the thing we are all clamoring to know -- I have two possible ways the timeline could be working, given the publishing industry stuff:

OPTION 1: Louis leaves Dubai -> Goes to New Orleans for Depression Hovel reunion, refuses to get back together with Lestat -> Lestat "I will woo him back with a Song, just like last time. ok that didn't work I'LL GO BIGGER. that didn't work. BIGGER" Lioncourt starts his rockstar career as a Gotta Get My Man Back tantrum -> Daniel finishes the manuscript, delivers it to his publisher, and sends an ARC to Louis (February) -> Book is published, bestseller (June) -> Daniel (who was turned at some unknown point) goes on TV about it (October) -> famous currently-bestselling journalist gets in touch with up-and-coming rockstar to get his side of the story -> Lestat has a mental breakdown on camera about how Louis is not even paying attention to all the albums he is recording, hurtful, tragic, heartbreaking

or

OPTION 2: Daniel DEFINITELY got out of Dubai alive -> [all of the above up to "Daniel sends an ARC to Louis"] -> book is getting great reviews -> already-famous Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist gets in contact with up-and-coming rockstar to do the sequel even before the book is out (slightly odd publishing choice but when you have two Pulitzers, the rules are different, so it's not implausible) -> Daniel gets his finished copies of the book (which brings us to probably May at the earliest; you don't usually get your finished copies more than a month in advance) and has one on set for interviewing Lestat -> Lestat has his sexy little rockstar breakdown on camera -> Daniel is human for interviewing Lestat but gets turned by Armand somewhere in the five-month span between finished copies arriving in May and his TV interview in October.

Option 1 gives the show writers a little more timeline wiggle room, which can be useful, but Option 2 is more Dramatic and builds extra tension if Daniel is trying to do this interview while not having a good time with his Parkinson's. Either way Louis is just out here not answering anybody's phone calls or reading the lovely ARC he was so thoughtfully sent bc he's busy redecorating his house.

THAT SAID, please take all of this with a grain of salt, i have been losing my mind over the s3 trailer and i may have missed something

this has been your war correspondent a report from the publishing industry. thank you and goodnight

[forcemeanakin]

ᴠɪᴄᴛᴏʀɪᴀ'ꜱ ꜱᴇᴄʀᴇᴛ ᴀɴɢᴇʟ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ x ʜᴀʏᴅᴇɴ ᴄʜʀɪꜱᴛᴇɴꜱᴇɴ

Okay so this is a alternate of @hanasnx starlet!reader but with my own little twist because I just love the scenery and the glamour of the shows <3 So I present to you: VSangel!reader x Hayden Christensen (let's ignore the fact that I've been working on some of these scenarios for YEARS now).

This is hella long and nsfw, so beware. 3K.

Previous inspo: Link

BACKGROUND:

Hayden has probably seen you in a big billboard before, maybe an ad on TV, but didn't remember your name. He thought you were hot though. A pretty little thing that was probably out of an old man's league anyway.

You are in your 20's, so you grew up with the Star Wars prequels and without a doubt Anakin Skywalker was your childhood crush. Posters on your walls, watching other movies Hayden was in just to see him. Most of your classmates probably made fun of your Star Wars obsession because you were only into it because of the hot guy in Revenge Of the Sith. How wrong they were!! It was also because of the hot guy in AOTC!

Also you're like a total SW geek, but we'll talk about it later.

THE BEGINING: How did you two meet?

Considering that both of you are from different areas of show business, you had to meet in a common ground. I don't see Hayden going to a fashion show before you (and then that's the only place paparazzi can catch him for sure <3). So after a lot of thought, you two met at an Award show (my mind goes automatically to the Tiff Tribute Awards). Or more specifically, the after party.

I picture Hayden saying hello to a couple of people he knows before heading to the bar and sticking around there, just sipping on his drink and greeting whoever comes along to shake his hand and pat his shoulder.

You already saw him back on the red carpet, making your best effort to not get your drooling face captured by a paparazzi. Your stunning dress and detailed makeup made you look like a million dollars !!!

And he noticed. Fuck, did he notice.

Walking by the bar, after pep talking yourself into talking to him for like half an hour, you pulled up right beside him to order yourself a drink. A cosmo or some shit like that. Very fancy and pretty, like you.

He was hypnotized by you the second he saw you up close. Actually, the second he saw your ass swinging his way.

That was it. You two were done for the moment your gazes crossed.

He made the first move, saying a polite "hey" and offering to call the bartender for you.

You were batting your eyelashes, grazing his biceps with your long nails and giving those "fuck me eyes" that worked every time. Someone so much more mature and wise, you didn't think he would want you for something besides fucking, so why did it matter if you were a bit sluttier than you were used to?

But you started talking and it was an actual good conversation. He seemed interested in getting to know you and his jokes actually made you laugh. He was all smooth with his compliments and subtle stares at your dress.

I feel like he would give you a nickname from the very first night. Something related to your attire or the sparkle of your eyes, accentuated by the glittery eye shadow.

It would be a downright shame to let that amazing chemistry go to waste for a meaningless hookup. Luckily he didn't let that happen.

Like a true gentleman, he walked you to your car, using the back door and called it a night. Not before asking for your number and teasing a goodnight kiss.

The next day, while you were getting ready to shoot a campaign, you receive a text from an unknown number, but you immediately knew who it was.

"Hey, starlight." There's a whole other version of this with them meeting over a smoke break, but I know that's not everyone's cup of tea.

BEFORE AND AFTER YOU:

Okay so let's set some things straight. Hayden's not a public guy. he hates having his private life printed on newspapers and he's not a fan of social media. At all. Heck. he doesn't even like to leave his house on weekends. But after you? He had to get used to it. You're this generation very own Gisele Bündchen. You're everywhere. You're everything. You are the fashion world. So paps are very much included in every moment of your life.

BEFORE GOING PUBLIC:

You tried to keep it hidden as much as you could. It was not very hard with you traveling almost every day and him living in LA, at his new house. And whenever he could, he escaped to his own little paradise in Canada.

So texting was basically everything you could do.

He even learned new lingo just to keep up with you :)

But you both craved more, so the next time you were in LA, you were going to grab dinner.

The damn paps got a few pictures of you and that's when the rumors started.

At first not many people recognized him, mainly because the pictures were taken from behind him, but the curls and the outfit ratted him out to a few observant fans.

But media didn't believe them, I mean, why? And the selected group that decided to run with that narrative used headliners like: "how the fuck did the awkward guy from SW pulled y/n's ass?"

After weeks of trying to be low-key for his sake: going on coffee runs using his caps and sunglasses so people wouldn't recognize you, having dinner dates at his house and/or choosing far away locations to stroll with a bit of privacy; you gave up. Your already public life was catching up with you two. So it was better to ride the wave than to escape it and fail in the process.

BUT BEFORE ABSOLUTELY GOING PUBLIC, I love the idea that interviewers were trying to drag the information out of you. Maybe at a red carpet or at an interview with a digital magazine, people would throw you some questions to see if you bite the bait:

"So, Y/n, who's your favorite SW character?"

And you would grin knowingly but never backing down. Your answer would vary from Obi-Wan Kenobi (to mess with Hayden) or R2 when you felt like sharing some of your SW passion.

But right before you two decide to go full-on public, you decide to mess with them, for your own entertainment: "You know, I do have a soft spot for Darth Vader."

PEOPLE GASPED AT THAT CRUMB OF CONFIRMATION.

GOING PUBLIC:

It was at a red carpet

You two went in separate cars

Hayden walked first, having his picture staken and signing autographs while you barely arrived at the event

The second you entered the carpet the cameras went off on you, total focus on getting pics of your designer dress

You were posing like an absolute goddess, answering some questions with wit, trying to spot your boyfriend with the corner of your eye

Finally you locked eyes and he raised a dubious eyebrow, like saying: "Are we seriously doing this?"

And you gave him a bright beam, stretching your arm to him as he walked to you, taking your hand and kissing the inner side of your forearm before placing it on his shoulder. Fingers dropping to your waist and pulling you to him while you laugh, his mouth lowering to your ear to whisper: "You always get your way, huh?"

You chuckled and kissed his cheek, you two turning to face the cameras, just for a few seconds before moving on.

DATING:

I'll not get into the heavy details of how you two managed to make your relationship work, with your traveling and photoshoots, because fuck that. I'll only say that there was a lot of sexting and he was a fucking natural at it. Mile high club as well.

You two would still try to remain unrecognizable by the paparazzis but more chill this time.

That meant having more pictures of you on your candle lit dinners or your fun Sunday mornings in the park out there.

I JUST KNOW THERE'S A PICTURE OF YOU KISSING IN THE PARK. YOU ON YOUR TIPPY TOES WHILE YOUR ARMS ARE AROUND HIS NECK. BIG GRIN ON YOUR FACES, LIKE IT WAS TAKEN SECONDS BEFORE YOUR LIPS MADE CONTACT.

The media would still release some mean headliners but thanks to the dilf culture cultivated in social media, some were actually rooting for you. Oh, and fans were torn between you; hating you because you were clearly fucking him and loving you because since your relationship started, you gave them more Hayden content.

The SW questions were constant in the interviews and talk shows, to the point that you were always brought some type of SW merch: a Grogu plush, a kids lightsaber, a little R2 replica. Whatever it was, it was always pulled whenever the question about you and Hayden was brought up.

You still kept answering "Obi-Wan" with a laugh and no additional information. "He has the high ground." You shrugged your shoulders, shaking your head with a cheeky smile.

Later in bed, when Hayden was giving you your daily dose of healthy cum :))) pounding into you with an admirable expertise, he whispers: "Who has the high ground now, baby?"

CLICHE BUT LET ME HAVE THIS

You never revealed to Hayden that he was your childhood crush, I mean, you could have mentioned it the first night but you didn't want to approach him like a fan. And then you didn't want to look psycho so you just let it be. And now it was too late.

But then

In the middle of an interview, a girl that actually gained your honest trust, asked you the anticipated question:

"How does it feel to date Anakin Skywalker?"

And... (the next bit was written by Indy during a brainstorm and I just wanted to share the exact words <3)

"in the interview you’re visibly nervous, rubbing on your knee, leaning forward, adopting a slackened posture. “yeah..” big grin, “he was actually my childhood crush.” “no!” the interviewer says in awe. “yeah! yeah,” you kinda laugh and cover your mouth. “i didn’t tell him. is that bad?” you put your nail in your teeth to fidget, putting on a little lovable twist to your face"

And then he sees the interview and he shots you an immediate text with the link like: "Oh???"

You know what you'll come home to

He's sitting on his usual chair, reading a book when he hears the door creak. You showed up with a shy smile, his arms opening up to let you crawl on his lap. Knowing that he'll bring it up, you hide on his neck, blush all over your cheeks. Hayden is caressing your thigh up and down, while he hugs you with his other arm and snorts: “did you keep that from me on purpose?” with a little swat on your ass (Indy, 2023).

THE REACTION OF PEOPLE ON SOCIAL MEDIA AFTER THE INTERVIEW. you cackle at the comments: "Not Y/n admitting she is dating her childhood crush!! She's one of us!!!" “HE WAS NOT” “bro no 😭 i thought she was single” “darth vader. you win again” (Indy, 2023).

Also dragging you to hockey games <333 you start to love the sport because of him but at first you didn't understand shit

He laughed at your reaction when you saw the first fight in the rink

"Do they just... start beating each other up and the ref let them?" You winced exaggeratedly.

"Yup." He laughs, drinking a sip of his beer.

KISS CAM KISS CAM KISS CAM

Also opening the car door for you after a date night, protecting you from the paps???? That's a head canon I'll take from starlet!reader and apply it here because YES YES YES

FASHION SHOWS AND SOCIAL MEDIA

ofc he goes to your fashion shows !!!!! front line baby !!!!!!!! And he is so fucking proud of his beautiful girlfriend.

So motherfucking supportive it hurts.

He comes home and peppers kisses all over your face, praising you for a job well done.

"I would buy all the clothes you sell, baby"

Or if you wore something he particularly liked, he would be desperate to get home and show you just how much he loved your teeny tiny dress on the runway.

He even learned how to dress appropriately to match with your outfits. NEVER LEAVING THE CAPS BEHIND OFC !! But his personal style improved so much, we are proud of him :)

ALSO whenever he is out and spots an ad of yours he takes a picture of it and sends it to you. Maybe with a little heart or smile, or a little text like: "so proud of you baby." Sometimes he takes a selfie with the campaign!!! such a dad selfie, his head tilted back and kind of blurry because he's trying to get the right angle !!!!

also social media with him !!!! again, he doesn't have any active accounts but you do. For his sake, you don't post a lot of things about him, however, some things are too adorable not to share. And fans love you for the little crumbs you give them

A list of photos I think would be posted on this reader's insta stories:

A photo of him in the garden, checking his tomatoes. I KNOW HE HAS TOMATOES

A photo of your shadows during a coffee run. Bonus points if it's Tim Horton's and it has the Canada location tag

A photo of his back while he's making breakfast

A photo of the view from his house. Bonus points if it is from the bathroom window. Extra points if it has any indicators that you two were previously fucking in there, like steamy doors.

A casual photo of you on his couch and you can see the famous chess game

a video of you two watching the prequels and you can hear yourself saying: "omg who's the handsome guy?" when he appears and he laughs.

A photo of you with one of his caps. Bonus points if it's the Toronto Maple Leafs one.

VS FASHION SHOW

OH YES. THE GOOD PART. THE FUN PART.

He never thought he would be in this position. Front line at the Victoria's Secret Fashion Show. But he is. And he's there to support his girlfriend. Heck, that still sounds funny to him-

You're out there, strutting your gorgeous figure for the world to see: with your six inch heels, your pretty wings and tiny lingerie- You're a fucking dream. His dream.

He's there at the front line with the Proud Boyfriend club, along with Adam Levine (I know but he got us fooled for half a decade) and Caleb from Kings of Leon.

His heart is pounding hard when your face appears in the initial video where they present all of the models walking

The first time you walk, he stands up, cheering loudly and smiling brightly at you. You were opening the show!!!!! how huge!!!

You focus on the cameras and getting the pose right but when you turn, walking on the side he's in, you point at him, even blow him a kiss.

The other two times you walk, because the initial pressure is off, you can focus more on him, and shoot him a playful wink and/or wave at him. He's grateful that you're giving him that attention, now he can brag around with hard evidence. :)

They dressed you up in a very flirty little piece, a pair of panties with a black bow on your rear side. When you get to the end of the runway, you turn around and show it off, maybe even playfully shake a little.

You know you'll pay for it back home

You will also pay for flirting with the music guest in the middle of the runway

I mean, you were not flirting, just doing the regular thing of pointing at them and dancing with them for mere seconds. But the music guest really focused on you and your strut. Maybe you did take advantage of the moment to get him all jealous and get some angry sex out of it

He could understand that part of your job. It didn't mean he liked it. He made sure to send some backhanded comments in the after party to make sure the musical guest got the picture. That you were taken.

It was so fucking hot.

He loved loved loved your police woman outfit, offering to pay for it himself so you could take it with you.

He was a fan of your angelic look with the enormous big, white wings. Almost drowning you in feathers but making you look like a real life angel. You were to him at least :)

You take such cute pictures on the pink carpet <3 he's looking like arm candy, an absolute accessory of yours. And he was happy to do it ! It was your night and he couldn't be any happier to be there with you !

Although the paps did catch him while he was staring at your spilling boobs. But could you blame him? That dress was TIGHT.

Hayden also has a photo of one of your VS campaigns in a giant frame in his office <3 you were so ashamed at first but you secretly loved that he paraded you around like that <33333333

you can catch glimpses of it during online interviews

LAST BIT

You are in a talk show, talking about the VSFS 2025, when the interviewer gets all serious and jumps:

"Last question, Y/n... is it true you and Hayden Christensen are engaged?"

You open your mouth in bewilderment, scoffing loudly.

"Where did you hear that?"

"Rumors are all over the place... but is it true?"

"No! Of course not." You squealed, acting offended before cracking a sly smirk. "We are married." And you show off the rock on your left hand.

PEOPLE GO WILD.

AHHHHHHHH- I could do this forever but I need to shut up :) also let me know if you want more nsfw content about this couple :)

Also some of these are stolen from my hockeyplayer!Anakin Skywalker / hockeyplayer!Hayden Christensen private headcanons. :)

Last pic because this is how I imagine this reader and Hayden backstage:

[1-800-imagines]

red dress. | rafe cameron

part 1

set in season 3, episode 1! part of this is literally the scene word for word with dialogue LOL

you had been manhandled all the way into your house and ushered upstairs before you could even really get a good look. an armed guard had left a hand print on your arm from him gripping you. once you were finally in the room and he let you go, you just scoffed, "great manners."

he showed no emotion and just said, "dinner at eight. I'd clean up."

"can't you just tell me what I'm here for?" you said in a frustrated tone. after he just closed the door. you tried the handle and groaned - it was locked.

the bedroom was nice and had everything you would need including multiple of the same red dresses in different sizes with a note that said - pick your size.

after a while, you decided to put it on - not wanting to piss off whoever was keeping you captive. you were sitting on the bed, dressed way too fancy for a dinner downstairs when there was a knock and then the door opened and a woman stepped inside, "he's ready."

you followed her out of the bedroom and down the stairs, trying to get a glimpse of anything that might be useful for an escape.

the woman showed you into the dining room and you looked around, spotting a man with a buzz cut standing with his back towards you. he was pouring a drink - most likely liquor. "hey - uh," you said unsure what to say to your potential captor.

your heart flipped when the man turned around. it was rafe. it was your fucking ex-boyfriend.

rafe's eyes lingered on your body, scanning you up and down as he saw you. it was like his brain hadn't fully processed who you exactly were.

"you're fucking involved in this shit? what? did you have your dad kidnap me so i'd be forced to talk to you??" your tone was harsh. you hadn't spoken to rafe since you broke things off and jumped off the ship with john b and sarah, obviously picking their side. it had broken your heart to do it but what rafe tried to do to sarah - that wasn't the man you loved.

"what the hell are you talking about? why are you here anyway? trying to fuck up my deal?" rafe said gruffly while walking towards you.

"I wondered if your little reunion would cause sparks, you know." said a voice from the other room. your attention snapped towards the other man.

"who are you?" rafe asked, his tone shifting and his body moving closer and in front of yours.

"me? my name is carlos singh. it's a pleasure to meet you, mr. cameron," your stomach dropped at the fact that the unknown man knew rafe by name.

"and ms. y/l/n, I do apologize for the rough tactics to bring you in today." as mr. singh said that, rafe's eyes scanned over your body, his teeth gritting when he noticed the bruises on your arm. "come, I don't bite." he continued, turning on his foot to go into the other room.

before you could follow, rafe blocked the entrance and whispered, "did he hurt you?" his hand brushed against your arm.

"I'm fine rafe, but I want to leave here - like now." you said softly and continued to walk into the next room.

you could tell rafe wanted to kill the man for anyone putting his hands on you, but now wasn't the time. "rough tactics? what about me then?" rafe was seething and after every sentence his jaw clenched harder.

"yes, mr. cameron, false pretenses for you, but the ends justify the means, I'm afraid."

---

after sitting through singh's speech about what he wanted, him interrogating you about the diary, which you had denied knowing its whereabouts vehemently, he had walked you and rafe back to the room where you had been held earlier.

after opening the door, singh then threatened the two of you with only having one day to tell him where the diary was and that there was going to be a demonstration at the window. and with that, he left the door locking behind him.

while rafe banged on the door, you walked over to the window and pushed the curtains out of the way. rafe joined you, "who the hell is that guy?"

"he's the guy that got us off the island." you murmured, "his name is jimmy portis. he was trying to help me." your stomach dropped, yet again, when singh pulled out his gun as he looked up at the window towards you and rafe.

you and rafe both jumped when the gun fired and you turned instinctively into his chest. his arms wrapped around you and he put his face against your forehead. he put one hand in your hair on the back of your head to pull you closer.

"baby, I need to know, the diary, do you have it?" he asked, pulling away and tilting your face up towards him.

you hadn't even realized that he had called you baby at first, but there were bigger things than that going on so you just shook your head no, which was the truth, and said, "no I don't have it."

rafe nodded and kissed your forehead, "I'm so sorry. for everything."

comment if you want to be tagged for this fic OR my obx tag list in general!!

keep an eye out for part 2 where it's the rest of their night!!!!

[streetlightyeri]

the misspoken chapter ; scott miller

chapter I of the 28 series

“you took a train to the south side of boston, you showed me where your old man stayed.”

w.c: around 7000

warnings: misogyny, extended writing of being trapped in an elevator, mention of pregnancy in medical setting, not well proofread.

-

Aspen rested her head on Scott’s shoulder as the Red Line railcar thundered back up across the Charles River. His arms were folded across his chest for the beginning of the ride, but his sleepy girlfriend had wedged her arms through his, intertwining her fingers into the hand closest to her. He busied his other hand with grabbing the sliding tupperware of leftovers her parents weighed them down with. It was a short train trip; Scott wasn’t sure how she was able to fall asleep and get so comfortable so fast. It must’ve been her plan from the moment he saw her heavy blinks after dessert.

When they finally got to their stop, he flexed his hand she was holding before shaking it, the movement making her grumble and lift her head. He pressed a chaste kiss to her hair before standing, her arms still wrapped around his. “This is our stop.”

She stood and let him guide her back to the street where the cool air started to wake her up. He let go of her hand to reposition himself on the outside; he flexed his hand in the absence of hers, but her warmth found him again quickly, without him having to ask.

They finally made it back to their shared apartment, their soon-to-be alma mater shining in the distance.

-

The two met when she overheard him bitching at an undergrad she was just helping about how he messed up a line of code and didn’t deserve the second chance to correct his homework for something as simple as a parenthesis. When the student asked what he could do to learn from his mistake, Scott looked through stacks of paper and pulled out a piece with lines of letters and numbers printed on it. “Find whoever this is, and hope they have pity on you to teach you.”

Aspen scoffed from behind her computer screen, recognizing the paper. She never understood why they had to print out coding homework, but Dr Muher was weird. Scott’s eyes narrowed in her direction; the other two students using Dr Muher’s TA’s Study Hour quickly gathered their things and bolted out the door.

“I’m sorry, is another student’s struggle funny to you?”

Aspen stopped typing and shut her laptop as though she had all the time in the world. She interlocked her fingers and rested her chin on them. “No, just that you’re using my work as an example and you don’t even know what I look like.”

Scott looked between the paper and the girl and before letting out his own scoff. “Yeah, I will not believe this is your work.”

She raised an eyebrow, “Why not? Please enlighten me.”

“This is too advanced to be a junior’s work.”

“This is a junior level class, is it not?”

“Yes, but-”

“The name on the paper is Aspen Lee, is it not?”

The TA’s hand tightened around the paper in anger at being defied.

She stood, palms resting on the table. “Why don’t you say what you’re thinking? That it can’t be me because I’m a girl. You’re the TA, why is it my job to teach my peers? I know the army doesn’t pay you shit, but that isn’t my fault. You don’t see my name on a fucking building here, and I’m not making it someone else’s problem.”

She zipped her backpack and wrapped her laptop in her arms. Just before she was out of the door she turned back, hand on the doorknob, “And by the way, his work is missing a bracket, not a parenthesis.”

-

A few weeks later, after very fiery glances being thrown between the two, Dr Muher called the two to her office hours. She sat with perfect posture as she looked across to the two biggest headaches of her entire teaching career, both with their arms crossed and scowls set deep in their faces. “I will not have my TA and my highest performing pupil glaring each other down every second of my class! I do not care what animosity you have for each other, but your rivalry is causing a rift to form in my classroom. You will both give apologies in front of the class for the way you two have behaved.”

Scott went to speak, but the stone coldness of Aspen’s voice lowered the temperature in the room, “No.”

Dr Muher pulled her head back in a mix of surprise and disbelief. “I’m sorry Ms Lee, but did you just say ‘no’?”

“I’m not apologizing when this is his fault.” She jutted her thumb in his direction.

He let out a groan, “What are you, five?”

Aspen rolled her eyes and swallowed hard, standing from her chair and throwing her bag over her shoulder. The professor held her hand up to Scott, warning him to stop, before turning her gaze back to Aspen, freezing her in place. “Ms Lee, I will not tolerate the environment you two have created in my classroom, you must understand this.”

Aspen’s voice was throaty, years of anger seeping into her words. “Why is it me who always has to ‘understand’? And speaking of ‘understanding,’ I thought you of all people would! You are the only woman on this goddamn computer science faculty, you know what it’s like having to prove yourself, downplay yourself, humble yourself, just to make the very essence of you palpable for the men in this field. You’re trying to tell me my work was good enough to rub in another student’s face until he saw that it was me who did it? And you expect me to just lay there and take it? I will not apologize to my peers for something that is not my fault, especially when I have yet to hear an apology from him! And if proving the point that the woman always gets the worse end of the deal requires me failing this class, that is something I am willing to do.”

-

Seven days later, Scott had not apologized and neither had Aspen. She was missing from all three following lectures. Just seeing her name as he transcribed attendance from everyone’s clicker made him grip his pencil to near breaking. After that third lecture, Scott was sitting at his desk in Dr Muher’s office, grading freshman coding assignments. He nearly threw his laptop after the 4th student in a row couldn’t make a circle turn 360 degrees. When Aspen walked in, he pressed the 0 key on his keyboard so hard that the student’s grade input as 000000000/10 and tanked their grade to a negative seven.

Her backpack hung off one shoulder, and she had a single piece of pink paper in her hand. She didn’t acknowledge Scott as she handed the paper over to the professor.

Dr Muher pulled her glasses off her head and perched them on her nose, pretending as if she needed to read what the paper said to know that the Pepto Bismol pink paper was a drop slip. She dropped the paper on her desk with a sigh, “Ms Lee, you are aware that dropping my class this close to the end of the year will impact your financial aid and your transcript?”

“This class isn’t even for my major, I took it as a free elective.”

The professor blinked, rubbing her eyes with her thumb and forefinger, “Remind me again why you are taking junior level C++ and are a . . . what major?”

“I’m here for coastal engineering. My programs are in MATLAB and Python. I just needed the A from this class. I’ll get it elsewhere. So, can you sign the slip?”

Dr Muher sighed again and sprawled her signature onto the slip. When the door shut behind Aspen, she turned to Scott, pointing in the direction Aspen disappeared to with the end of her glasses. “Fix this.”

-

The first flurries of winter were falling around Aspen as she made her way across campus and into the student union. The snow was a month early; it was only the beginning of November. It was early morning, the first class section still multiple hours away. She paid for a coffee and redirected herself to the elevators to go to the study rooms on the top floor.

An irritatingly tall man in a military uniform walked up next to her, freshly showered but still flushed from a workout. “May we talk?”

Aspen gave him a side glance, refusing to turn to him and have to look up, continuing to walk down the breezeway. “No.”

That made him falter. Scott pursed his lips and took a deep breath, summoning all of the patience he never knew he possessed. He took two steps to catch up with her, shoving his hand in the door of the elevator she had already made it to. His teeth were grit as he spoke, “Please, may we talk?”

“Why, Dr Muher threatened to give you a bad review to your Lieutenant?” She made eye contact with him through the mirrors that surrounded them as the elevator slowly ascended.

“You have to be such a dick all the time?”

Aspen finally looked at him, eyebrows lifted and eyes widened as if to say “oh, I’m the dick?” but couldn’t finish her sentence, the jolting of the elevator before it stopped prevented her from finishing. The fluorescent light above them flickered; the two turned their heads up towards it. “You have got to be fucking joking.”

She was nearest to the buttons, the two having left enough room for a squadron of kindergarteners to stand between them. Aspen pressed the open door button, hoping the stop was a fluke and the pair just hadn’t realized they were already at the 3rd floor.

The door did not open.

“Shocking.”

Aspen swung her head to glare at him. “And if we pressed the emergency call button and hadn’t pressed that, what would we have done if that was the fix?”

Scott narrowed his eyes back at her, shooing her away from the buttons. She tried to resist but his arm pushing her backwards against her shoulders was too strong and she stumbled to the corner he just vacated. His finger hovered against the emergency call button. “No smart comment about how I might tell whoever answers that there’s only one person who needs help?”

“What would they do when they came? Pry open the doors to get you out then snap them back shut and cut the cable line to let me fall to my death?” Aspen swiped open her phone with her free hand but only an SOS signal shined back at her.

Scott mumbled out a Jesus Christ at the morbid quip before pressing the button. The two sat in tense silence for a few seconds before a voice cracked through an unseen speaker. “University Police Department, what’s your emergency?”

“This is Staff Sergeant Scott Miller, a civilian and I-” Scott saw Aspen mouth civilian to herself and quietly snort out a laugh, “are in an unmoving elevator in the student union breezeway.”

Aspen rested her head against the wall with her eyes closed while he continued the call. The mirrors reflecting off each other creating infinite Scotts was too much for her to handle.

“Please prepare to be there for up to multiple hours, as we need to ensure there is nothing wrong with the wiring due to the weather. It is pertinent that you do not open the doors from the inside; the elevator may resume working on its own and can be deadly if one of you is caught between a floor and the elevator.”

The voice clicked off just before it could hear the two of them say, “Hours?”

Then the light went out.

-

It took only a half hour for Aspen to suck her coffee dry and begin to lose body heat. The breezeway elevator shafts were connected to the outside, meaning whatever temperature was outside translated to the inside. The box was slowly becoming an ice locker. Scott was still warm, fully dressed in his three uniform layers that kept in his body heat from his post-workout shower. Aspen looked through her bag multiple times, hoping to find an extra scarf or gloves but was out of luck each time. She breathed into her hands and rubbed them together before putting her hands in her armpits. She kept her head down to blow warm air onto herself.

A camouflage jacket hit her body before falling to the floor. She looked at Scott, who was sitting on the opposite corner of the elevator, feet planted and knees up. She lifted a brow in question.

“Put it on so you don’t die of hypothermia. If I get saved and you’re dead, the military police are going to have my ass.”

-

Aspen was still shivering under Scott’s military jacket. The metal of the elevator was absorbing more of the cold air from outside and turning the cube into a certified meat locker. She pulled out her textbooks and stacked them on the floor so the two of them could avoid putting their cores near the cold metal. She didn’t want to admit that it was Scott’s idea, but he had little to offer for them to sit on aside from cold, sweaty clothes in his duffle bag.

She curled into his jacket, trying to seal in any warmth left from him. Her knees were pulled to her chest and she dipped her head to meet them so her hot breath warmed up her skin through her pants.

After a few minutes, Scott noticed a decrease in her shuddering breathing movements. He nudged her side. “Are you still alive, Lee?”

She let out a grumble. “Yes, Miller. I think I am alive because if I was in hell, it wouldn’t be this cold.”

He snorted, “Going to hell, eh?”

She peaked out of her cocoon, only one eye visible to him. “If I die and you’re there, then yeah, I’m in hell.”

-

“What were you going to say?” Aspen asked, her voice muffled.

“What?”

“What you were chasing me to say.”

Scott sat in the silence that followed for a while. “I wanted to apologize.”

She pulled her head out the cocoon she made, brows knit in surprise.

It looked like it pained him to say it, but Aspen could tell there was sincerity in his words. There was no need for him to be as truthful as he was being. “I was an asshole to you that day in study hour, but I feel like you put words in my mouth. It made me angry - livid, so I figured if you saw me as the bad guy, I might as well let myself play the part.”

“What words?”

“You said I inherently valued your work less because you’re a woman - it isn’t and never was true. I knew that whoever Aspen Lee was, she was a woman, or at least identifying as one, according to MIT’s gradebook. The part that I couldn’t believe was that you were already there, helping him. I heard the way you spoke to that student, the way you pointed out his mistake but didn’t make him feel bad for it but didn’t baby him either. You knew that you were right and were unapologetic about it, but not mean. I’ve spent my entire time in the STEM field learning to cope with being belittled and scolded for a mistake. I think it’s why I do so well in the army - it’s the same shit.

“The company I work for outside of the military wants me to recruit talent in coding, C++ specifically. When I first saw your work, I thought you had to be a graduate student. I think that belief, that refusal to admit that someone younger than me could be so good at something I do day in and day out, prevented me from finding you. I’ve been trying to figure out who you are for months now. Dr Muher refused to introduce us, said something like we were too alike and would either bite each other’s heads off or . . .” Scott trailed off and cleared his throat, blinking away whatever memory came with what he just said, “All of that being said, I understand why you took what I said the way you did, especially here, at this school, but I would never devalue someone’s work based on their gender. What you heard in my voice wasn't misogyny. It was jealousy.”

A sudden wave of guilt washed over Aspen, causing her to hide her face again. She spent so many hours burning with hatred over him only to be wrong. “I guess I’m so used to being seen as someone who’s here to meet a rich man then do nothing with my degree once I graduate that I struggle to see people’s true intentions. And, there’s nothing wrong with doing that, but I’m just so tired of people seeing me and thinking they know my future while my male peers get asked what their aspirations are. Dr Muher is such an inspiration for me, and I felt so betrayed by her, like she was doing exactly what everyone else had. When I was in elementary and high school, I was in a STEM magnet school, and I felt so out of place, but when I’d go visit my grandmother in Oklahoma over the summers, I felt like I couldn’t belong there either. So, I’m sorry for my reaction. I think a lot of my anger was projection. But I am not sorry for the emotions I felt after."

Scott nodded, taking in her words. He extended a hand, “Truce?”

She wiggled her hand back into the sleeve of his jacket and shook it. “Truce.”

-

The door creaked and the elevator rumbled after a man shouted what Aspen thought was gibberish or possibly a German sneeze. SNECF. Her head shot up while Scott was already fully up and standing. She followed suit. The doors started to pry apart, the butt of a crowbar sticking out; whoever was prying was grunting with the amount of force it took. Scott kicked his steel toe boot into the crack the man made and positioned himself to push one side out, forcing the mechanisms in the elevator to open the other as well. The face of a plump man in a fire suit peered down at them. He was belly down on the ground, only a small sliver of the elevator was open to the 3rd floor. The rest of the door was blocked by the shaft.

He reached his hand out and waved her up, “Come on, Miss. We’ll get you up first.”

She abandoned her belongings but tried to take the jacket off herself to hand back to Scott but he shook his head, nodding in the direction of the fireman. “Least of my worries right now, come on, get up.”

She understood this was not a time for joking, nor was she in the mood for it, watching as Scott held open her only exit with his body. Aspen lifted her hands and the man took hold of her forearms, pulling her up with the help of another fireman. When she made it out, she felt like she entered a sauna. The heater on the third floor was working overtime, and she was thankful for it. She breathed out a sigh of relief, but her brow knit when she noticed the man who helped the fire chief get her out pick up an industrial fire extinguisher and take a few steps back from the elevator.

All she could see was Scott’s head, but through a tiny sliver of mirror she had access to, she saw a million versions of Scott take a shaky breath and reposition himself in the elevator doors, starfishing himself through them, palms out against the doors. Aspen looked between the two firemen, one who was not helping and another who was face to face with Scott and only held a crowbar between the doors. She quickly made her way over to the doors, but before she could grab a door and help keep it open, the man with the fire extinguisher grabbed her by the oversized jacket and flung her into the opposite wall with his full force. Her temple collided with the drywall, the thin material crumbing around her head as she collided with the stud. Scott leveled him with a glaze that Aspen couldn’t tell was anger or thanks. “If you two aren’t going to help, at least let me.”

“It is too dangerous, Miss.” The man who grabbed her said.

“You guys said you wouldn’t get us until it was clear.” She rubbed at her temple, grimacing as she pulled back and saw her hand coated in red.

No one responded.

Scott hoisted his legs up, holding the doors open with nothing but his hands and the crowbar, his knees rising to his chest. He took a second to breathe before lifting his legs to the patch of floor and sliding his body out, belly down on the floor. The second he let go, the doors snapped the crowbar in half with a ferocious thunder. Then the elevator fell down the shaft with a deafening crack, leaving a gaping hole in the wall. Aspen quickly wrapped her hands around Scott’s bicep, helping him off the floor, opting to not mention the bloody handprint she left on his shirt.

“Jesus Christ, you’re freezing cold.” Aspen immediately shrugged off his jacket and tried to hand it back to him. He dug in his pants pockets and pulled out a cloth, pressing it to her temple, hard. The two firemen were calling in the rest of UPD and whoever else the school deemed in need to handle the fallen elevator. The man who flung her earlier took position at one end of the hallway while the chief took position at the other to direct any passersby away.

He grabbed her by the shoulder with his free hand and walked her away from the gaping elevator shaft. He finally took his jacket from her as she took over applying pressure, sliding his arms through and trying not to react as the smell of cherry vanilla perfume filled his senses and as though there wasn’t a patch of her blood on the collar. Scott barely had time to zip his jacket back up before a man rounded the corner, shouting Scott’s name and title. It was clear he knew who was speaking; his feet shot together as he pivoted, his posture correcting itself, his chest puffing out, and his hands coming to his side.

Aspen took a step back as a man in his mid fifties approached. When he was about 6 steps away, he spoke again, “At ease, soldier.”

Scott’s hands came to rest behind his back and Aspen averted her eyes. It felt weird seeing Scott so obedient, so tame. Her wandering eyes found the elevator shaft; if she focused she could feel the cool breeze coming up it. It was pitch black in the gaping hole in the wall, the other elevator sitting pretty and untouched. No doubt there was caution tape already put up in the breezeway. She was certain that there would be crazy rumors about the incident on the school’s YikYak page.

But as she stared at the shaft, all her brain could play was different imagingings of Scott pulling himself out of there a second too late and going down with it. Her mind conjured up scenarios that made no sense: him headless, him bodiless, all different ways of him dead. All because he let her out first. She must’ve been staring for a while because when someone touched her arm, she blinked hard and turned to see Scott looking down at her. 

“Sergeant Miller, bring this lady to an urgent care. No school affiliated doctors.” He turned to walk away but hesitated, turning back to Scott. “Get yourself checked too, while you’re there. Report back to me.”

“Yes, sir.”

She tried to protest, but his commanding officer had turned to another soldier who came up, giving orders.

“You okay?” He glanced between her and the elevator shaft.

She gave a half-hearted smile and nodded, “Yeah, yeah, I think so. You really don’t have to bring me to urgent care. I’m fine. It’s just bleeding a lot because it’s on my temple.”

He pursed his lips, eyes flickering from hers to the drywall dust sitting in her hair and the roll of blood down her cheek. He didn’t think she was aware there was a strip of blood on the exposed stud. “I cannot ignore an order from a commanding officer.”

-

The urgent care physician had eyes the size of saucers when he was taking down the reason for this visit. He started with Scott who kept a clenched jaw and flared nostrils nearly the entire time. He received a clean bill of health and a hand written and signed note stating he was allowed to continue duty as needed. Aspen on the other hand was given a doctor’s note excusing her from classes for the rest of the week for a minor concussion, only after a few too-nosy questions.

“I do want you to avoid screens and long periods of staring at boards and notebooks, so I’ll write a note excusing you. But Miss, are you pregnant?”

“I was stuck in an elevator for four hours, not an orgy.” Aspen was annoyed. She had already told the nurse that she was not pregnant and had to deny a urine test.

Scott let out a choked sound in the back, but the doctor pushed. “Exposure to the cold for that long can have an effect on a fetus. Are you positive you’re not pregnant?”

Aspen let out a scoff of disbelief. “Exposure to the cold that long can have an effect on me. How many times do I have to say I’m not pregnant until I’m believed? So unless you’re about to get on your knees and pray over my virgin womb for the second coming of Christ, then just write the fucking note.”

Scott gave her the keys to his truck once the doctor finally discharged them. He swiped his card as she climbed into his passenger seat. He joined her a minute later, their printed visit notes in hand. He handed her hers and she glanced over it and snorted before reading out loud, “Miss Lee presents to the clinic today with complaints of a possible concussion and extended cold exposure. Voiced complaints of mild double vision, ringing in bilateral ears, and nausea. Denies any slurred speech. Upon examination has poor eye tracking ability and has laceration on left temple. Cleaned and bandaged.”

“Sounds normal.”

“Yeah, until: Patient is argumentative and vulgar. Pregnancy status remains unknown.”

Scott took his hand off the gearshift, turning to her. “No way.” He’d glanced over his report earlier and the doctor had referred to him as ‘pleasant,’ something he hadn’t been called since his great-grandmother was alive.

Aspen held out the paper for him.

“You’re sure?”

She let out a belly laugh, shaking the paper for him to grab, “I think we were one more ‘are you pregnant?’ away from you watching me have a pap smear. No, I don’t care if you look.”

Scott looked over the report, “I’m taking you to a different urgent care.”

She waved her hand to dismiss the idea, adjusting in her seat to try and escape the beaming sun that came from behind a cloud. He reached out and pulled down the visor before producing a pair of sunglasses. “I’m fine.”

“If MIT sees this, they’re going to try and weasel out of any blame. You need to see a doctor that isn’t going to write off valid points as you being argumentative.”

She inspected the sunglasses, trying to tell if they were actually going to stop UV rays. “If MIT wants me to piss in a cup to prove my unborn child didn’t stop the elevator, I will. But right now I just want my bed.”

“You need to see a-”

She turned to him, fast. “What I need right now is to be alone because quite frankly everytime I see your face my brain plays the sight of you almost dying this morning all because you let me out first. I am holding onto my composure with the thinnest thread of humor right now. Please just take me home.”

She turned back in her seat and put the sunglasses on, hoping it would hide the welling tears in her eyes. Scott didn’t quite know how to react, so he just let her direct him to an apartment building near campus. When he parallel parked, she took a deep breath and went to take the sunglasses off.

“Keep them.”

She lowered her hand back down. “I just realized all of our stuff was in that elevator.”

“I’ll see if anything was salvaged and see if I can get it to you. You have a way to get in?”

“Yeah, my roommates don’t have class until 10, so at least one should be there. I’m in that one.” She pointed to a window on the 3rd floor with a Christmas tree in the window despite the fact it was nowhere near the season for it. A beat of silence passed. Aspen couldn’t find the courage to look at him. “Thank you. For everything, I-”

He held his hand out. “Don’t.”

More silence followed that Aspen didn’t know if it meant she was to leave.

“See you next Monday?”

She gave a small smile before nodding, “Yeah, I guess see you next Monday.”

-

She was freshly showered and no longer smelling like Scott Miller’s stupidly attractive cologne. She swiped open her phone and lowered the brightness, busying her mouth with biting her thumb nail, and typed in what she hoped was the spelling of what she now knows was a command.

SNECF

Nothing besides a few Polish articles about sunscreen.

SNECF command

Nothing aside from dog training and a targeted ad about Polish sunscreen.

SNECF military

Jackpot. But in a bad way. Aspen locked her phone when she saw it and processed what it meant. 

SAFETY NOT ESTABLISHED, CIVILIANS FIRST. This command is given amongst first responder and military personnel when a situation may be dire or serve as a threat to life and/or property, but civilians are present and informing them of said situation may cause panic that would worsen or in some way prohibit the ability of personnel to adequately perform safety evacuations or further assessments.

-

She saw Scott before the next Monday. He knocked on her door three days later. One of her roommates opened the door and waved him in. He wasn’t sure if that meant this girl had no sense of self preservation or if that meant Aspen had explained what he looked like - or possibly even shown the horrible photo of him on the MIT ROTC webpage - to them. The apartment was clean, if a little dilapidated. They had a small Roku TV as the centerpiece of the living room, a tapestry of a shirtless Marvel or DC or some other superhero pinned above the couch with thumbtacks. The area above the cabinets in the kitchen were decorated with empty liquor bottles. It reminded him of the house he shared in undergrad. “She’s in the room with the pink door.”

Sure enough, down the hall, there was a room with a hot pink door decorated with My Little Pony stickers. It didn’t seem to match any of the other door styles in the apartment and didn’t fit in the doorframe currently. The edges of it were sawed and sanded down poorly. He knocked.

Aspen’s voice responded. “Why’d you knock? Just come in.”

Scott assumed she thought he was one of her roommates. It wouldn’t have been fair to walk in. “It’s Scott.”

Shuffling ensued, but after a few moments the door opened to Aspen, still dressed in her pajamas. She gave an uneasy smile, “Hi.”

Scott held up her backpack and smirked, his dimple popping, as he tapped her door with his knuckle, “Hi Pinkie. I was able to convince UPD to give your things back from evidence.”

“My roommate’s boyfriend fell through my door, and I got the Landlord Special. Be careful, Pinkie Pie will give you a splinter.” She took her bag from his hand and opened the door more to let him in. She sat on the edge of her bed, motioning for him to sit wherever. He opted for her desk chair. Aspen pretended to not notice the way his legs spread and his arms crossed. “UPD has an evidence locker?”

“It was mostly confiscated scooters, but yes.”

“God, the only thing UPD does that benefits this campus is infiltrate the scooter gangs. I shouldn’t have to fear for my shins walking to class.”

“They do also save people from elevators.”

She snorted, still sorting through her bag to make sure everything was there and undamaged. “The fire department did that.”

“Then the fire department threw you into a wall so hard you cracked the drywall and got a concussion.”

“My mother would classify that as a symptom of my hard-headedness.”

“She’s got that right.” He muttered. Scott was met with an attempted pillow to the head. Instead, it grazed him and knocked down her pencil cup. He pivoted in the spinny chair to clean it up and to gather his thoughts as he was once again clouded by her scent. He should’ve just given the backpack to her roommate and left, but no - he needed to see her. And good thing he had.

“Just know that hit the other you I see.”

His brows furrowed. For a mild concussion, she should’ve been far on the mend by now. The weeklong excuse was liberal to ensure she was fully healed. “Still have double vision?”

He turned back to her after putting the cup back in order. She shrugged, placing her laptop back in its home at the charging dock on her nightstand. “Nothing worse, just continuous symptoms. double vision is only for stuff not in front of my face, though.”

“So most things on Earth?”

She placed a finger to her lips and shushed him. She went back to looking through her bag, squinting at different items such as chapstick and lip gloss. The room was only illuminated by a floor lamp by her bed, casting the entire room in a warm glow. That response wasn’t good enough for him; he stood from his spot and walked over to her, arms crossed as he hovered over her. When his shadow cast over her, she looked up, head tilting all the way back to take him in. He held a small flashlight in his hand that he produced from one of his many pockets. “Hello?”

“Let me see your eyes.”

She jokingly tucked her hair behind her ear. “At least buy me dinner first.”

“Aspen.”

She gave a little pout but repositioned herself so her feet were touching the floor as he widened his stance to bring himself closer to her. He reached a hand out but stopped short of her jaw. “Are you okay if I touch you?”

She nodded, too nervous to give him her usual snarky comeback. She had curled herself into his jacket in a broken down elevator and was half asleep in his passenger seat after the urgent care, but this was somehow the most intimate moment the two shared. His hand was warm and calloused, rough against the skin Scott was sure she had a 10 step skin care regimen to maintain. He turned the small flashlight with the other hand to the lowest setting he could manage. He slowly ran the light over her eyes, watching her left pupil fail to shrink, staying wide. He tried to ignore the two butterfly bandages on her temple. When he finally let her go, she could barely see his jaw tense amidst the white splotches in her vision from the light. She blinked and looked around the room, trying to escape the splotches but they followed wherever she looked until they dissipated a few moments later.

“You need to go to the doctor again. A real office, not an urgent care. ER preferably.”

She huffed, “Not this again.”

“Really? ‘Not this again?’ Your concussion is bad. You need a CT scan.”

She laughed out loud at that; his expression stayed serious. She held her hands out around her room. “I can’t afford to live in an apartment where I have a normal bedroom door. You think I can afford an ER visit for them to tell me that I need to rest for the next couple of days?”

“I’ll pay for it.”

“What? No. I’m fine. And speaking of-” She reached to dig in her bedside drawer, producing a wad of twenties. She held it out to him. “For the urgent care copay.”

He shook his head, his arms crossed across his chest. “It was $60 dollars. And I’m definitely not taking your money for it when I think that doctor’s a total quack.”

She ran a hand through her hair, “Please take the money, Scott.”

“Not unless you go to the ER.”

She leveled him with a stare. “I’m not saying this to be difficult. I do not think I need to go to the ER. My symptoms haven’t gotten worse, just persisted, which isn’t unheard of from what my Harvard premed roommate tells me. They check on me periodically and make sure I haven’t asphyxiated in my own vomit. Please just take my word.”

He took a deep breath through his nose to ease his emotions. He didn’t understand why he was so concerned about this girl he considered his number one pain in his ass a mere 4 days ago. All he said was “Okay.”

“Thank you.”

He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a business card that had his name and ROTC office phone and scribbled his personal phone number on the back and placed it on her nightstand, next to a full glass of water and a pack of gum. “Call if anything happens.”

She blinked at him, reclining back on her palms on the bed. “Where do you get these things from? A cloth, then a flashlight, now a business card? And you kept your wallet in your pocket and not in your duffle bag that day. Very convenient. Very Mystery Mousekatool of you.”

“It’s called being in the military. Everyone should have that on them, sans business card.” He took a seat back at the edge of the bed, showing he was only staying for a few more minutes.

Aspen nodded. “Speaking of being in the military, why’d you join?”

“As you so eloquently put it, my name’s not on a fucking building. And Kansas isn’t really known for its rich families who can send their kids to MIT as legacies.”

She sighed, understanding all too well. She readjusted to recline against her pillows. “Too bad you didn’t get stuck in an elevator before the recruitment officer found you. I got a refund check for the semester’s tuition already, along with a promise of all-costs-covered for the next three semesters.”

He sat with his elbows on his knees, hands clasped. “You civilians have it so easy. I got a letter stating it was a ‘hazard of the job’ for me, so they will be providing a refunded copay for the urgent care visit that may take 6 to 8 weeks to process.”

She had to suck in her lips to keep from laughing out of shock. The two talked for another few minutes, Scott skirting the topic of what he reported back to his commanding officer (there was no way he was going to tell her that his captain asked how his “girlfriend” was doing and when informed that they were in no way a couple, was told “she should be - she makes you a lot nicer”). They got a few more subjects in before Scott noticed her responses getting slower and mumbled, her eyes fluttering open and closed, fighting sleep until she couldn’t. He quietly stood and turned her lamp off, making sure not to touch the edge of the door before he shut it behind himself.

The same girl he saw earlier was still in the kitchen, prepping her dinner. Another girl in maroon scrubs sat in the chair at the bar, a piece of pizza in one hand as she scrolled on her phone in the other. Both girls glanced at him when he closed the door before making eye contact with each other, having a silent conversation that Scott knew was about him. He figured if they were already talking about him, it didn’t hurt to interject. “Has she been doing okay?”

The first girl pointed her knife at the girl in scrubs, deferring to her. She put her pizza slice down in the box. She nodded as she finished chewing. “Yeah, for the most part. But if her symptoms stay this prominent for another day or two, I’m taking her to the ER.”

He raised his eyebrows, feigning as though he hadn’t tried to talk her into going a few minutes earlier. “ER?”

“I’m more concerned about the vomiting and nausea. She can’t keep anything down. I’m scared she’s dehydrated.”

“If she needs to go, call me, my number is on her nightstand. I’ll take her. I can tell them what happened.”

She tried to subdue her lifting brows and growing smirk. “Will do.”

Luckily, Aspen was on the mend the next day, her vision combining into one big picture again and her nausea slowly subsiding. She was back in class the next Monday and back in Dr Muher’s class for the first time in a while. Students murmured when she walked in, but settled quickly. She gave Scott a smile and took her usual spot four rows back and eight seats in. As Scott graded papers during the class, he found himself searching the faces of the massive class, continuing to land on Aspen’s, except instead of trying to incinerate the other with their gazes, she gave a small smile before turning back to the lecture. After everyone filed out, Dr Muher walked over to his desk, her heels clicking deafeningly on the tile floors. “I told you so.”

Scott fixed her with one of his famous glares.

She held up her hands in mock surrender. “Just remember what I said, you’ll-”

He shooed her away with his hand. “‘-either bite each other’s heads off or get married.’ Yeah, yeah, I remember.”

[andiftheycare]

AU where Suguru’s an overworked salaryman and Satoru keeps stealing his umbrellas as a bad attempt at flirting.

Or the you swan he frog meme but make it a fic

☂️ Part one here, and also on twt

☂️ Part two point one below (because it’s now too long and I haven’t even covered everything I wanted to cover in part two)

Highly unedited as I’m writing this as I go and using no braincells.

Tags to be aware of: AU, squint and it’s a reincarnation au (more on this in part 2.2 and 3)

☂️☂️☂️☂️☂️

Over the weekend, Mimiko picks up a talisman at the local temple to protect Geto from evil.

Nanako laughs at her. She’s been in a perpetual state of amusement since Suguru briefly mentioned the thief to them, “Isn’t this too much?”

“Well, we don’t know what Geto’s dealing with,” she’s just partially offended.

“It isn’t a ghost, sis.”

“You don’t know that.”

Their quarrelling is soothing and familiar, and Suguru huffs while he ties the omamori to the umbrella, which now sports a blessing and a curse sitting next to each other.

He wonders if one will override the other. A cursed object protects the same way as a talisman, after all — its energy is just stems from a different source.

At least that’s what his grandma used to say. Mimiko beams at him when she notices the new decoration embellishing Geto's umbrella, and Nanako comes back to put a star sticker next to the printed curse “Just to make it more obvious.”

On Monday, it’s raining and raining, and Suguru finds that his new umbrella is indeed an old one. Or rather, he notices it because he has no memory of walking home under it the previous week.

It just bends on one side, so his left shoulder’s uncovered, but that’s fine, really. Hopefully it’ll make it less appealing to whoever can’t be bothered to leave him alone.

“Whoa,”

Turning isn’t the best idea he’s ever had. In a scale from one to dropping out of high school — which he almost did when he was eighteen and had a peculiar, stubborn way to see his future — he’d put this executive decision just below almost not getting a degree.

Piercing blue eyes find him instinctively and immediately. “I don’t want to turn into a frog.”

“Then leave my umbrella alone.”

A client enters the konbini. Gojo and Geto briefly acknowledge them — there’s music, there’s someone clearning their throat and there’s two set of eyes moving to see this guy trying to reach the rack.

Neither of them moves.

“You could’ve, I don’t know, picked something more terrifying.”

“Because you think being turned into a frog isn’t?”

“I don’t know,” Gojo latches his hands behind his head, “There are worst faiths.”

There were. Suguru once possessed a wicked fantasy for horrible scenarios. Now his brain just produces white noises. “Like what, spending your life simmering in regrets?”

“Yikes, that’s just being a loser.”

There’s another hesitant “Sorry, I need to—" that goes to the wind and birds and gods listening to men, but not to those two.

“Then you don’t need to be cursed, do you?”

“What do you mean?” He says, slowly, but Satoru knows exactly what he means, because he winces, and his stand wavers. “You don’t know me.”

True. He doesn’t.

However.

There’s familiarity in their bickering, a warmth in Suguru’s tongue when he speaks back to him, declining his language into its informal structures rather that the safe politeness that should shield them from getting close too quickly. “You sound lame.”

Gojo Satoru is six feet tall and he pouts. What the fuck.

“I could sound lamer.”

Suguru blinks. Okay, maybe Gojo's right, maybe his instincts are all pointing in the wrong direction here. He doesn’t know him. “That wasn’t a challenge.”

“See? That’s the problem there. You don’t know I like to win.”

The konbini’s client signs and leaves the umbrella on a corner, next to the coffee machine. As an extra in those people’s life, he understands his role and he’s there, after all, just to buy dinner.

“But why would you want to—“ Suguru cuts off. “No, actually, I don’t want to know.”

The other grins widely, “For instance, I could say,” he looks around, then dips his head closer to Suguru “Take me to dinner. That's a great way to get to know me better.”

Before Suguru could even process that, Satoru takes a step back, beaming as if nothing in the world matters to him but the sound of his own voice. “See? That’s already lamer.”

“Please don’t ever ask me out again,” Suguru begrudgingly takes his umbrella, which wasn’t stolen so maybe the amulet is working.

Of course, that’s wishful thinking.

The day after, the umbrella is gone and the omamori’s left lying on the ground like a sad autumn leaf. Suguru picks it up with care, huffing, putting it in his jacket’s inside pocket so for it not to get wet in his walk back to the office.

During the night, when all the buildings surrounding him are pitch black, and his screen’s light scorches his eyes, Suguru briefly thinks about ordering online a small umbrella to keep in his drawers.

Sipping on coffee, he ponders about it, and then the thought is gone as the numbers in his spreadsheet finally makes sense.

“Christ, why are you here?”

At that point, there’s little that fazes him. Gojo leans on the ice-cream fridge wearing sunglasses in the middle of the night. His suit — black, corporate abiding — is utterly wrinkled, and the man looks, for once, tired.

“I could ask you the same question.”

The other raises his shoulder. “I’m having dinner.”

“It’s past one in the morning.”

“Eh,” Gojo inspects the selection of ice creams in silence, and Geto doesn’t know what to do with this man’s silence.

Granted, they met twice, so he shouldn’t be bothered by it; shouldn’t be reading the lines of his face as if they share enough of a past for Suguru to pretend he can interpret Gojo’s spirits.

Weirdly, his stomach churns. It must be because he had barely eaten dinner too.

“You’re not having ice cream. It’s not a meal.”

“I am,” Gojo replies, unbothered.

“But why?”

At that, white hairs pops up and black lenses are directed in his direction.

“Won’t you feel like crap tomorrow? And you’d be hungry in what, twenty minutes?”

“I’ll just have another one.”

Suguru inhales. Why does he care, anyway?

“You should go home,” Gojo offers instead, fingers reaching to open the fridge. They’re long, Suguru thinks distractedly.

“You know there aren’t any trains.” Suguru says, “Besides, at this point it wouldn’t make sense. The journey’s too long.”

“So what, you’re sleeping in the office?”

A question he doesn’t want to answer. “By the looks of it, you are, too.”

“I live close by.” he doesn’t deny it, thought, which is telling. “You can crash at my place if you want.”

“I’m not—-"

Fetching for a triple chocolate diabetic threat, Gojo adds quickly “I’ll be out all night anyway so I’m not fishing for a hook up.”

A part of Suguru deflates, a bitter taste similiar to disappointment weighting his tongue.

If Geto cared about things being proper, he would’ve declined Gojo’s offer. But Geto adopted two children when he was in high school and moved all of them to a shitty flat in Tokyo as soon as he cashed his first pay check, so proper often doesn’t agree with him.

Also, he’d rather not sleep in a karaoke room that night. Or in the office.

“Yeah,” Suguru steps closer to him, closes the fridge. “I presume you’d like me to buy you dinner first, for that.”

There are few blinks, and a car crash happening slowly in Gojo’s features. He thinks that’s lamer than anything the man could’ve said or done. But he doesn’t want Gojo to know he’s somehow winning at his own self-inflicted competition, so he walks towards the drinks aisle “I’ll buy you a beer as a thank you.”

“I don’t drink!” Gojo sputtered “Give me your Line contact instead.”

“I’d rather not sleep at your place then.”

“I’ll delete it if you ask me to.” He’s eager, this man. He could and should look pathetic, truly, with those ridiculous square glasses and his all-over-the-place suit, but he isn’t. Which makes Suguru go oh, maybe he looks like this when he’s begging.

“And you could need stuff at my place. Towels and all of that.” He does a weird hand gesture that makes Suguru wonder if Gojo knows what you need to spend a night in an apartment that's not yours.

“All of that?”

“Buy yourself a toothbrush while you’re here.” Satoru continues, “but yeah, what if you need a special conditioner for your hair?”

“You use conditioner?”

Gojo scoffs, “You don’t?”

Instinctively, Suguru’s hand flies to his bun. “Should I?"

“Unfair.” Gojo hisses, completely hollowing his cheeks as he sucks on chocolate like he’s trying to hoover the dessert with his mouth.

Shades slide on his nose at the sound of Suguru’s laugh.

☂️☂️☂️☂️

A brief walk of fifteen minutes it’s all it takes to move form the jungle of office skyscrapers to one of high end flats.

Figures, the man’s dirty rich. Geto double checks the address when he arrives at the building with the floating pool.

There’s a flash of Gojo’s cocksure grin in his head. Yes. This adds up.

So Geto goes through the motions of getting in the elevator and finding Gojo’s flat, an open loft with high windows and immaculate forniture. Little attention goes to inspecting his surroundings as Geto hunts for a bed.

Code’s 241218. You’ll find fresh clothes in my wardrobe and you can use all products in the bathroom. There’s one in my room and a bigger one in the corridor. Any issues give me a call.

The space’s so neatly organised, however, that Gojo’s instructions end up being clear as a bell. He changes clothes and brush his teeth and he’s dramatically asleep few minutes afterwards.

☂️☂️☂️☂️

He sleeps until the morning and misses his first alarm, the one he set to catch the first train back home, grab a fresh suit and wish Nanako and Mimiko a good day.

Fuck.

It takes him a few seconds to match the white ceiling in front of him with his surroundings, Gojo’s voice a lingering memory in his head.

A warm blanket of sunlight bathes his body and, at seven in the morning, for the first time since Suguru has started working, the pleasure of a rush free morning sinks into his bones, and cracks something in his chest.

If Gojo was there, he’d kiss him.

He isn’t, so that’s fine.

Can I borrow one of your suits?

Suguru texts Gojo as he turns on the rice cooker, a techy model with a vast selection of settings that looks almost unused.

Suit yourself

You’re not as funny as you think you are

You’re wrong. I think you giggles and blushes reading my texts

I don’t giggle

Yet

While the rice cooker steams in a corner, Suguru inspects the content of the fridge and finds some eggs, a package of puddings and a sad looking carrot. That’ll have to do. Mirin, soy sauce and dashi powder are easy to find, and he can indulge in cutting the carrot to mix it with the eggs.

He cares little about being in someone’s else home. Maybe it’s because that flat is a liminal space resembling a showroom, rather than a real house. Suguru doesn’t investigate his surroundings — he values privacy — but he’s cognisant of how him cooking in Gojo’s kitchen blurs the lines of their acquaintanceship.

The eggs sizzles on a pan, and the door of the flat opens with a clicking sound.

“And who are you?”

Geto turns to the voice. There’s a boy standing there with a plastic bags in his hands and an annoyed, stony face. He doesn’t look a bit like Gojo, if only for being in his early twenties.

“I’m…”

The boy takes a picture of him, and quickly types on his phone with one thumb.

Suguru blinks. “What are you doing?”

“Google-lensing you.” The boy looks up, skeptical. Eyes are down to the screen again. A text pops up in Suguru’s phone.

Megumi doesn’t bite.

Bur looks like he could. Megumi scowls. “Why were you involved in an arson case?”

Suguru smiles politely, summoning some of his charms. “Would you like some breakfast?”

[veren-cos]

I just can't do this!

Alex (sdv) x gn!reader

Kinda hurt/comfort but more just the reader getting out frustration. Lots of the reader swearing lmao

Not proofread, approximately 1k?? I really need to get a word count on these..

Today sucked. Today fucking sucked!

Nothing was going right. Oh my Yoba why can't anything go fucking right?! A new season started so all of your crops died, and you miscalculated how much money you would need for new seeds. Then you went mining to try and make up for the money. But you ended up getting beat by a zombie and needing medical attention from Harvey that you couldn't exactly afford.

You lost your best sword. You used up nearly all of your left over berries from the last season and Yoba knows how long it'll be until this season's start growing again.

And that's what you came home like to Alex. You hadn't cleared the old crops so now you were just stomping over and over on a poor old parsnip.

"You uh.. you alright there babe?" Alex walked over to you, kinda laughing at your pathetic attempt at rage, but was genuinely curious.

"No! No I am not fucking alright, Alex! Nothing is fucking going right. The whole town can go to shit for all I care! They won't get my crops anymore! Pierre can go fuck off, claiming my shit as his own. The mayor can piss off and cry to his girlfriend. But oh wait! He can't! because he is too much of a fucking asshole to actually say Marnie is his girlfriend!!"

You stomped more at the dust that was a parsnip. Every attempt got mildly more and more enraged and pathetic. All of the emotion and pent up anger was boiling to the surface but you were so tired from the repeated stomping it had become deranged.

"Okay, whew that was.. a lot(!) of emotion! You need out of here, like now." He went up and grabbed your shoulders. "I know just the place!" He shot you his signature smile before holding your hand and leading you away. You attempted to pull him off of you but couldn't manage to do anything. Today was rough and you were getting tired.

"Here, babe. Drink this. I just opened it before you came home. It's still cold!" He handed you a protein drink.

"Thanks," You spat out. You weren't meaning to be rude to him. But today was just so god awful!!! He knew you didn't mean it though, so he just kept walking.

Eventually, the two of you arrived at the bus. "What are we doing here? It is way to late to go to the desert."

"While we may be going to the desert, we are going somewhere you have never been before!"

You gave him an intense staredown. "And you're sure this is a good idea? It's mid-afternoon. Everything will be closing soon."

"Not everything! C'mon babe, let's go. You'll see." He pushed you forward onto the bus. And Yoba, that drink was awful! How did he drink those everyday..??

By the time you arrived to the desert it was nearly 7. You were still upset, and starting to get annoyed at the fact you didn't know where you were going.

"And here we are!" It was a beat up old building.

"Alex. Dear. What are the fuck we doing at an abandoned building in the middle of the God damn desert?!" It was too late for all this shit.

He stepped up and opened the door to reveal a dingy 24 hour gym. How had you never known this was here????

"It's been a while since I've been. Probably like 2 years? But they have this!" He gestured to a set of boxing gloves and a punching bag. "Perfect to get out frustration!"

"Babe I don't think I need a punching bag I think I need to legit punch someone in the face."

"They have a printer so you can print whoever's face you want and punch it." He pointed over to an old printer in the corner.

Holy shit, they really did! Too bad you didn't have your phone to print anything.

"Babe. Your anger is totally valid, and a lot of the times it leaves you with a lot of energy that you don't know what to do with." He looked around, reminiscing a bit.

"I know when I can here I was still pissed to all hell about my dad. Sometimes even thinking about him still makes me upset. And now, obviously, you can't go around kicking dead parsnips everyday. So here is a thing you can punch all you want! No danger from the mines, and no repercussions if you screw up. Perfect to let out some frustration."

For how beat up the outside looked, the inside was still pretty nice. There was a table of boxing gloves, and a few mats you could hit. Next to the table, there was both a hanging and standing punching bag.

"Now let's see what you've got."

He tossed you a pair of gloves, and picked up a large mat to warm up on your swings.

"This is silly" you kinda laughed the sentence out, but it truly was a silly thing. You knew that it probably would help, but he made it into the grand reveal that was just so silly.

"It may feel stupid, but you will fell better! I found that it helped more if I said out loud what I was angry at before I punch something."

"Okay... let's try" You put on the gloves, and they were a little too big, but that's okay.

"Whenever you're ready." He looked at you up and down. Even pissed as hell you were still hot.

"I hate that my crops die the second a new season starts!"

*bam*

"I hate Pierre for taking credit for my work!"

*bam*

"I hate that Mayor Lewis is a dumb greedy bastard who mistreats Marnie!"

*bam*

"I hate how long to damn community center is taking to build!"

*bam bam*

Your list went on and on. Punch after punch landed into the pad. Alex at first was trying to stifle laughter from how silly your complaints were, but quickly shut up when you started putting force into your hits. He was stumbling from the impact you left, where honestly it turned into a workout for him too.

When you were finally done, you felt great. It didn't solve anything, but all of the pent up energy got realesed in a shocking fun way.

"Babe.." Alex looked at you. "Remind me to never piss you off"

You burst out laughing. "Awh dear, I could never get mad at you." You booped his nose after setting the gloves down. "Is there anything else you'd like to do here? I seriously can't believe you've never taken me here!"

"No. No I'm good. Trying to not fall from you hitting the mat was enough for me." He laughed, and you could genuinely see he was wiped out.

So the two of you went home, and made casual conversation. He tried to get you to drink another protein shake but you strongly declined. Those things are seriously gross.

"Thank you Alex. It was really nice of you to take me there."

"Of course!" And he shot you another one of his signature smiles, just like earlier. The two of you made it a habit to go at least every other week from then on.

Masterlist

[kitthepurplepotato]

Part 11 / This Wedding Sucks.

Summary: Mr. Katsuki goes to Denki’s wedding and gets drunk (and sappy). Things get weird. Mr. Katsuki does NOT want to kiss the Menace. Kirishima almost looses his poor balls. This summary does not make sense but neither is the chapter. Author went all deep and shit on this one. She’s not sorry.

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol, drunk Bakugou, swear words, suggestive

First Chapter 💥 Masterlist

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

“Wow, this is…”

You are not sure how to describe this wedding hall.

One thing for sure, this place was re-designed especially for this occasion; Who the actual fuck would want such an obnoxious piece of furniture at their wedding?! This massive, expensive looking sofa has leopard print on it, the legs are pure gold and if that’s not enough, the whole shape of it looks like they have stolen it from a porn film set or something.

Otherwise, the place looks super fancy; the main color theme is black and white with a hint of golden all over the place; the door knobs, the accents, they are all shiny and expensive looking.

The other weird thing is the music; instead of the usual classical music, your ears are met with the sound of acoustic guitars. It’s sophisticated, but… different. You will definitely ask about the artist, just in case you ever get lucky enough to find an idiot who can tolerate you enough to spend the rest of their life with a lunatic like you.

“This is the bougiest shit I’ve ever seen.” Mr. Katsuki finishes your sentence, and honestly, he is not wrong; Kaminari Denki might not be the worst payed hero in the industry, but he’s definitely far off from being a millionaire and this place is way past his pay grade.

“How did he pay for this?” You ask the question of the century; and for your surprise, there is a really easy answer for it.

“Denki saved the owner’s son a few years ago.” Kirishima butts into the conversation. “They only need to pay for the catering.” He laughs and makes his way into the main hall.

“If there’s no caviar on the menu, I’m leaving.” Murmurs the angry blonde and stomps over to his seat.

“Jealous much?” You snicker and sit down next to him.

“Tch, why would I be jealous? This is a joke.”

“Yeah, it’s a bit too much for my liking.” You agree while you sip on your champagne.

Mr. Katsuki looks exceptionally hot today, you need to say. He’s wearing a black tailored suit with a dark red, super skinny shirt which doesn’t leave much for the imagination; his tie is loose which gives him a look of a rebellious teenager who doesn’t want to dress up but tries his best to fit in anyway. Having such a shitty personality in this godlike body is such a waste.

After the hall gets filled with heroes and family members, the event is about to start; sappy guitar music fills the hall as the couple of the day walks down the aisle.

“Whoever cries first need to chug down a bottle of vodka.” Mr. Katsuki smirks at you and the others, but his words are met with eye rolls and shush sounds. “This is not fun.” He sighs with a massive scowl on his face.

“I’m in.” You whisper into the blonde’s ears; he can barely hide his challenging smile as he leans back on his chair.

Honestly, you are not a big fan of weddings. You will never understand why would anyone pay so much money just to exchange some words and a bloody ring. Also, you’ve never been at a wedding before.

As the ceremony goes, you kind of start to understand the whole thing though; even you tear up by the end of the ceremony.

“If you cry…” Mr. Katsuki whispers in your ear in a deep voice, and damn if that doesn’t do “things” to you. He also smells really nice up close.

Ahh, fuck. Since you met that fucking Bakugou doppelgänger you’ve been having confusing feelings towards this person next to you. It’s not like he’s the same person. Get your shit together, woman.

“I almost lost, dammit.” You grin at him, tears long gone and the closeness feels weirdly comfortable. He’s literally in front of your face, yet you don’t feel threatened. It’s just two wedding-hating idiots having a banter in the middle of the ceremony. No biggie.

“I bet that’s his girlfriend.” Comes a loud whisper from a pink haired girl behind you, her name is Mina if you remember it right.

“I bet he’s secretly gay.” Comes another whisper from a black haired guy. Bakugou called him soy sauce face, but you are quite sure that’s not his real name.

“You are both wrong.” You turn to them with a mischievous smile on your face and the two start giggling like two teenagers; it’s not like you actually now if Bakugou sways that way or not, but even if he does you are quite sure he doesn’t want anyone to know that.

“Guys, behave!” Comes Deku’s high voice from somewhere behind the two, so you turn back with a roll of your eyes.

“It’s really not fun.” You sigh and turn back to main event; you can’t wait until this shit is over. This dress is really uncomfortable.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Bakugou Katsuki did not get to eat caviar today.

Also, this fucking afterparty sucks.

Everyone wants to talk to him. Everyone. Even the heroes he has never met in his goddamn life want to talk to him about the shitty weather.

Can’t they at least try to make a proper conversation? This is an absolute waste of time.

“If another extra comes over to tell me about the current stocks, I’ll catapult out of here through the window.” He grumbles to no one in particular, and to be fair, non of his friends care about him today anyway; they are all having fun and dancing while he’s stuck on the sofa with a bottle of champagne he’s stolen from the dining room after the hundredth small talk he had to suffer through.

He did such a good job in hiding from all the extras that he ended up alone in the far corner of the room, overlooking all the cheery people on the dance floor while drinking himself into a “sensitive bitch”.

He can’t take alcohol too well, okay?! Especially champagne and wine, but there isn’t anything else.

And now, after half of the bottle being gone, he is a little bit lonely, but not lonely enough to move from his comfortable hiding place.

His eyes wonder around the dance floor; he can see the Menace dancing with Kirishima in her motherfucking fancy dress; she works in unisex hoodies and massive boots, so this is the first time Katsuki realizes how stunning the Menace actually looks like behind all the oversized stuff she’s wearing. She did wear a skirt on her first day, now that Katsuki thinks about it, but he wasn’t really interested in her enough to take a good look back then; not like he’s interested now. He’s absolutely not.

There was also the fight two days ago when the Menace kicked his ass in a tiny sports bra but he was too angry to actually appreciate the view; not like he’s sad about it or anything. As he said, he doesn’t like the Menace that way.

He’s just… not blind.

Thanks to his drunk ass self, his staring got noticed by the demon itself and she’s coming over with a fond smile on her face.

Fuck.

Oh, fuck.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

While you enjoyed meeting all these new people, you couldn’t take your mind off your anti-social boss, especially after he disappeared into thin air in the middle of the after party.

Did he kill someone and fled the scene? He looked super intense and constipated the last time you saw him talking to a random guy. The fella looked super annoying and loud, and to be fair, you would have killed him too. You are just about to finish the conversation and look for Bakugou in case he needs help in hiding the body when you find his crimson eyes staring at you from the far corner of the hall, his face emotionless and bored. As you get closer you realize something’s wrong; he isn’t wearing his usual scowl and there is no indication of him being annoyed by your existence as you come closer and closer to his secret hideout.

When you see the bottle of champagne in his hands, you understand why.

Now here you are, face to face with the bane of your existence, and you are willingly sitting down next to him. Damn, things have changed, haven’t they?

“I’m tired. And it’s cold.” You announce, trying your hardest to get comfortable without showing off your favorite panties to the whole world. It’s a challenge, let me tell ya’.

Instead of a proper answer, the blonde takes off his suit jacket, and throws it in your lap in an unfriendly way.

“Put it on. I’m hot anyway.” He grumbles and looks to the other side; there is a slight blush on his cheeks thanks to the alcohol.

“Mind to share your stolen goods with me?” You grin at your companion, who answers you with an eye roll, but shares his drink anyway.

“I hate this so much.” He grumbles again, but this time, he doesn’t shy away from the eye contact. This might be the first time he actually looked into your eyes properly. No one can blame you when your heart skips a beat from the soft, drunk look in his eyes. “Why do people feel like they need to make such a big deal out of their stupid love? It’s not our business, is it?”

You are not sure if he’s jealous or just grumpy, but you do your best to answer as honestly as you can; seeing the amount of booze missing from his bottle, he’s probably drunk enough to be able to have some emotions to understand your answer.

Needless to say, you are extremely excited about this whole situation. Since the alternative universe shenanigans, having a drink with your grumpy boss was on the first place on your bucket list. It’s out of pure curiosity, really; you just want to know if there is any chance the Bakugou you’ve met back then is a part of this Bakugou too.

Since the accident, you’ve been wondering about Katsuki’s real thoughts; the ones hidden behind all the anger and ego. You have a feeling there is so much more to him than the pure aggression he shows to the world.

“They’ve been together for ages. They had their fair share of privacy already. Let them have some fun.” You answer. “This is a new beginning for them. It’s not my cup of tea either, but I think I can understand.” You sigh while you rest your cheeks on the backrest of the sofa. The blonde shuffles to mimic your pose; you are both facing each other now.

“I would never make such a big fuss out of my wedding.” He murmurs, deep in thought. “A small wedding in another country, with only the most important people in my life - the stupid hag, my father, Eijirou, Shitty Deku and Candy Cane face… my teachers, maybe.” He mumbles with a dreamy face; a face that painfully reminds you of the other version of him.

“Am I not invited?” You snuggle closer, the liquid courage in your veins doing a great job at tearing down all your protective walls.

“Do you think you are important enough to be there?” He scrunches his brows, but there is no edge to his voice. It’s an actual question.

“By the time you get married, I might be.” You smile and take the bottle from the blonde’s hands to take another sip. There a slight electricity going through your body as you touch his fingers in the process. “I don’t think I want to get married, to be honest.” You admit with a sigh. “I have impossibly high expectations for my significant other.” You giggle into the small space between you two.

“Like what?” He asks like he actually cares about your answer, and the curious glare makes your heart melt. You wish to be able to see this side of him every day.

“Like… I want my other half to be really close to me. Someone who I can talk to about anything. I also want them to be strong enough to talk back to me when I go overboard. I want them to be able to have an argument with me without stepping back and letting me have everything in my own way.” You are way too deep in your thoughts to realize the blonde snuggled closer. You are also too drunk to realize that your answer isn’t hypothetical anymore; you are describing someone who you already know. “I want them to challenge me every day. Keep me entertained. But I also want them to be able to communicate their feelings towards me, otherwise I’ll always think I’m not good enough.” You sigh and look up at the blonde who’s looking at you with wonder and true interest. You definitely can not ignore the way your heart skipped this time. “What about you?” You ask shyly, but you don’t move back; you can feel Katsuki’s breath on your lips as he answers.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

“What about you?”

Mr. Katsuki is way past his drinking limit; he’s drunk enough to not be able to contain his emotions, and he’s about to burst.

He wants to explode from all the confusing feelings; the way his heart is about to jump out of his rib cage from the closeness; the way he can’t stop snuggling closer and chase the warmth of Y/N’s body, the way he can’t help the shiver going down his spine when he can feel Y/N’s breath on his lips while she talks about her love interests.

For a weird reason, he wants to be that person; he wants to make Y/N’s dreams a reality and the sudden realization scares him deeply; he might be a sensitive drunk but he’s also a honest one; this is him, these are his real feelings coming up to the surface, even though he tried his best to push them under the rug for months. Now, with his emotions up his sleeve, he can’t lie to himself anymore. He will definitely deny everything, even to himself the next day when he sobers up, so this is his only opportunity to come clear.

“I want…”

What does he want? This right here, right now?

He can’t fucking say that.

Being so close to Y/N is extremely… uncomfortable, in a really weird way. His sober self wants to run away, snap this weird connection between them, even if it causes him pain, but his drunk self wants nothing more than to get sucked in by the abyss that’s calling him so desperately; it feels almost unbearable, the way his whole body just reacts to this person in front of him, like he can just mold into this person and be a whole; like the last puzzle piece in a massive picture finally being put in it’s right place.

“I want to feel a connection. I want to be pulled in, I want to feel like being close to someone isn’t a necessity, but the only way for me to finally breathe. I want to feel something that isn’t anger or frustration; find someone who can wash away my anger with a cheesy soft touch. Someone who can turn my fucking world upside down, twist it, untangle it, until I don’t even know who the fuck I am anymore.”

Katsuki is not sure if his words make any sense without seeing the full picture here, but he doesn’t care.

The truth is, Katsuki had his fair share of fooling around back when he was a teen. He forced himself out of his shell, tried everything to be able find out what makes his heart beat faster, but after all the meaningless make out sessions and unappreciated touches, he got to the conclusion that he just doesn’t have a heart.

Instead of a pleasant shiver, his mind was filled with disgust from the soft touches, he felt sick in his stomach when someone tried to caress his cheeks on a bad day, he broke so many hearts on his journey thanks to his inability to love that he decided to give up completely on it.

Bakugou Katsuki has never felt such a strong urge to pull someone closer, like he needs to close the distance, to chase the sweet release of this sudden tension or otherwise, he is going to die. He has never felt his chest this tight from the thought of someone, from the thought of being in someone’s arms; he has never craved the safety of a loving embrace as much as he is craving it now.

“Sounds like this person needs to move mountains to be able to get your attention.” Y/N comments, but there isn’t an edge in her voice when she says that.

“It’s impossible, I know.” He sighs, no offense taken by the harsh words. “No one would ever tolerate me enough to…”

“Kats.” Katsuki’s heart is about the explode by the nickname. He always hated it, hated the whole pet name thing, he wanted to throw up and run away, when anyone in his past ‘relationships’ - if you can call the few weeks of fooling around that - tried to call him anything else but his surname; but for a weird reason, right here, right now, his stomach is filled with butterflies from the sound of it. “There will be someone who will find their way into your heart, you know. You might be rough and angry on a normal day, but there is so much more in there.” Y/N’s hand caresses Katsuki’s chest, and the blonde wants nothing more than to put his hand over it, like a lovesick fool. “You are caring and sweet, always listening to everyone’s problems and trying to help in your own way. It’s a pain in the ass sometimes to understand you, but there is someone in this world who will see all the good things behind the mask you’re wearing. I can see it. I can also tolerate you… well, kinda.” She giggles, her face blushed and embarrassed. Katsuki can’t take this anymore.

“Y/N…” Katsuki leans in, their breaths mingled in the small space between them. Y/N pupils are blown wide from hearing her own name from the blonde’s mouth and also from the sudden closeness, but by the look of it, his presence isn’t unwelcome. “I…” Katsuki’s body moves on it’s own; his hands find their way into the back of Y/N’s head, caressing the soft hair, like it’s the fanciest silk Katsuki has ever touched and Y/N relaxes into his arms like she belongs here, she snuggles her nose to his own in a weird Eskimo kiss and Katsuki can’t stop himself anymore, he leans into the touch; their lips brush for a millisecond, for just enough to get lost in the feeling…

“No, no, no, fuck no” There is a fucking hand pushed in between his and Y/N’s lips, just when he was about to move them. Katsuki looks up at the intruder with murderous intent; Kirishima stares at him, his eyes blown wide, his face slightly mental from the utter embarrassment.

After a few moments, he looks to to other side of the couch; Y/N moved away, her face hot and red from the sudden realization.

This is when the happenings of the past few minutes hits Bakugo like a truck.

Oh.

Fuck.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

5 minutes before

Kirishima doesn’t want to pry.

He really does not.

He is about to come back from a quick toilet break, taking his time looking around the area; it’s such a rare occasion to have everyone together like this these days.

They are all busy, they are all pros, fighting against the evil with their lives on the line. They don’t have time for silly chit-chats and party games anymore; those few hours they have left from their day is usually used for taking care of their loved ones, or to be at the shrink’s office after having a massive meltdown/life crisis.

This is hero life for ya. Not all shit and giggles but shit piled up on another old pile of shit until you suffocate and die.

But don’t worry, you die with a smile on your face. Because you are a fucking hero from the beginning to the end.

No, Kirishima is not depressed. He’s just realistic.

As the redhead sighs into the void, his eyes wondering around the corner, he can’t believe what he’s seeing; Bakugou and Y/N is almost SNUGGLED UP on the sofa hiding in the corner of the hall, giggling and chatting away.

Kirishima has been Bakugou’s best friend for almost a decade, he knows this man as the back of his hands; it only takes him a few seconds to find the almost empty champagne bottle on the floor next to the blonde.

It’s not like he’s absolutely shocked by the scenario; he knew this will be the end game from the first second Y/N came into the office, but something just doesn’t feel right about this; it feels too sudden, too forced.

If this goes the way Kirishima thinks it will; because let’s be honest, he could feel the sexual tension between these two and it’s honestly unbearable at this point; Katsuki will ruin everything the day after, run away like the fool he is. He will run away from the responsibility, from the feelings, from the unnecessary complication that is Love, the second he sobers up.

So Kirishima says farewell to both of his balls as he sneaks closer to the two lovebirds, ready to act as a shield between them when it’s needed.

For his surprise, the conversation is nothing what he expected it to be; instead of shameless flirting his ears are met with reassurance and pure, heartfelt consolation. For a second, he thinks it would nice to just let have their way with each other; as we all know, Kirishima is an absolute softie and he can’t take this away from his explosive friend; he’s been praying every single to day for Bakugou to find someone who can appreciate him for who he is, and his prayers were clearly answered when Y/N came into their lives, even though this whole scenario wouldn’t have been possible a few months ago when the office was nothing but smoke and destruction when the two were in the same room for longer than 5 minutes.

By the end of his monologue the air got filled with tension and sparks; he only closed his eyes for a long second but when he opened them up again, he saw something he will never be able to unsee; the two drunk and emotionally overwhelmed idiots are a millimeter away from kissing each other in front of the whole hero industry.

Kirishima takes a moment to asses the situation.

With the alcohol melting their protective walls away, his two friends finally realized their feelings towards each other and that’s amazing and lovely and cute and Kirishima isn’t at all jealous right now.

But….

If Kirishima let’s this happen, Bakugou will be mortified tomorrow, his non-existent relationship with Y/N will be out in the open before they can properly talk about it, Bakugou will end everything the first second he wakes up to his friend’s stupid messages about his “new girlfriend” and he will never be able to face Y/N again. He will cause Y/N as much pain as he can chase them away; he will break Y/N’s heart into pieces and also his own, out of spite; Katsuki isn’t in deep enough to not run away from all these new feelings yet. It might already be too late, but fuck if Kirishima isn’t the best friend the world has ever seen when he moves his hand between the two just in time to stop their drunk shenanigans.

“No, no, no, fuck no”

Well, that’s a poor choice of words, but he’s freaking the shit out right now.

Can you blame him?

He’s probably about to get castrated by his own best buddy after what he’s done.

They both look like they’ve just woken up from a fever dream, barely knowing what’s happening around them.

Kirishima thanks God for sparing his balls today.

“Katsuki, we are going home.” Declares the redhead, grabbing the blonde’s shoulder to pull him up. “I’m calling you a taxi, Y/N. Please, give me a call when you get home, okay?” Wasted Dynamight on his shoulder and the phone in his hands, he orders 2 taxis on the app.

“Yes, mom.” She swallows loudly, and without a single other word or eye contact Y/N makes her way outside the building. The 2 stumble after her; he wants to make sure she actually takes the taxi and doesn’t wander away to clear her mind in the middle of the night.

“I can’t believe you cockblocked me, you fuck.” Slurs Bakugou, his eyes glaring daggers.

“You’ll thank me later.” He sighs into the void and makes his way to the second taxi after he made sure Y/N took the first one.

They don’t talk at the way home and let me tell you, nothing is scarier than a quiet Bakugou, but in this case, the quiet is a good sign; it means the blonde is willing to give his new feelings a chance; he probably won’t act on them yet, but he won’t ignore them either.

“Thanks, Ei.” Murmurs the blonde as Kirishima helps him to his bed with a bottle of water and an empty bucket ready by his bedside drawer. He puts his phone on charge as well to make sure it doesn’t die on him in case he needs help during the night.

“Thank me by not running away from this. You deserve it, whatever that was.” Answers the redhead with a fond smile on his face.

“Fuck off.” The blonde mumbles, his blushing cheeks safely hidden between his pillows.

Kirishima doesn’t answer, he only laughs.

He’s just happy to be able to be there for his best bud. “I can hear your disgustingly sappy thoughts, shut it. Just stay here for today, it’s late.”

Kirishima doesn’t need to be asked twice; he makes his way to the couch and falls into it face first.

Whatever will tomorrow bring, he’s ready for it.

… Next Chapter!

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

*author is silently screaming into a pillow*

Likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated!💥💚

Taglist: (If you want to be added, just ask!) @ibkg @chuugarettes @lilmaimai @nonomesupposedto @sozainturpal @luleck @notplutos

[itsyourstarboy]

Streamer!Honey Headcanons Pt.4

First Part Next Part

It’s been over a month I’m so sorry 😭😭😭 it’s here now, and there are some things that didn’t make it into this post, but that just means more parts!

—

Guy started showing up on stream more often than he did in chat. Though, to protect his privacy, he wears sunglasses and a face mask.

Every time he seems to have a different set.

A face mask with a smiley face, or maybe it's rainbow colored, or (his favorite) a pizza pattern. Sometimes he wears one that is plain black with a small heart in the middle (honey likes to kiss the heart but not on stream ofc).

As for the glasses, I made this post talking about those ;w;

Every time he buys a new pair Honey has to go in and change out the lenses for darker ones so no one can see his eyes. They are very particular with Guy staying anonymous, they care about his safety more than they care about anything.

And unless he's willing to carry pepper spray and a pocket knife with him while he works, he is not allowed to show his face.

He loves how protective honey is, he thinks it's the cutest damn thing.

—

The first time he showed himself, he and Honey had planned it beforehand. In the middle of their stream, he knocked on the door.

Honey made a big show of faking a dramatic gasp, and saying "whoever could that be??"

They open the door, and Guy steps in like 💃💃

"Oh my god, is that the Guy??"

Guy T-poses, "it is I, The Guy."

Chat lost their shit.

MY BOY ITS HE

GUY REVEAL [NOT CLICKBAIT] *EMOTIONAL*

Oh my 😳😳

HOT DAMN

loOK AT [HONEY'S] SMILE IM FUCKING SWOONING

beautiful beutiful butiful BETTYFUL BOOOOOYYYYYY

WHY HE DANCING LIKE THAT

DAMN HE GOT CAKE

Guy had quite the ego boost after that…

—

Sometimes while sitting next to them on camera he'll slowly start to lower his face mask just so Honey will hold his face "to keep the mask on".

♡♡♡♡♡♡

Honey looks to their right to see Guy eyeing them while slowly lowering the face mask. They roll their eyes and huff, practically throwing their controller onto the desk in front of them. They take Guy's face in their hands, squishing his cheeks, and give him a hard glare.

It goes on for a few seconds, Honey's intense gaze boring through him. They lean a bit closer and their forehead presses against his, never breaking eye contact.

"Stop doing that shit," they say in a low voice that makes Guy's knees feel weak. "Please," they add quietly, and all he can do is nod.

—

The fanart increased, and this time it wasn't weird because people had more of an idea as to what Guy looked like.

Guy still thinks it's adorable, and he has taken to finding ways to share this incredible art with the world in many ways.

He likes to print out the pictures and hang them on the fridge.

He calls the people in chat his children.

Or, at least, he did until they started calling him daddy…

Now they're just his chaos squad.

—

Guy made a second Instagram account to post on without showing his face (as if he ever even posts on his personal acc)

His stories are… interesting

First there's a picture of a grasshopper he found outside with the caption "look at this dood", then you see a really blurry photo with the caption "ASGFKDGFGSJ HALP ITS EVIL".

He posts little videos of Honey 🥺

They're chilling on the couch, their legs draped over Guy's, and he turns the camera towards them with a cat face filter.

Honey makes eye contact with the camera and sticks their tongue out a little bit anD THAT LIL BLEP WITH THE DOODLE CAT EARS AND WHISKERS WAS ENOUGH TO MAKE GUY FALL IN LOVE WITH THEM ALL OVER AGAIN

Before the video cuts off you can hear him make a little gasp and the caption is "I love them"

Fans think this confirms their relationship until they see Honey's story has a video of Guy in the kitchen humming the macarena—and half ass dancing to it—while making pizza rolls with the caption "if there was a zombie apocalypse, he would die first", and it makes them think maybe not…

—

Ever since Guy's debut, he joins chat less often (much to their disappointment), but what Honey doesn't know is that this was all part of an elaborate plan cooked up by none other than their menace of a boyfriend.

He wanted to spoop them. That's a harmless little prank, right?

WRONG

Honey has the most VIOLENT reactions when they get scared, you DO NOT want to be on the receiving end.

But nooooo, Guy just wants to be a little shit.

♡♡♡♡♡♡

Honey was playing The Mortuary Assistant. It's one of the few games that actually scares them from time to time, because of how unpredictable it is.

It was quiet, Honey wasn't really talking with chat. They were invested, double checking everything to make sure they were burning the right body.

Chat was basically left unsupervised, like a small child lost in the McDonald's play place.

Why do the feet have jiggle physics

✨realism✨

wouldnt the bodies be stiff tho? rick-a-morris or something?

RICK A MORRIS?!?!??!?

It's rigamortis, sweetheart

Ihatethisgameihatethisgame

EW EW NO GET THAT LIPLESS NO EYELID HAVIN ASS OFF MY SCREEN

WHY IS IT NAKED

Boy out here looking like salad fingers 🥗☝️👅👅

I’d smash ngl

Hi [Honey] <3 hope you're having a good day xoxo

That does not look like salad fingers

🌝✨rUstY💫🌚 💦🦴spOOnS🦠🥄

Baby girl got some mommy issues 😘💝😚

Lmao same 🤣😂😆

R u ok?

No :')

Can't have mommy issues if you never had a mom 😝😝

PLEASE-

Y r u joking abt this?? 😢😢

Where are the therapist people in chat?

Laughter is the best medicine ☺️☺️❤️

There they are

Alright, now everyone say 5 positive things about yourself

No

What if we don't?

I SAID 🔫🔫🔫 EVERYONE SAY 5 POSITIVE THINGS ABOUT YOURSELF🔫🔫🔫

HoneysHeaven: hello :)

Still no

GUY

GUY

MY GUUYY

BABY BOY BABY

HELLO 👋👋👋👋👋

HE HAS RISEN

GUY

PRAISE JUGULAR

HoneysHeaven: shh 🤫

EEEE

shh?

Ooh we be sneaky now

Y shh?

HoneysHeaven: everyone keep [honey] distracted I'm gonna spook them >:)

OOOH OK OK

SHHHHH

Oops

Pranky time 😈😈😈

Spoopy scary skeletons

Go Guy Go

On camera, you can see Guy verrry carefully open the door. He sneaks in, ever so gracefully, only tripping over himself a maximum of two times.

Despite his few hiccups, he managed to get in without Honey noticing (somehow)

Y'know that meme picture of Jason Momoa sneaking up on Henry Cavill? Yeah, that's what it looks like right now.

Honey was in the middle of a sentence when Guy pounced on them.

He wrapped his arms around them from behind and went, "BOO!"

Honey yelped and swung an arm behind them.

They've never had any training, but like… they've got a pretty damn good right hook…

They punched Guy in the face.

He fell to the ground, holding his nose, and laughed out a groan in pain.

JESUS FVCKING CHRIST

NOOOOOOOO

LMFAO 🤣🤣🤣🤣

GUY NO HIS FACE IS BROKEN

I KNEW THIS WAS A BAD IDEA 😭😭😭

Honey immediately realized what they'd done and a hand flew over their mouth. They were kneeling next to Guy within seconds.

They cupped his face, "holy shit, are you okay!? Let me see-"

Guy's glasses had been punched off his face, but since he was on the floor, Chat couldn't see.

He had tears in his eyes though he was laughing and saying he was fine.

Honey felt so fucking bad.

"No, Honey, I'm fine really. You don't have to- no! Oh noo, Honey don't cry!"

They weren't crying, they were just… teary.

A lot just happened all at once. They got scared, and they punched their boyfriend in front of around 200k people, and they're pretty sure his nose is broken. Leave them alone.

Guy pulled off his face mask, revealing his bruised, bloody nose. Yeah. That's broken.

Honey's eyes were full of so much guilt, you'd think they murdered someone's puppy.

They did.

Their puppy.

They said sorry so many times, they sounded like a broken record. They held Guy, with their face buried in the crook of his neck, mumbling apologies, before finally coming to their senses and turning off the stream to take Guy to the hospital.

He wasn't mad at them. Of course he wasn't.

But Honey was mad at themself, because how could they ever hurt Guy like that!?

He insisted it was fine, that he understood it was a reflex, and that he shouldn't have scared them (because he knows they react violently).

Regardless, Honey sucked up to him so much while his nose was healing, let me tell you.

They babied him, they coddled him, they waited on him hand and foot.

Guy hated that they felt so guilty, but he was getting so much love and affection, so…

He wasn't even that badly hurt, these two are just dramatic

—

After that little fiasco, Guy's account now has a special alert to let Honey know that he's in chat (so he doesn't go do something stupid like that again).

At first the sound was a little ding noise, but then Guy changed it.

Now it starts playing the jaws theme.

[xxshewritesinblacknwhitexx]

Four Months Part Two

You left your pregnancy test with Syd, now you’re dealing with the aftermath of it all.

Syd (London) x Black!Reader

WARNINGS: mentions of pregnancy, language, mentions of drug use, fist-fighting, small mention of blood, angst

It had been exactly two weeks since you’ve seen, spoken to, or even heard from Syd. Not since that day found him in bed with his girlfriend, ex-girlfriend— whoever the fuck she was. And not since you left that pretty huge bombshell on him.

You were pregnant.

And you had no idea what the hell you were going to do about it.

A woman’s pregnancy should have been the most joyous news of her life, but it wasn’t exactly yours. You were pregnant by your now ex-boyfriend, who was a drug addict, alcoholic, and a fucking cheater.

You released a deep, heavy sigh, lying back against the examination table with your feet propped awkwardly in the metal stirrups. You were currently at the free clinic just a few blocks from your studio apartment. Nerves bubbled in your gut, as you watched with bated breath, the oncall OB leisurely move the ultrasound wand against your bare lower abdomen.

The room was quiet for a moment before the loud, thumping sound of your baby’s racing heartbeat filled the room.

“Okay, so this is your baby,” the older OB spoke kindly, pointing to a black and white swirly image, that you barely could make out what you were seeing, on the screen before you. “And just telling by the size of the fetus, correlating with your last menstrual cycle, you’re looking to be about nearly 16 weeks along.”

Excuse me? Did she say what you think you just heard?

“16 weeks?” You exclaimed, sitting up abruptly. The sound of the disposable paper on the hospital bed you laid on crinkled loudly. You knew that you were definitely more than a month along, but 16? “You’re saying I’m 4 months pregnant?”

The Doctor nodded, grabbing a paper towel to help you wipe the excess jelly from your stomach. “I am most positively certain.” She gave you a warm smile.

“But how is this possible?” You muttered to yourself, before looking back at the doctor in confusion. “I mean, I had no symptoms up until a few weeks ago.”

“Well,” your doctor took a breath, “that is the case for some women. I mean, you could have no symptoms until the second trimester, like in your case. You could have symptoms throughout the entire pregnancy or none at all.” She quickly explained, while you tried to rack your brain on if you and Syd even used protection that first night. “So, I’m going to print you out a few copies of the scan and set you up for your prenatal care, okay?”

You nodded in desolation, laying heavily back against the bed in defeat, cursing yourself for being so carelessly stupid. “Yeah, okay.”

“So, you’re not going to tell me about what happened? Even though I drove you a long ass way.” Your best guy friend, Dylan, questioned as the two of you drove down the road in his beat up 1986 Pontiac Firebird —his most prized possession.

You giggled softly, the first smile you’ve had in awhile. “Stop being dramatic, it wasn’t that long. The clinic is only 6 blocks from my place. I could have easily walked, but you insisted.”

“Well,” he let out a deep sigh, “I just hadn’t seen you in so long that I jumped at the chance of spending any time with you.”

You gave him a warm smile and swallowed thickly. You then glanced down at the several sonograms still stuck in your hand. “I’m just, you know, still processing all of this.” You turned to face Dylan full on. “I’m four months pregnant, Dyl. That first night with Syd sealed the deal with my fate. I’m so fucked.”

“Now who’s being dramatic?” Dylan teased, but you couldn’t find a reason to smile anymore. “You’re not fucked, okay? Shit happens. Just think of this as a blessing in disguise.”

“A blessing in disguise?” You scoffed, pushing some hair out of your face. “I make less than minimum wage, trying to live off shitty tips, while living in an even more shitty ass studio, that I can’t even afford in the first place. And not to mention, my child’s father, who hasn’t contacted me since I told him I was pregnant, is a depressed junkie, who’s still in love with his ex. You really want to sit there and tell me that’s a blessing?”

“Well, when you put it that way.” Again, Dylan teased, bumping his shoulder with yours. “Look, don’t worry about your living situation. Your lease is almost up, and I have an extra room where you and the baby can stay as long as you’d like. Rent free of course. We will work on the job thing, and the baby daddy situation is up to you. If you feel like this Syd guy is not gonna step up to the plate then you got me.”

“What?” You turned to look at Dylan in surprised confusion.

“I mean, you and I don’t have to be anything else, if you don’t want to.” He stuttered, trying to explain himself. “But I’m willing to be a father figure for the kid if it’s what you need. Doctors appointments, birthing coaches, birthdays, soccer games, recitals —whatever, you name it. I will be there.”

That caused your heart to warm. You kind of knew that Dylan might have harbored some kind of deeper than friendship feelings for you, but you really only saw him as a friend. And that was because you were too blinded by Syd to see anything else.

“You’re amazing, you know.” You gave him another warm smile, reaching over to gently pat his hand on the steering wheel.

Dylan shrugged, and you watched his cheeks turn a slight shade of pink. “Well, I try.”

You playfully rolled your eyes at him. “Typical, Dylan. But thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

Dylan immediately pulled up to the curb right in front of your residence. He gave you another moment of reassurance, before the two of you made plans to have lunch tomorrow. After a few more moments, you finally stepped out of Dylan’s car, telling him your goodbyes and made your way up to your apartment building. Your eyes were cast toward the ground, you hadn’t realized that someone had been waiting for you. When you looked up, there was Syd, sitting on your stoop, anxiously smoking a cigarette.

Your heart almost stopped at the sight of him. He was dressed in a pair of jeans, his stupid leather jacket, and a baseball cap covered those shaggy auburn locks that desperately needed to be cut. His face looked pale and gaunt while heavy bags and dark circles lay underneath his eyes.

Everything in you wanted nothing, but to turn the opposite way, in hopes that he wouldn’t see you, but you were too late.

His steely blue gaze looked directly at you, as he immediately stubbed out his cigarette on the bottom of his shoe and then flicked it into the street. He gave you a small smile, rubbing his hands up and down against his jeans nervously, before shoving them into his pockets and approached you with caution.

“Syd,” you swallowed thickly. You could already feel yourself crumbling at his mere presence. “What…what are you doing here?”

He bit his lip and took a dramatic sniff through his nostrils. “We need to talk.” He told you, after a few moments of deafening silence.

Your resolve quickly snapped you back into reality. You then shook your head and tried to push your way past him. “There’s nothing to talk about, Syd.”

Syd was quick on his reflexes, as he reached out to grab your elbow, catching you before you got away. “Of course, there is.”

You yanked yourself from his grasp and looked down at your shuffling feet, not wanting to make direct eye contact with him. “It’s been two weeks, Syd. You’ve had plenty of time to come and talk to me. But now that window is closed. I have nothing else that I want to say to you.”

Syd released a heavy sigh, reaching to give his nose a harsh rub, before speaking your name softly, “I’m sorry, okay. I shouldn’t have left things the way I did. It’s just that I’ve been trying to get my head straight and trying to wrap my head around this.”

After a few silent moments, you finally looked up into his eyes for the first time. “Well,” you paused for a second, “there’s no need for you to wrap your head around anything anymore. Okay, Syd? You’re off the hook.” You told him, this time making your way up the stairs to the front door to your apartment building.

“What the hell does that mean?” Syd called out to you after another few seconds of silence.

You stopped putting the key into the door, turning back to face him, and shrugging in a nonchalant manner. “It’s whatever you want it to mean, Syd. Just know that I —we don’t need you. I can do this on my own.”

Again Syd irritably swiped at his nose and turned to quickly spit. You rolled your eyes at that, knowing that he was probably on something. “Then what was the point, huh? You literally slapped me with a pregnancy test and then just walked away. You didn’t even give me time to even say anything. What was I supposed to do with that?”

You scoffed, wrapping your arms around your waist, almost trying to shield yourself from the hurt you were feeling. “I’m sorry, did you want me to wait while you and that whore finished?” You snapped and watched as Syd looked down at his own shuffling feet. You kinda felt bad for the whore comment since you weren’t sure if she even knew you existed, but at that moment you didn’t care. “I mean, does it even matter, Syd? You don’t want this baby, so go back to your girlfriend and leave me the hell alone.” You turned back to the door, this time determined to walk in and get away from him.

“Why do you assume I don’t want this baby?” Syd called out again, and you could almost hear the hurt in his voice. “You won’t even give me a chance to explain.”

You wanted to ignore his question, —ignore his pain, but you couldn’t help yourself. So, you turned to face him again. You watched his movements closely. He was antsy. He sniffled quite often, still wiping at his nose harshly.

“Look at you, Syd.” You pointed out, walking back down the stairs, against your better judgment. “You’re obviously on something right now, and you’re not thinking clearly. Just go back to London, I’m sure that’s where you’d rather be anyway.”

Again Syd sighed, taking a big step toward you. He then hesitantly reached out for you, grabbing your upper arms, and you didn’t fight his touch. That was also against your better judgment. “Look, London and I are not back together. She went to LA. She’s gone. Out of my life for good. It was a stupid mistake, but if you give me another chance, I’ll make it right.”

Your brows furrowed in frustration. “So what, I get to be your consolation prize? Thanks, but no.” You tried to walk away again, but Syd’s hold was too strong for you. “Let go of me, Syd.”

Syd gripped a bit tighter, as he shook his head. “No, not until we work this out,” he hesitated, steely eyes pleading, “please.”

You were just about to tell him to shove it, the two of you were interrupted by the sound of someone else’s voice.

“Hey, is everything okay?”

You looked over Syd’s shoulder and spotted Dylan cautiously approaching the both of you. Great, this was the last thing you wanted.

Syd released his hold on you and quickly turned around, to find that Dylan was now standing in front of him. “Everything’s fine, alright? So, why don’t you climb back into your little bitch car and mind your business, huh?”

“I wasn’t talking to you.” Dylan spat, before looking over at you, his crystal eyes filled with worry, “you okay?”

You didn’t know what to say, but it wasn’t like Syd would let you, since he took a step closer to Dylan. “Again, I said, mind your business.”

Dylan stepped closer to Syd. “Again, I said nobody was talking to you.”

Syd let out a sarcastic chuckle, looking over his shoulder back at you. “Who’s this asshole, seriously?” He didn’t even wait for you to answer as he turned back to Dylan. “Look, bro, I don’t know who you are or what you want, but I was talking to my girlfriend,” he shoved his thumb in your direction. “So, I’m not gonna tell you again to just leave.”

You could see that Dylan was not about to back down, and you didn’t know when would be a good time to finally step in to stop the inevitable.

“She’s not your girlfriend anymore, bro.” Dylan mocked, and you knew by their stances that this wasn’t going to end well. “So, it would be in your best interest to leave.”

Syd looked down at his feet for a half second, before looking back at Dylan with a small smirk on his face. “Why don’t you make me?” He then gave Dylan a rough shove, which caused your friend to stumble back a bit.

You knew it was time now to stop it before it got any worse. “Syd, stop it.” You called out to the father of your unborn child. Yeah, this definitely wasn’t going to end well.

Of course, Syd ignored you and continued to shove Dylan. “C’mon on pretty boy, you want me to leave so bad, then make me leave.”

Before you could stop it from happening, all hell broke loose. Syd kept on provoking Dylan with his shoves until Dylan finally got tired after Syd’s final shove, and he officially threw the first punch toward Syd. Syd, although intoxicated, was able to quickly duck out of the way. He immediately swung back on Dylan, connecting his right fist directly to Dylan’s left eye. Dylan stumbled again, but quickly came back and connected a right hook to Syd’s nose.

After the initial shock wore off, you immediately shoved yourself in between both guys, as Syd was standing to his feet. Bloodied nose, he tried to charge toward Dylan, but you stopped him.

“Syd, stop!” You shoved your ex boyfriend back hard. “Please, just go and leave me alone.” You begged, tears rimming your eyes. “You’ve done enough.”

Syd looked down at you, his eyes bloodshot and blood still pouring from what you thought was now a broken nose. He swallowed thickly, looking over at Dylan and then back at you. His heart fell into the pit of his stomach at the fact that you had given up on him. But he knew he deserved it. He was the one who’d hurt you. So, he decided to do what you wanted, raising his hands in surrender and finally backing off.

“Go.” You told him one more time.

You didn’t even give him a chance to walk away, before you turned and walked back over to Dylan. You immediately noticed his right eye was now swelling and turning a deep shade of purple. You grabbed him by the arm, then the bag you had dropped when the fight first began, and made your way past Syd one last time —not even stopping to acknowledge his presence.

Syd left the two of you alone and just watched as you and Dylan walked into your building together. At the time, you hadn’t realized that Dylan had dropped something during his scuffle with Syd. But Syd did. When you disappeared from his sight, he walked over to the object and picked it up.

He used the back of his hand to wipe at the blood still coming from his nose, before wiping it on and staining the front of his jeans. He looked down at the object in his hands, smiling softly. It was one of the several sonograms you had gotten from today’s OB appointment today. You had accidentally left it in Dylan’s car, and he came back to return it to you.

Now it was in Syd’s possession. He looked at the sonogram and then up to your apartment building, then back at the sonogram, one last time, before shoving it into his back pocket and making his way down the street.

That was the day that Syd made a vow to himself. He vowed that from that day on that he was gonna get himself clean and straight for you and your baby. Because there was no way, he was going to let a prick asshole, who hit like a little bitch, as Dylan to be father to his kid.

TAGS:

[fable7122-writing]

Contracted Personnel:

First Day

So I started writing a new story set in the same universe as the other story here. Here’s the exposition

I should’ve read the fine print. I’m lying down on my company assigned bed in my company assigned room with 5 other people, on the verge of tears. I’ve just gone through my first day at Seventh Heaven Inc. A more fitting name would be Seventh Layer of Hell, but I don’t think the higher ups would like that kind of publicity. 

My name is Rita Coy, and I just signed my death warrant, otherwise known as the contract that gave me this job. I’m basically a door to door salesman, and my shifts are 8 hours long with no breaks. Even worse is that I have to go through very shitty neighborhoods filled with assholes who either want to kill me on sight due to me being a half-animal, or want to fuck me for the same reason.

The company says they’re supportive of us, and they are, they just neglect to mention that they treat us all equally like shit. All they want is to sell their shitty off-blue desk fans. They don’t even work! I took one with me to try out, and the speed settings are all fucked up. Plus it just looks ugly as shit. The kicker though, is that I have to work at this job until I’m either fired or I die. That’s why I needed to read the fine print.

Now getting fired should be pretty easy, right? Well apparently not. They’re so short staffed due to people actually reading and not being desperate for a job that they are willing to hold onto the employees that they have no matter what they do. You could kill a man, or 50 while on company time and they’d brush it off as, “It was self defense” to the public while scolding you and lowering your pay to that of a child during the industrial revolution.

That’s enough backstory for now though. I look at the ID I was given earlier. 

Name: Rita Coy

Gender: Transfeminine

Age: 26

Species: Half-Deer

Height: 5’4”

Extra details:

Long brunette hair, hazel eyes, usually wears the same black flannel, moderate breast size

Next to those descriptions was a photo of me, showing the exact same details… seems a little redundant if you ask me. Plus having the age on their means that they have to replace it once a year. Also, why did they have to put my boob size? And they didn’t even bother putting the cup size either. Whoever the horny fuck is who wrote that must not see very many boobs, because mine are fairly small. But that’s not important.

I force myself to sit up on my bed, hiding my face as best as I can while watching the other people. They look like they’ve been through this countless times before. The girl sitting on the bed across and one to the right of mine is really pretty though… but no. I’ve watched enough romancy shows to know that work relationships are never a good thing. Besides, she’s way too pretty for me. The way her dark pointed wolf ears stick straight up, and her very light brown hair flows down her shoulders. Even the way she’s reading that book is so delicate. I love it so much. Maybe one day I’ll learn her name. That should be enough, right?

Anyways, I should head to bed now. I need as much rest as I can get so I don’t collapse tomorrow. I hope she shows up in my dreams…

[fandsart]

Wishing for Roses

I didn’t expect to write anything for Valentine’s Day, but I got this idea at work in the middle of the day, so it’s a bit late in the day now

1983. Some girl comes into class and starts passing out roses for the school telegram program. Eddie hates Valentine's Day for the obvious consumer problem of it all, but it's also always just been a bit of a bummer to be left out of all kinds of festivities every year. With the roll of the eyes, he returns back to his worksheet, doodling in the free spaces.

He's working on some kind of sea demon and is debating on giving it a trident or something when a plop on his desk startles him from his focus. He looks up at the girl handing out the telegrams, waiting for her to 'whoops, I dropped this.' Instead she moves on. Eddie looks around the class, waiting for the snickers to start up. He checks the tag, finding that his name is actually printed on the paper; no message though. Obviously this is some kind of prank, in which case, whoever set it up would be ready to point out the absurdity to the rest of the class. But everyone else is either too focused on their own roses, or their disappointment, or anticipation as the girl works her way over to their tables. Instead of looking at the broad overlay of the room, Eddie decides to think of who is the most likely in the class to pull this kind of prank and hone in on their reaction.

Steve Harrington sits across the classroom and a row behind him. He is, in fact, the only one in the room who isn't following the crowd of the room. He's looking out the window, away from Eddie. The rose girl hasn't reached him yet, and Eddie feels like he knows how this is going to go down, how Harrington has probably scripted this out. He's going to get however many roses he's about to get. Popular jock he is will probably get a fucking dozen at least. Then he'll reveal that he sent Eddie's as a prank and his own stack of roses will certainly help with the statement of the whole thing. Harrington gets more than he needs of everything constantly and the only thing Eddie will ever get is a joke.

But the girl passes Steve's table, dropping nothing, and he doesn't even react. Ok, maybe Steve isn't the one who sent Eddie's rose.  Maybe he bribed someone to get his early. Honestly it doesn't matter, because now Eddie has a real mystery on his hands. He doesn't want to rule out that this could be a prank, but everyone knew the telegrams would be delivered during second period and why would someone send a prank when they couldn't even fulfill the thing. He didn't want to get his hopes up, but it actually seemed like he'd gotten a genuine telegram from someone. And well, it's not exactly like much will likely come of it, Eddie being gay and all, but it's a nice thought that he's not universally hated by everyone outside of his friend group.

He brings it up to the rest of the Hellfire Club later at lunch. He figures it's super possible that one of them decided to send it as an act of friendship or something. Seems a bit more of an actively affectionate act than his friends tend to participate in, but that's his best guess. But no, none of them sent it. The idea that it was a prank does come up, but Eddie sights all his reasons against it.

"It's still possible though," Gareth says cautiously.

"Yeah, I'm aware of that," Eddie says. "But I figure it's gotta be like a twenty percent chance at this point. And I'd still like to know who sent it. Besides, what kind of prank is it to not draw attention to?"

"The kind that makes you lose your mind in your own bafflement?" Nate asks. "Ok, sure. Thirty percent chance it's  a prank."

"Still, wouldn't you rather just let it go," Jeff suggests. "Either it's a prank or you're just going to draw attention to yourself trying to figure it out, and the big dogs around here are going to think you're doing the whole 'fake girlfriend' thing."

"I'm always drawing attention to myself at risk of social perspective. I don't think this is going to make people think any less of me."

"Well it's good you think that," Gareth says, "because you've been waving that rose around this whole time and Hagan and Harrington is coming this way. Heads up."

"Gift that to yourself, Munson?"

"Well, I was hoping it would still have thorns on it so I could slice your face open and say it was the school's fault for giving it to me," he snarks. "Oh well, se la vie."

"Do you know who gave it to you?" Steve asks.

"Bet she's 'from a different school,'" Hagan cackles with his baby hyena laugh.

"People from other schools can't send telegrams," Steve tells him.

"Yes! Exactly!"

"We don't know who sent it," Gareth interrupts.

"Well doesn't that just figure. So either she's fake, or there's some secret girl freak around here."

"Hey, Carol's here." Steve nods towards the entrance of the cafeteria where Carol Perkins strolls in.

"Hey, Carol!" Tommy calls. "Guess who got-"

"God, Tommy," Steve interrupts. "You can tell her when we sit down to eat. Yes, there's gotta be something seriously wrong with whoever sent that, but can we just go eat. I missed breakfast."

"Fine, fine." They turn to leave. "She's gonna flip though," Eddie hears him say as they get further away.

The rose doesn't make it home. Doesn't even make it outside the cafeteria room before it gets in the trash. Even in the small chance that it was serious, he feels less guilty getting rid of it when he sees a few other roses already in the bin.

He doesn't really think about it until the next Valentine's day when he gets another. He's even more prepared for this to be a prank than last time, given it got around that he sent himself one last year. But nothing comes. He makes sure to not carry it around with him this time. It comes home with him this year, 1984. It's not until he gets home this time that he realizes there's a message on the tag this time.

Sorry about the trouble from last year. Sorry I can't sign this off as "secret admirer." I don't have a crush on you or anything, but I think you're cool.

Ok, so this is some kind of weird platonic telegram. Except the only times he's ever seen that happening is between people who are already friends. He can only hope that this is some kind of gay boy in denial, but it's entirely possible that it's a straight girl in denial about her taste in men. 'He can only hope?' No. No no no no no. He's not going to start hoping that something comes of this. First of all, Eddie is a senior, a super senior at that. He's already ready to leave Hawkins and if it is the case that this is a gay denial case, then he can't really expect that they'll get over it in time for Eddie to graduate in like 4 months. Especially when whoever it is had been fixated on him for a year and still hasn't come to.

Most likely it's a girl, and if not, it's not worth dwelling on. Besides, if his first one came last year, whoever it was must have been a freshman and he was still a senior last year so that just feels like it would be a bit creepy.

It was probably just some underclassman who admired Eddie's self assuredness and open expression so sent one once, then felt embarrassed for Eddie when it got out of hand and just wanted to put through an apology. It's not a big deal.

=0=

Apparently it is a big deal though, because apparently it wasn't just an admiring underclassman who sent them, it was Steve fucking Harrington.

=0=

"I guess I couldn't accept the fact that Steve Harrington was actually... a good dude... and fuck I mean, I can't even believe I'm saying that after how you were in high school."

Steve snorts. "Yeah? You have a crush on Tammy too, or is this about my old friendship with Tommy."

"I don't really know what Tammy has to do with this, but I was mostly thinking about how there would 'have to be something seriously wrong with someone to like men's as you apparently thought."

Steve stops in his tracks. "Right. That whole thing."

"I'm surprised you remember. I mean, I get how that conversation would seem less impactful to you than me. Less memorable"

"I never said there would have to be something wrong with someone for liking you."

"Pretty sure that's exactly what you said. Again, I'm sure I remember it better than you."

"That might have been more memorable to me than you might think. I didn't say that. I said there must have been wrong with whoever sent the telegram."

"That's the same thing in that context."

"Not when you know who sent it."

Eddie sighs. "So it was a prank. Gotta admit, sending a second rose was a clever coverup."

"It wasn't a prank," Steve groans. "Why would someone try to coverup a prank anyway? That defeats the entire point."

"Ok, so if it wasn't a prank then we're just talking in circles. You think there's something wrong with someone because they sent me a rose. Are you going to tell me who it is by the way, or are you sworn to secrecy?"

"I sent you the fucking rose! Ok?"

It takes Eddie a moment to process that and he has to catch up with Steve who is storming ahead now. "But not as a prank?"

"No, man. I don't prank people."

"So... why?"

"I don't know, man. First time was on a whim. Second time I couldn't stop thinking about the previous year and how embarrassing that whole situation was. Figured I owed you an apology."

"You sent it... on a whim?"

"Yeah, man, kinda."

"'Kinda?' So you did have reasoning."

Steve groans. "Ok, yes. It's not like I drew the decision out of a hat. It's just... I thought you were cool, man. And I also knew you never got any and I never did either, so I just... I don't know. It was stupid."

"There's... so much to unpack here. First of all, that's... really sweet actually. Not stupid. Wait, what do you mean you never got any? Everyone fucking loves you."

"Literally name one person."

"Nancy."

Steve actually scoffs at the suggestion. "I liked her and opened her mind to the idea after an honestly embarrassing amount of time trying to woo her. The only people who actually chase after me don't want to get cute with me. They want what I'm capable of. No one's sending me fucking-" he let's out a broken laugh. "Yeah, I mean sure, if I bring someone's attention to it I guess. I've had Valentine's dates before, but I'm always the one to ask. I'm just not... associated with it I guess. And that's fine, you know. But that's why I sent them, you know? I felt bad because you probably don't even get to have that problem."

"I don't need your pity."

"Yeah, whatever. Sorry. I was just trying to be nice. Always fucking that up, huh?"

"No, just... for future reference ok? Don't go beating yourself up over it." Then an earthquake hit again.

Part 2>>

[f0point5]

I have to say that i was waiting until the end of the investigations to say something about the Christian Horner case because in these days you can never really trust anybody.

When i first saw the accusations the first rumor that i saw was the SA one then the Agressive behavior one (i think that's how it was but i think you get it) and i was literally shocked because 1. Christian is one of my favorites TP's (the other one is Toto) and 2. If the SA one was true i was disgusted bc he has daughters, i know that these don't matter bc even if someone has they still can do this but anyway. But then i saw that the informations that were getting out weren't clicking like a SA case and it took months to get it investigated? Weird from me.

Well but now that the conclusion is out how much you wanna bet that someone(s) will say that it was a fake investigation, that it was always gonna end up like this and bla bla bla

Ps: loved your posts with your "analysis"/ your opinion about this (and many others subjects)

You really can trust NOBODY that game of Chinese whispers was intense. I hope De Telegraaf loses all access to anything RBR related because the shit they were able to print was ridiculous.

I knew as soon as they said “female employee” that the SH allegations were coming. You never really know who is going to be that guy, they can have daughters, they can be the office dad, and at the end of the day, inappropriate comments in a work setting are a very slippery slope (this comes from someone who had a long office flirtation with senior exec that definitely could have been submitted in a similar report if I’d ever decided to cut it off). But RB were never treating it like an SA/SH case. When they didn’t suspend him, it signalled they weren’t worried about liability for his continued behaviour, which if it were sexual misconduct they would have been.

Everyone is going to say “it was a lawyer hired by RB that cleared him”, and “they just paid to keep it quiet”, as if both things are not standard operating procedure for corporations the world over. Christian Horner is not top dog in Red Bull, if he was a liability to the company, they’d have cut him the fuck out.

But as we know, people are just looking for reasons to hate on whoever they already dislike. I just feel for Christian’s kids. His stepdaughter and I think his daughter must be old enough to understand what’s been going on.

[hiyuna]

golden! ☀️ keigo takami | hawks x reader

On one end of your apartment’s hall, there is you: a down-on-your-luck photographer with a penchant for bottling everything up. On the other end, there is Keigo Takami: an incredibly chill physical therapist that you once bet your sister wouldn’t look twice in your general direction. You lost the bet the very next day. Thankfully, the friendship that you’ve cultivated with him is worth much more than that.

— rating: t | word count: 5.3k | AO3 link!! — tags: modern!au  / no quirks!au / gn!reader / fluff and humor / slice of life / a lil’ angst but there’s some comfort too / i did a deep dive into photography in japan for this whole thing / this first part is set around thanksgiving so i mention it a few times

one.  ↪ the shared spoon.

"Pretentious artist notes... thirty-sixth edition? Or is it the thirty-fifth edition? Hmm. Let’s say the thirty-sixth edition for shits and giggles. Today is November 21st, 2022. It’s currently—roughly, I should say—ten in the morning. It’s freezing outside, but there’s no snow—thank god or whoever else is responsible for that.”

Your eyes drift from the phone on the round table beside your bed to the ceiling fan just ten feet above you. It lazily circles, set to the lowest speed despite the chill outside just to clear the stuffiness of your room.

“First order of business is the obvious failure from earlier this month. I don’t think I need to go over the whole thing again after the last two recordings. It’s time to move on.”

Biting your lip, you take a minute to go over the beginning of the month for what feels like the millionth time. There’s so much that’s happened in between then and now—a disproportionate amount of it more harm than good for your career, your mental health, and just... you in general. Coming to this realization in the timeframe hurt, but all of a sudden it’s hitting you here and now two days from a holiday while you’re sprawled over your comforter, tears welling easily in the corners of your eyes.

The next thing you say is whispered under the breeze of the fan as if it’s a secret you can’t even trust yourself to keep.

“How the fuck do I move on?”

What a question, a riddle for the ages.

Sniffling hard in a way that your mom would tease you over, you stretch the edge of your sweater over your fist and brutally wipe at your eyes. Your notes are no place for tears, and they sure as shit aren’t any place for wasting time, either. 

“Second order of business is moving on: where do I go from here?” You pause in your questioning to sniff again. “Touko says that all great photographers—really, all great creatives—are molded and made by the breakthroughs they have after a slew of failures, but I don’t agree. Neither does Kamihara... Granted, I’ve only ever seen the guy’s works and read his one single interview over and over so I could be talking out of my ass here, but I would confidently bet he doesn’t agree with that.”

You take a few moments to think, then let your eyes drift to the ceiling again.

“Okay, fuck it, surprise third thing. What’s the deal with ceiling fans? There’s something kinda... I dunno. Nice, I guess, in the way it moves. It’s not like a roll of the tide or the sway of a pendulum, it’s this ever-repeating circle. Which is pretty cool, because it’s only that way because I made it that way. I gave it perpetual motion when I turned it on, and it’ll go until something else stops it. That could be a good metaphor for one of the prints in the next gallery, right?”

You watch the fan above for a few moments more, then slap your hand over your face with a muttered curse. “What the hell am I even talking about? ‘Perpetual motion’ of a ceiling fan. This shit is too out there even for these notes.”

Thankfully, your ringtone begins to blare right then, saving your notes from another rant. You aren’t safe, however, as the sound causes you to violently jerk out of your moment of reflection and pop your neck in a way you weren’t expecting.

From a cursory glance that is accompanied by another curse, you can see that it’s your sister calling, and you immediately know that the call is presumably to accomplish what both of your parents could not. With an exaggerated groan, you tilt your head back between your flexed shoulders and close your eyes. You know what time of year it is and what holiday lurks right around the corner. You know it’s a time for family to gather and fellowship together. You know that it’s worrisome to everyone in your family that you aren’t making the flight halfway across the world to the States after missing Christmas. And New Year’s. And every other holiday that came before now.

Unfortunately... after a myriad of recent events, you really just can’t find it in you to care even an iota more.

Rolling over to your side to grab your phone and stop it from recording your voice notes, you say, “Bear is calling, gotta jet. See you next time, pretentious artist notes.”

Breathe in, breathe out. Putting on a smile that you desperately hope will assist you in getting through another one of these phone calls, you answer your phone and put it on speaker.

“Bear, my darling and beloved little sister,” you chirp, “if this is about what I think it’s about, you can stop before you even start.”

"So your mind’s really made up then? There’s nothing I can do to convince you to come home?”

“Nope! I’m fine staying back here this time. I’ll see you all in a few weeks anyway!”

Your younger sister sighs deeply, the exhale sounding equal parts exasperated at and forgiving of your stubbornness. The thought of her standing in the hall of your parents’ home on her phone with a hip popped out as she rolls her eyes at your answer is enough to make your lips quirk. As predictable as she believes you to be, she should take a good long look in the mirror.

“Don’t you roll your eyes at me,” you playfully scold, “you did the same thing last year.”

“That was different! I was a broke freshman in college!”

“And I’m a broke photographer trying to live off of the money from my last gallery and an almost full-time job at the art museum. Think I’m justified in wanting to hang back for now.”

“Sure, sure. Just know that mom sicced me on you because she wholeheartedly believed that I could convince you. Dad was gonna get the other one, but he demanded not to partake in our quote-unquote ‘unhealthy family politics’.”

“Oh, god,” you chuckle as you press your fingers to the bridge of your nose, “who let frog get a sociology degree, again?”

She snorts along with you, “The real question is who the fuck let mom have him first? He totally fits into the whole ‘pretentious oldest sibling’ stereotype now, always going on and on about social bullshit. I’m so not ready for him to mansplain my relationship with Rina to her face in less than three days.”

“Ha! I’m getting plane tickets as we speak; I have to be there for that.”

“Ha, ha, fuck you.” She doesn’t mean it, of course, especially considering the way she’s clearly holding back laughter as she says it. The two of you let your laughter live its course before settling down, a warm sort of fondness that comes from a family like yours settling in the pit of your stomach. You’d almost like to let yourself pretend that you weren’t avoiding seeing them for a plethora of reasons, let yourself say to your sister that she convinced you to come back home and that you are actually buying a last-minute flight out of Fukuoka and back to the states.

You can’t do that, unfortunately, because a large part of yourself won’t let you.

It’s comfortably quiet for a moment on both of your ends before you hear a snap. “Hey, how was that last gallery of yours, anyway? I saw your post on instagram when you were starting it, but you didn’t post your normal wrap-up pic afterward. How many pieces did you sell? I bet they can’t get enough of you over there, huh?”

How easily that fondness can be ripped away and replaced with a pit of anxiety. You have to remind yourself to breathe again. “Uh, I honestly can’t remember how many pieces I sold, bear. I was really busy leading up to it and I had a shift at the museum like an hour later so...”

“Oh, uh! Sucks that you were busy! But I’m sure it was fun, and I know your pieces sold well. You’re a really great photographer, bug.”

You want to cry again. If only she knew that you only managed to part with two prints for a combined total of a little under a hundred dollars. If only she knew that you had a good crowd, but it seemed like everyone was only interested in moving to the next photo and not analyzing the themes in your works that you saw from behind your lens. If only she knew that your hours at the art museum went up because one of your colleagues moved to Tokyo just two days after the gallery.

You could tell her, but it would just add to the stress of everything everyone around you is going through. Your brother just had a kid. Your sister’s apartment caught fire a few months ago and she’s still trying to recover. Your mom lost her own brother at the beginning of the year, and while your dad has it relatively easy, you know he’s trying to be the strongest he can be for your little family. You don’t want to add to that just because of a few road bumps. And you won’t.

“Bug? Are you there?”

“Y-yeah, I just... Thank you for the compliment. I wish you could’ve been here to see it.”

“Aw, me too! Ooh, you should facetime me when you do! That way I can walk through it with the exclusive artist commentary like a dumbass billionaire with nothing else to do.”

That gets a watery laugh out of you. “You’ll have to text me and remind me, but I’ll try. Anyway, I gotta go. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

“Okay,” she softly agrees. “Before you go though... You know you can talk to me about whatever, right? I know there are fifteen hours between us and that messes with a lot of scheduling and stuff, but I promise to call whenever you need me. Just thought you should know.”

“I know, I know. And I’ll promise to do that if you can promise me the same, alright?”

“Of course, I promise! Alright, I think frog and company just rang the front door, so I gotta go too. Take care, bug!”

“You too, bear. See you soon.” And with that, the line drops, leaving you to stare at your phone.

One day, you will call your sister and tell her everything that’s been troubling you. You’ll tell her, then your parents, then your brother. And then, you’ll plan to take as long of a vacation as you can just to see them all. One day you will.

Just maybe not today.

The day passes you by after you get off the phone with your sister. You spend most of it curled into a tight ball on your couch with a positively gigantic fleece blanket draped over your shoulders like a wise ruler presiding over their kingdom...only your “kingdom” was your tv playing that one restaurant show that stressed everyone out this past summer. Another man’s treasure, right?

Around six, however, you decide to stretch your legs by taking a walk downstairs to get your mail and maybe see a neighbor or two. You could most likely benefit more from that than watching another episode in the dark of your apartment. So, you press your feet into a pair of canvas shoes, slip into your favorite jacket, offhandedly comb your fingers through your hair, and head out the door with just your keys and phone.

The elevator ride down is uneventful—one of the older kids living on your floor is on his way to get the mail for his parents and thoroughly ignores you by playing with his switch instead. Not like you’d have much to say, anyway. He’s courteous though, because he motions for you to get your mail first when the two of you make it down. You keep your voice to a murmur as you thank him, hastily grab your mail, then apologize as you scoot out of his way.

You don’t have much, thankfully. There’s a letter from the art museum’s director saying that you’re welcome to schedule another gallery for your works a few weeks into the new year that you sigh at, a paper bill that reminds you to sign up for paperless versions, and a thick yellow envelope from your mom. You stop in your tracks to rip the envelope open and find a card in the shape of a goofy cartoon turkey inside.

“Just because you aren’t coming doesn’t mean you can’t eat like we will. I’ll have your brother send you some money from me through those weird money-transfer apps you kids use these days. Treat yourself to some turkey on me!”

Oh, mom. You’ll have to call her the second you get back to your apartment. You don’t need money to buy a turkey—and you’re not even really a fan of turkey to begin with... The thought is very kind and very mom of her, and yet another show of love you needed from your family at this moment in time. With a slight pep in your step, you begin to walk back to the elevator while giving the goofy turkey another fond glance.

The second you do, however, you run into a giant and very solid... thing. 

Luckily, while you do stumble over your feet in order to regain your balance, you don’t fall flat on your ass in front of a lobby of your neighbors. Unluckily, you recognize the person you ran into, and he’s picking up the plastic bags you made him drop with a friendly smirk that makes you want to simultaneously want to hide and roll your eyes at him.

“Ah, Kei—oh, I mean Takami! I didn’t see you there, I’m so sorry! You alright?”

Takami Keigo, your neighbor from the opposite end of the hall, laughs with a practiced poise. “It’s fine, I swear! Though I do have to wonder why you continue to call me Takami...”

“How many times—it’s polite to call you by your last name,” you grumble as you hastily squat down and yank the last plastic bag off of the ground before he could attempt to with your free hand. “I’m being polite.”

“You are very polite to me! I can’t say the same about the eggs in that bag, unfortunately.”

You stiffen automatically in shock, immediately (but carefully) peering into the bag to inspect its contents... and this time, you do roll your eyes. No dice. This is a bag full of food from KFC.

Keigo laughs again at the utterly unimpressed look you give him, the bastard. You have half a mind to whack him with the bag in retaliation, but it’s ultimately nothing more than a thought. Not only would that be incredibly rude of you, but it’d also instantly contradict your earlier point about being polite. Instead, you gesture to the elevator with the hand holding the bag, and when he confirms that is his ultimate destination, you go and press the button to go up.

“So, Keigo,” you emphasize just to be a little shit, grinning when he wiggles his eyebrows in response. “Haven’t seen you in a while. How are things on your side of the hall?”

With an amused sigh, he tells you, “Same old, same old. Yuri’s as cranky as ever, Masaki and his baby girl are as adorable as ever, and Michiko is as man-crazy as ever.”

“Oh? What number is she on this month?”

“Three! And you know, she told me just the other day that I should be ashamed of forcing her to keep busy with other men while she waits on me. I was almost going to stop by just to tell you that when it happened.”

“I wish you did! How many times have you told her that you aren’t interested?”

“With that incident added? Six times.”

You grimace, though you know you’re doing a terrible job at keeping the amusement off of your face. “Well, if you ever need to get her off of your back, you can always call me. Can’t say I’ll know exactly what to do, but I’ll do my best to help.”

The elevator arrives then, a couple from a different floor stepping out first before the two of you go in. Since you have a free hand, you push the button for the fourth floor and then take your spot opposite Keigo in one of the back corners.

“Anywho, how’s your side—“

“—Hold the elevator, please!”

Without thinking you shoot your arm out to stop the doors from closing. A cloud of perfume and cologne engulfs you moments later as a small group of people squeeze in with you and Keigo, the highly incompatible scents almost enough to give you an instant headache. You shuffle backward a bit to try and minimize your contact with it, but thanks to the way these people have shoved their way in—and the fact that Keigo is now behind you—you have little room to work with.

“Look who it is!”

Jesus. Speak of the devil—it’s almost as if you and Keigo talking about Michiko somehow summoned her and her posse. You’d laugh if you weren’t dreading getting whatever they drenched themselves in stuck as a taste in your mouth.

Closer behind you than you’re expecting, Keigo mumbles a curse you hope only you hear before raising his voice to say, “hey there, Michiko! Throwin’ a party or something?”

“We’re just having a little get-together! You know you’re always invited to come around, Keigo. It’d be so much fun with you there.” 

“Aw, I’d love to, but we’re having our own dinner party for two tonight!” As he lies explains this, a hand falls onto your left shoulder in a friendly gesture. You try your damned hardest not to freeze at the unfamiliar touch, even as Keigo says your name. “Isn’t that right?”

“Totally—”

“—That’s just too bad,” Michiko cuts you off with a pout. “If it gets cut short for any reason you can always stop by!”

“We’ll be fine.” Oh, god, sometimes you can even surprise yourself. There are five sets of eyes on you the immediate moment after your curt reply, and you really don’t even want to imagine the look on Keigo’s face right now. Hate, hate, hate.

The rest of the ride to your floor—which is blessedly short—is spent in awkward silence on your and Keigo’s end. Michiko and her group converse about what they’ll do at their “get-together” in a way you presume is to entice Keigo to attend, but he keeps to himself. When the doors open up to your floor, they all step out without bothering to even feign letting the two of you leave first. You roll your eyes at their backs as you wait to follow, idling outside of the doors with Keigo.

“Ugh, they probably smelled good one-on-one but together? I think that could’ve been used as a torture tactic,” you (somewhat) over-dramatically cough the second they’re all in Michiko’s apartment with the door shut.

Keigo snickers at that, eyeing you carefully. “Yeah, that was a lot. Are you okay?”

You raise an eyebrow, following after him when he starts toward his side of the hall. “I mean, I guess; it was just another typical conversation with Michiko. Why do you ask?”

“We kinda summoned her back there. She also tried to walk right over you and it was rude, which I didn’t point out.”

“It’s okay, I promise! It was uncomfortable as hell, but if it weren’t for you it could’ve been way worse. Thankfully we’re out of it now.”

He stops in front of his apartment door to look back and give you a lopsided, yet genuine smile, his normally sharp eyes softening into something almost as sweet as honey. Right then and there you feel like you’ve been hit by a bolt of lightning. 

Fuck, he’s gorgeous, and it is so unfair in so many ways.

“So, are we having dinner together or what?”

You can’t help yourself. “What?”

“Wow. I didn’t think people actually still made that joke.”

“A joke—I’m not making a joke here,” you hastily explain, “I’m genuinely confused. Was that not just a trick to get Michiko off of your back?”

“Sure it was, and I’m making it into a genuine invitation right now! We were catching up and Michiko interrupted, so why not just eat together and finish our conversation?” At this, Keigo turns back to his door and unlocks it, striding in without waiting to hear your answer.

With a slightly exasperated huff at his nonchalance, you follow him inside and close the door behind you while asking, “Did you even get enough food to feed two people?”

“Of course! I always get more just in case I’m feeling extra peckish. And if we run out of this, I guess I could make a salad on the fly. Anyway, welcome to my humble abode!”

The gravity of the situation hits you the second you turn on your heels to face him and his living space—the place he calls his own and has carved out as a natural extension and expression of himself.

You’ve never been in his apartment before, not like this. And on second thought, he’s never been in yours like this either. This is completely uncharted territory. In the eight-ish months you’ve been living in Fukuoka, in this apartment building, Keigo’s been nothing more than a friendly, utterly handsome face from the other side of the hall, one you’d occasionally see when heading out for work around the same time each morning, or checking your mail, or in one of the corner stores nearby. You just barely know that he’s a studying physical therapist with a job at a local gym and that his birthday falls sometime in the winter. His number is saved in your phone, but you can count the number of conversations over text you’ve had on maybe two hands. 

You barely know him, and now you’re waltzing into his apartment like you two have been doing this since you moved in.

Deciding to break the tension you’re suddenly feeling with something easy—maybe a compliment on his decorating—you glance around the space to take it all in. All of his furniture—from the couch and loveseat to the chairs rounding the square glass table—is pristinely spotless, a fact almost comically exaggerated by the fact that they’re all a shade of white that’s startlingly bright under the fluorescent lights above. There’s a plush-looking light gray rug on the floor and a deep red throw blanket on the couch with matching pillows that are seemingly the only splashes of differing colors out in the open. When you look to the kitchen, you see that it matches the color scheme, and your heart drops a little.

There are no pictures decorating the counters in the kitchen, no reminders stuck to the fridge by magnets, no half-burnt candles on the coffee table in the living room or the console with a giant tv. You expected a bit more from him on this front, even with the small number of his eccentricities you’ve witnessed firsthand thus far.

There are, however, two things by the sink: a single succulent with slightly browned leaves rounding its base, and a photo of Keigo beaming widely and waving at the camera with a serious-looking, dark-haired young boy at his side. This makes you smile a bit to yourself. At least he has that.

When you turn back to him, his face mirrors yours as he asks what you think of his place. If you’re being honest with yourself, it disappoints you that he seemingly only uses it as a space to sleep at night, but you’ll keep that to yourself. You could just be assuming—not everyone can fill every corner of their home like you strive to. So you tell him that it’s cool.

“Probably not as cool as yours,” he returns, motioning to the table full of food boxes. “You gonna just stand there or are you gonna leave all this chicken to me?”

Walking over, you ungracefully plop down into the chair across from his and smirk at him. “Since you’re being so generous, I guess I might as well join you for dinner!”

“I knew you’d come around eventually.”

Keigo takes his seat after grabbing two plates from the kitchen and you both get to work divvying the food. He wasn’t lying when he said he usually gets extra whenever he eats fast food—there’s more than enough left over even when your plates are close to being full. As you dig in, you continue your conversation from the elevator and tell him that you haven’t been up to much other than working and taking time for impromptu mini-shoots when you can. He’s more attentive to you talking about almost nothing than you’re expecting, and it almost makes you choke on a chicken tender. Your recovery by asking how his studying is going is a little clumsy, but it nevertheless works. He’s been busy, he informs you in a neutral tone, and he wishes he could spend more time working at the gym due to the soccer season coming to a close.

His voice is tender and affectionate as he tells you, “There’s a youth league at the gym I work at. I was coaching the fifteen-year-olds before my course load got a bit too wild, and it was a lot of fun watching those boys interact with each other.”

That warmth of his is infectious, as you’re feeling it when you chuckle, “Must remind you of your high school days, huh?”

“...Guess so.”

Oh. Ouch. Wrong thing to say, for sure. Just a swift glance at him slowly pulling away from eating to place his elbow on the table and his head in his palm is enough to confirm it, never mind the faraway look he has as he stares into the kitchen. For the second time in an hour, your inner monologue is kicking you in the metaphorical balls for your slip-up.

“What is that, by the way?” Keigo juts his chin out at the mail you set on the chair beside you, clearly asking about the cartoon turkey at the top of the pile.

You snort, “A Thanksgiving day card from my mom. She’s going to have my brother send me money to get a turkey and thought that a card would be the best way to let me know.”

After you say this, you think for a second. Then, “You know? It’s funny. My younger sister called me earlier asking if I was coming home for Thanksgiving, and now we’re having dinner together.”

Keigo looks back at you with a slightly more lucid expression. “I’m sure they’re looking forward to having you back in the states again.”

“I think so too... it’s been a long time since they’ve seen me in person and not through a phone screen. You know, I’m pretty sure the last time I was in the states was early last summer for my dad’s birthday.”

“That’s not so bad considering the last couple of years. If you don’t mind me asking, why not go back for Thanksgiving?”

Million dollar question, that one.

With a sigh, you explain, “I’m in the middle of a rough time currently. Do you remember the gallery I had earlier this month? Only a couple pieces sold, and as much as I love working at the art museum, I’d love it even more if I could cut my hours back and focus more on photography.”

Keigo studies you for a moment, golden-hued eyes giving you a brief moment to peer deeper beneath the practiced mask he constantly wears. Normally you’d be a bit more bashful at openly staring at him like this, but at this moment he’s less of the neighbor who genuinely invited you to dinner with a lie to someone else and more of someone you’d willingly spend hundreds of hours studying just to come within an iota close to capturing him perfectly on film.

You weren’t wrong when you thought him gorgeous earlier, not even close to it. He might intentionally play himself off as carefree and casual to a fault, but you can see the tension that defines the hard edges of his jaw, the keen vigilance in the glint of his eyes.

Then the moment ends, because Keigo slides his gaze to the window without moving, and says, “That’s not all, though, is it?”

It’s not. And you really don’t feel like rehashing it a second time today.

He must gather this from your silence because it’s in the moment that you start debating whether you want to tell him outright that you’d rather not explain it to him or tell him as much through hints that he stands to clean the table. He takes your plate after confirming that you’re finished, placing both in the sink and washing them. Your conversation lulls in the space and quiet between you. At least until,

“I admire that about you, you know?”

For a brief second, you wonder if his goal tonight is to utterly confuse you. “You admire what?”

“You moving to Fukuoka from Chicago, of course!”

“Keigo...” you draw out the second syllable of his name in slight disbelief as you glance over your shoulder at him. “I packed up all of my life just to move to a city halfway across the world that I’ve only ever fantasized about only to actively be faced with the reality of doing that, and you admire that about me?”

Keigo’s smile is a little bit sad now. “What else? That takes courage, ingenuity, and resilience. You knew nothing about Fukuoka, yet you still sought to live here. You knew there would be a language barrier between you and an overwhelming majority of the population, yet you were working on your Japanese back in college if I remember right. You moved with a plan, you had a job with the art museum by mid-April, and you’ve made friends with a local photographer and that intern at the museum. So what if your first gallery here failed? You’re just getting started. Why rush it?”

That gets you to fall silent as he walks from the kitchen back to the table, a carton of ice cream and two spoons in his hand. He sets the carton—peach and mango is the flavor—down in the center of the table after taking the cap off, and sticks his utensil in it to take a bite. You absorb his words of encouragement in the meantime, pinning his words on a mental corkboard alongside your sister’s call and your mom’s card. When you consider yourself finished in letting all of the sentiments and affection warm you like your blanket from earlier, you find that he’s staring at you with a concerned furrow of his eyebrows.

“Thanks, Keigo,” you sigh, feeling soft-hearted. “Between my sister this morning, my mom’s card, and now this get-together, I think I’m feeling a lot better about everything.”

His once cloudy expression clears, and the bright, kindhearted look he gives you in return is all you need. “No problem, friend. Now, no more worrying! I thought this ice cream might be something you’d like and you haven’t even tried it yet. You’re making me look bad here!”

You scoff as he grabs your spoon and scoops up a hearty chunk of ice cream with it, looking all too pleased with himself as he waves it in front of your face with a smirk. Giving him a stink-eye, you snatch it from him and he guffaws, nearly dropping his own scoop in the process.

Why rush it indeed.

You stick the shared spoon into your mouth with a large grin and not a single worry in the world.

hi!! i’m yuna and this was written by me for me and i really needed to get this out of my system so here we are ✌🏾i don’t know how long this series will be—i have a handful of ideas but who knows what will get turned into a chapter—but i hope to be back soon, and i hope you enjoyed!! 💕

[jammie3132]

Fandom: Glee Pairing: Blaine Anderson & Sebastian Smythe Chapter Title: Back to November Chapter Summary: Blaine has no idea what’s going on and everyone keeps telling him it would be better if his memories returned organically. What happens if he never remembers? What happens if he does remember, but not what people want to hear? Chapter Note: I'm not making any more notes about chapters. This is taking a big turn. Think of the previous 6 chapters as set-up. And since this is like a separate fic, I eliminated my "only MCU canon before Endgame" rule. I will not tag which show/movie but still...spoilers. Warnings: Deaths (not by Snap) of canon Glee characters are hinted at but not confirmed 

REPOST 2/20/24: I accidently posted the rough draft 🤬

Hello, Blaine. My name is Sebastian. It’s nice to meet you.

He stared at the beautiful man…Sebastian. Something about him felt so familiar. It made him feel safe. “The little girl called me Daddy.”

“Yeah, I wish that didn’t happen.”

“Why?”

Sebastian chuckled and leaned into the door frame. He seemed to drop his guard (slightly) so he did the same. “I’m going to go make sure the kids’ lessons are ready.”

“I thought you said they were going to Kindergarten?”

“That’s what we call it…no, sorry. We were told, at least in the beginning, to let you try to regain your memories slowly, naturally.”

“Regain my memories?” Yes, he'd realized he had almost no memories from before he awoke, but how did Sebastian and whoever gave him that bullshit advice know he didn't?

“Tea or coffee?”

“Tea or coffee?” Was this a test? What if he said the wrong thing? Would it mean he’d have to wait even longer for someone to tell him what the fuck was going on? “Uh…I feel like I should say coffee, but I’d really like a cup of tea, Earl Grey with a little sugar and, this might sound strange, a splash of cinnamon.”

Something he said brought the beautiful smile back to Sebastian’s beautiful face. He must have answered correctly. “It doesn’t sound strange. One Earl Grey with a little sugar and a splash of cinnamon coming right up.”

Once he was alone, he got out of bed to survey his surroundings. The first thing he saw was a pair of glasses on the nightstand. He put them on and yes, these were definitely his.

The room was nice but plain. It felt more like an unoccupied dorm room than a bedroom in a home. White walls, hardwood floors and beige area rugs. No wall art, tchotchkes, or framed photos. The bedding didn’t have patterns, just grey sheets and a dark blue comforter with red trim. There was a full-length mirror in the corner, so he went to take a look. He was older than he anticipated. His hair was ridiculously curly and he was in need of a shave. The dark blue pajama pants he was wearing were unremarkable, but his t-shirt had Dalton printed across the front.

The shirt was the only thing that brought out any sort of recognition. Whatever Dalton turned out to be was irrelevant. To him, Dalton meant home.

Next to tackle was the dresser, but when he opened the top drawer, everything else came to a stop. There was only one item there. The only item since he woke up this morning that he recognized without an ounce of doubt.

The lightsaber Tony Stark made for him.

He climbed back into bed but sat up against the headboard, clutching his find. It was an anchor within the chaos of his situation. This Tony Stark guy was obviously important to him. So, why could he remember the lightsaber but not the man who made it for him?

He closed his eyes and tried to settle his mind.

“I’ve told you a thousand times, you can’t overthink everything.”

The voice embraced him with love, bringing out his first genuine smile of the day. “But I can sure try.”

Two gasps, one his own, had him opening his eyes. The sight of the person in the doorway confused him even more than why he gasped at what was said. “I know you…but I don’t know how.”

The woman plastered on a smile and set up the breakfast tray she’d been carrying. “It’s ok, Sweetie. Sebastian told me you wanted tea. I thought you might want some toast as well. There’s some…”

“Honey butter.” The woman's smile changed to resemble Sebastian’s when he answered the tea question.

Another test passed?

She sat beside him and gently brushed back his hair. It was if she’d been doing it for years. “Are you my mother?”

“Not biologically but over the past 6 years you and I have adopted each other as family. About 4 years ago you started calling me Mom. Maybe that’s what you’re remembering.”

“Maybe, but I don’t think I can do that, call you Mom, right now.”

The woman smiled again, easing their tension even further. “I understand, Sweetie. My name is Carole.”

(A younger) Carole stood next to a man in a baseball cap. The man reached out for a handshake. “Call me Burt, Kid. Kurt talks about you so much…”

“Dad! You said you wouldn’t embarrass me!”

Kurt? His first impression was one of fondness but then he was hit with feelings of animosity. No, animosity wasn’t enough. He might not remember this Kurt guy, but he really, really hated him. The memory troubled him so much he backed away to the other side of the bed, bringing his lightsaber, his only anchor to reality, with him. “How have we accepted each other as family when I hate your son?”

Carole chalked his statement up to his memories coming back in bits and pieces. At least they seemed to be coming back. That was progress. “You remembered Finn?”

“Kurt”

“Oh, that makes a lot more sense. Kurt isn’t my son. He was my stepson.”

He scooted back to his original spot, willing to once again try trusting the woman with the kind smile. “Was?”

“I was married to Kurt’s father until he died 6 years ago in a plane crash. Kurt disappeared at the same time, and we all thought he'd died as well. About a year and a half ago Kurt showed up out of nowhere. When he found out how my life moved forward, he said he would never forgive me. I haven’t heard from him since.”

“Was it because of me? Does he hate me, because I really, really hate him…although I don’t know why.”

“My relationship with you wasn’t the problem. He hated, probably still hates, the man I married and his son.”

“His son?”

“That would be me” Sebastian said from the end of the bed. Next to him was a distinguished-looking gentleman. Both men's eyes were darting back and forth between Carole and the lightsaber. She subtly shook her head as a signal to let it go for the time being.

He pretended he didn’t notice.

The distinguished-looking gentleman ended the awkwardness with his introduction. “And I’m the new husband, Sebastian’s dad, Xavier Smythe.”

Did he say… “Smythe? Your name is Xavier Smythe?”

“Yes. Do you remember me?”

His focus moved from father to son. What he found had him trying to catch his breath. The man from earlier was gone. The person at the end of the bed was a beautiful 16-year-old boy, dressed in a perfectly pressed school uniform.

And when she knows what She wants from her time And when she wakes up And makes up her mind

”Sebastian Smythe.” ”Are you a Freshman?”

Once a Warbler, always a Warbler. Right? He remembered November 8th, 2011 and November 8th, 2012…as well as every moment they shared in between. He remembered November 9th, 2012…waking up, realizing he’d been in love with Sebastian the entire time and minutes later Kurt telling him he was dead. He remembered every second of pain between that moment and November 8th, 2024…the day he traveled back in time. Everything hadn't returned, only his memories of Sebastian and the aftermath of the accident. It didn't matter. His beautiful boy, now beautiful man, was less than 10 feet in front of him.

“Bas”

Sebastian ran from the room. He was devastated but didn't want the others to know. "Guess I failed that test."

Xavier looked to Carole who told him Go, I’ve got this one. Once he was gone, Carole grabbed hold of his hand not grasping his lightsaber. “I’m so sorry, Sweetie. This must be so confusing. But when I came in and told you to stop overthinking…”

“I said But I can sure try. I don’t know why I said that.”

“Because that’s how my Blaine would always answer. That’s how Sebastian’s Blaine would always answer.”

Her Blaine? Sebastian’s Blaine?

He didn’t know what Carole was trying to say but he didn’t care. Something didn’t feel right. He pushed her away and went as far as he could while remaining in the same room “Get out.”

“Sweetie…”

“I’m not your Sweetie. I want to talk to Bas.”

Carole stood and sighed, a signal of surrender. All the goodwill she'd attempted to build was gone. “I’ll tell Seb, but don’t get your hopes up. There’s a change of clothes in the bathroom if you want a shower.” After she pointed out the proper door, she picked up the long-forgotten breakfast tray. “Please stay here for the time being.”

“You can’t keep me prisoner.”

“I…we’re not trying to. However, there are two small children in the house and all they know is something is going on with someone they love. They’re scared enough.”

With everything that happened between the time the children left his room, he’d forgotten them (couldn’t blame the memory loss for that one). “I’ll stay here…for now.”

“That’s all I ask.”

The shower helped. He didn’t want to say it made him feel like himself again because he didn’t know who the hell he was. More specifically, who these people expected him to be. Carole must have returned while he was in the shower because a new breakfast tray of tea and toast was neatly set up on the table next to the window. Although, this time she'd included some eggs and bacon. He appreciated the gesture. As he sat down to eat, he looked outside (why hadn’t he thought of that sooner?). He didn’t need a rush of memories to know he was at Dalton. But this Dalton wasn’t either of his Daltons.

There was more than one Dalton? Why would he believe that? The only Dalton he remembered was the one where he met Sebastian. He was too hungry to obsess about it now, so he turned his attention back to his breakfast. The food was so good, and he was so mentally fried, he didn’t hear someone enter the room.

”You don’t have face hair anymore. You always have face hair.”

”I shaved.”

“Oh, ok. I got this for you, Uncle Blaine.” Sammy, the little boy…not the dog he still had no answers about, was holding a quart of Stark Raving Mad ice cream. “It always makes you feel better.”

He cocked his eyebrow and tried not to smile. “Makes me feel better, huh? Is there a reason I need two spoons to eat it?” The little boy’s face fell, and his heart shattered into a thousand pieces. “Come here.” Sammy ran into his open arms and quickly settled on his lap. “Thank you, I ate my breakfast but I’m still hungry.”

“Grammy Carole says you’re always hungry” Sammy told him between shoveling spoons full of ice cream into his face. “Uncle Seb said you don’t remember us because you bumped your head. Is he right? You promised you’d never lie to me, but I guess you don’t member that.”

WTF? Blaine shifted the boy in his lap. First, the kid was heavier than he looked. His leg was falling asleep. And second, why had Sebastian told Sammy about his memory loss when Carole basically begged him to stay away from the kid and his sister? “Your Uncle Seb told you I bumped my head and lost my memories?”

“No” the boy admitted “I heard him tell Grampy X. He also said you were the other Blaine now, not his B. I don't know what that means.” That bit of information took him from frustrated to completely horrified. How could Sebastian be so reckless to say this where one of the kids could overhear him? His Bas was an impulsive brat (hello, eye surgery) but the things he did stemmed from being a child (teenagers, no matter what they believe, are children). This Sebastian was a late 20-something year old parent. He should know better!

The ice cream was gone (he might've gotten in 3 bites) and Sammy was beginning to doze off. It gave him an idea. “You heard right, I don’t have my memory and my head still kind of hurts. I was going to take a nap. Do you want to join me?"

Sammy wrapped his arms around Blaine’s neck, making it easier to be carried. Once they were settled, the boy began to wiggle and brought something up from underneath the sheet. “Where did you get this cool lightsaber…or you don’t remember?”

How could he have forgotten his lightsaber? Was he losing new memories every time he remembered something from the past? It wasn’t the time for panic…yet. “I found it in a drawer. Someone named Tony made it for me. I don’t remember him, but I know he loved me and always made me feel safe.”

“Like you love me and said you would do anything to keep me safe...when you remembered me.”

“Hey” He lifted the little boy’s chin, so he had to look at him. “I don’t care if I never remember anything else. I will always remember to make sure you and Susie are safe.”

Any tension in Sammy’s body melted as he snuggled even closer. “Uncle Blaine, I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For getting scared and thinking the bad space monster would take me away again because you forgot to keep me safe.”

“Take you away?”

“Pepper brought you to Dalton to recover in peace. No one’s looking for Iron Man in bum-fuck Ohio.”

It wasn’t the time for questions. Tony had been through hell. And even though it had been a month, his brain was still dealing with the reality of Infinity Stones and how an alien got ahold of them, snapped his fingers and turned half of all living beings in the universe to dust.

Oh no, no, no. Sammy had been Snapped by Thanos. Blaine rolled to his side and hugged him as tightly as possible. “Never be sorry for being scared. Let’s talk about that…” He didn’t have to finish. The little boy was already sound asleep, clutching the lightsaber. 

“What the hell were you thinking?”

*Blaine continued to love and be loved by Sammy...the hyperactive puppy* Me? You gave me the lightsaber and the rest of the technology I needed to do it!”

Tony walked around the basement of the Dalton he built, inspecting the time portal Blaine, Brittany and Bruce (technically Brittany and Bruce) built out of the material he sent. “I trusted Banner. He should've called off the whole thing knowing those substitute PYM Particles were compromised! And Barton?! I thought you were the little brother he never wanted. He and his whole fake SHIELD family loved you!”

“They do…did, whatever. And Bruce told me…ok, he tried. I still don’t get all the timey-whimey shit.”

“Which you should've before you TIME TRAVELED with defective particles! I understand not going back to Hank Pym for help. The guy has a Stark hate-boner so big I’m amazed he fathered a child.”

“Like yours for Steve Rogers?”

“Hold on…fine, point for the Bow-tied Wonder. But seriously, Banner let you use the damaged particles without seeing what Britt or that Princess in Wakanda could come up with? What about Strange? He was keeper of the Time Stone for fuck sake!”

“Then why didn’t the Avengers include them in the Time Heist?”

“Dr. Weirdo, Princess Kitty-Kat and our lovable but ditzy genius were dust at the time.”

“Don’t say it like that. It took forever for Britt to realize constantly singing Dust in the Wind wasn’t appropriate, especially in front of others who were Blipped.”

“Yet another reason I love that girl. And before you say Wong, we also thought he was dust…Snapped. We were wrong but not our fault. He’d snuck back to the Mystical Monastery of the Mountains and gone off-grid. Oh, and …THANOS DESTROYED THE STONES. Since we didn’t have any extra laying in a drawer somewhere, I, the most brilliant man who ever lived, had to solve time travel.”

“Yeah, I’d forgotten most of that. Not because of the memory loss, I think, but because it made my head hurt to listen to you and Bruce, or Bruce and Britt, talk about it.”

“Again…you didn’t understand and yet decided it was a good idea to TIME TRAVEL! I should tell MIT to take back your degree.”

“You’re dead.”

“Heroically departed, yet here I am…Iron Man.”

“Seriously?”

“How about*overdramatic superhero voice* I am...Dream Master and Gate Keeper to all your memories, so don’t piss me off?”

“I hate you.”

“You love me. And hey! What about Wanda? She’s a witch with super-sized magic courtesy of the mind stone. Did any of you supposedly brilliant idiots think of seeing what she could do to help?”

“Uh…after you left…”

“Heroically departed.”

“After you left, Wanda tried to get Vision’s body from the government to give him a funeral.”

“I don’t know if I’m more offended by the fact the government had Vision’s body and I didn’t know, or Elphaba wanted to put billions of dollars worth of Vibranium…”

“No, Wanda wanted to say goodbye with a funeral for the man?...person?...cybernetic being she loved. When she couldn’t get him back, she went a little Coo-coo for Cocoa Puffs.”

“How little?”

“Mind fucked an entire town, a small town, in New Jersey into believing they were characters in old sitcoms. Manifested a new Vision and a couple of kids. After the government caught on and all hell broke loose, she freed everyone, essentially killing her imaginary family. Last anyone saw of her, she flew off, no airplane necessary, to parts unknown with something called The Book of the Damned.”

For the first time ever, Tony Stark was speechless.

*Lengthy amount of (Dream) Time later* “And you questioned why I wanted Britt kept away from all that shit!?!”

“I didn’t question, per se…”

“Liar…and why didn’t Legolas do anything about the Wicked Witch of New Jersey?”

“Wanda told Clint, and Laura, she was going back to Sokovia to help with rebuilding what the Avengers and Ultron…”

“No need to elaborate. I was there…no comments.”

“So...that’s why they didn’t question her going no contact. It’s not their fault the government was stupid and for some reason didn’t bringing in the man who convinced Wanda to turn her back on Ultron, gave his son her dead brother’s name and freed her from your house arrest.”

"I said no comments!”

“I didn’t say a word about how you were responsible for Ultron, but if the title Avengers Dictator fits…”

“My bad. And while I want answers, you dream-summoned me to help you understand what the hell is happening in your pudding brain. That doesn’t mean I’ll stop yelling about the fact you never should have TIME TRAVELED with faulty particles in the first place! I’m gone for one itty-bitty year…”

*Blaine rose from where he’d been sitting the entire time and Sammy (the dog) ran off* “Tony…” “Ok, ok, I’ll drop it for now but be prepared to be chastised in future dreams.”

“I would expect nothing less from you.”

*Seconds later (because…Dream Time). Tony is now surrounded by all the computers he’d sent to Dalton over the years* “I figured out how badly you all fucked this up without me.”

“Can we postpone the I Told You Sos as well as the yelling?“

“You take the fun out of everything.”*Blaine answered by giving him a middle finger* “See? Was that so difficult?”

*Blaine answered with double middle fingers* “What did you find?”

“The faulty particles sent you to 2011 instead of 2012. Like with Rogers and his trip to finally get laid…”

“Oh, he’d already been laid.”

“...by Peggy Carter. And I’m still angry with you for not sharing your Stucky theories while I was around to use them to my advantage…in a fun way, at least a fun for me way. I would never use information like that against someone, especially after what happened to your platonic apocalypse partner.”

“My what?”

“That Dave guy?”

“Who?”

“Ok, your memory has improved to Swiss Cheese, but one thing at a time. Like I was saying, you went back to 2011 instead of 2012 and physically became that Blaine Anderson. During the Time Heist, we just had to avoid the Battle of New York Avengers.”

“That’s what I expected, hoped, would happen to me. Did you figure out why I physically became 2011 me?”

“No clue.”

“So, you can’t fix it?”

“To send you back to your original timeline? Not a chance. You wanted to be here, so…ta-da!”

“Not helpful.”

“If you want helpful, I can tell you when you are. It’s November 8th, 2024.”

“The day I left?”

“Makes sense. From what I understand, the Centurian lived decades with no memories of his 70 year side trip. Those memories took over when his two timelines intersected. He did eventually wind up with both sets of memories. My highly educated guess is you’ll eventually do the same.”

“I don’t have eventually. Right now, I have a scared little boy to take care of.”

“Yeah, Sammy. Do you realize you haven’t mentioned Sebastian once since you sought my wisdom? When I was alive you wouldn’t shut up about the guy.”

“Fuck you”

“You didn’t get the big Rom-Com reunion you wanted?”

“Not even close.”

“Did you ever consider the fact that for Sebastian, his Blaine essentially died when you woke up this morning? And you? While you saved Sebastian, Bas died November 8th, 2012. Is that something you’re prepared to accept? And what about Sam?”

“Sammy…”

“Not Sammy…Sam.”

I, I will be king And you, you will be queen Though nothing will drive them away We can be Heroes, just for one day We can be us, just for one day

I, I can remember (I remember) Standing, by the wall (by the wall) And the guns shot above our heads (Over our heads) And we kissed, As though nothing could fall (Nothing could fall)

And the shame was on the other side Oh we can beat them, for ever and ever Then we could be Heroes, Just for one day

“Last night there was a major accident on the highway. A big-rig blew a tire causing the truck to flip over. It smashed into several cars before landing on two. Blaine, Sam was in one of those cars…and, and Sebastian was in the other. They didn’t make it. I’m so sorry.”

"Sammy, the little boy…obviously not the dog, is Sam’s son, isn’t he?"

"Yes"

"But Sam…if I saved him, where is he? Why isn’t he with his son?”

“I can’t tell you what happened. That’s Blaine 2.0 territory. However, when you wake up, you can have some more of Bow’s memories. I can do that much."

“Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me. This is your dream.”

*Next thing Blaine knew he was hugging the man he considered his father. In this Dream State he could actually feel Tony’s arms around him* “I miss you so much.”

“Of course, you do. I’m awesome.” *Tony tightened his hold* “I love you, Blaine Anderson.”

“I love you too, Tony Stark.”

“Good, because I want you to do something for me.”

“Of course, you do. What?”

“Go back to your music.”

“But…”

“What was the first thing you thought of when you remembered Sam? *Blaine tries to move away but Tony won’t let him* “You remembered the two of you singing Heroes. It was good…really good. Not hard rock enough to be my theme song, but I would’ve put it on the list.”

“How do you know that?”

“I’m Dream Master and Gate Keeper to all your memories, Dumb Ass. Now, about you going back to music…”

“Tony…”

“If I didn’t burden you with hiding Brittany…”

“She wasn’t a burden.”

“Then hiding all my extra toys in the basement at Dalton…”

“That was a burden, a little one. But only when you came to Ohio and (air quotes) played science with my home. It would take days to get Saturday back to working correctly after you left.”

“I always thought if I didn’t uproot your life, you would’ve eventually found your way back to music. You were too good not to.”

“Tony…”

“Bow, just this one time, don’t overthink this and promise me you’ll try.”

*Sigh* “For you? I promise to try.”

Blaine felt movement next to him. It was enough to end his dream but not enough for him to move out of the comfort cocoon he was wrapped in. That was until he heard…

Come on, Big Guy. Time to go.

“Says who?” Blaine asked a startled Sebastian.

“Sammy shouldn’t be here.”

“And you shouldn’t have talked to your father about me without making sure you were alone.” He didn’t regret what he said, but maybe he didn’t have to say it like that.

“He overheard Dad and I…?” Sebastian didn’t need a verbal response. He’d seen that expression thousands of times. “Do you know how much he heard?”

“Enough to come to the conclusion my forgetting him meant the bad space monster was going to take him away again.” He motioned for not-his-Bas to go around to the other side of the bed and join them. Sebastian took the hint and laid down next to the sleeping boy, brushing his hair aside much like Carole had done with him earlier.

It finally dawned on him how much the other man loved this boy and had just been trying to protect him. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Sebastian asked, surprised by the apology.

“That I failed your test. That I’m not who you wanted me to be.”

If Sebastian was surprised before, he was now in full-on shock. “How do you know?”

“You didn’t hide it very well. That, and while I was sleeping, I came to a couple of realizations, like how you lost your husband.” He held up his left hand to show him rubbing the underside of his ring finger with his thumb. “I can’t stop doing this. It’s a muscle memory I have no control over. Susie said something about having a Daddy and a Papa, but this…” he held up his hand again “this is a habit developed over a long period of time.”

“B’s ring belonged to my grandfather. It was always a little big but with everything going on the past few years, getting it resized wasn’t happening. When we finally found someone to do it, B said no, the ring’s perfect the way it is. And you didn’t fail. We knew this would happen. I just hoped…”

Huh? We knew? “How? How the fuck…” Sebastian glared at him until he realized “Oh sh…cra…darn? Guess I need to learn to watch my language.”

“We have a curse jar. You don’t put money in because money doesn’t have any real value right now. The jar has pieces of paper with monthly jobs no one wants to do on them. B usually takes out 10 at the beginning of the month so he can space things out.”

He chuckled quietly, not wanting to wake up Sammy. Obviously, he and the other Blaine would have similarities since they were technically the same person. He never considered his swearing habit would be one of them. “He, your B, has or had…”

“A potty mouth? Yes, but it did get better after Susie’s first word was fuck.”

That was all it took for him to lose it. Whatever came out was somewhere between a laugh and a sob, the problem was it was loud. Sammy smiled waking to see the men he called Uncle on either side of him, until seconds later when sheer panic overtook the boy.

On the other side of the room, sparks had appeared out of nowhere. Fortunately, he remembered what this meant, but how to explain it to a traumatized child was a different story. “Sebastian, how did everyone Tha…the bad space monster took away come back?” he asked, hoping it was at least close to the version he knew. “The Sammy version.”

“Um…Avengers broke the space monster’s curse and everyone just reappeared. No one knows how.”

“What did the Avengers do next?”

“Uh…a big battle with the space monster. They think they’re going to lose when a bunch of people joined them…”

“Awesome! Sammy, I know people who were there when the Avengers fought the space monster. Everyone who joined them? They got there through a magic portal just like that one. Only heroes can go through them.” He tousled the less-scared little boy’s hair before getting out of bed and putting himself between Sebastian and Sammy, and whoever (or whatever) stepped out of the portal.

Not that he was going to stop a magical being or anything, but it felt like the right thing to do.

Any doubt was quashed when their visitor arrived. “Wong? What are you doing here? Wait, how did you get here? The Sorcerer Supreme is a master of time. Yes, I time traveled here but Sebastian and Sammy didn’t. Oh my God! Are we in an alternate universe?” He’s so excited his voice kept getting higher and faster. “I think I finally understand some that timey-whimey shit…stuff Tony, Bruce and Brittany yapped on and on about.”

“Brittany? You said you didn’t know my Mommy.”

He turned so fast he almost knocked himself over. “Brittany is your mommy?” For some reason what Sammy said both made perfect sense and blew his mind. Sadly, this had to wait. “Wong?”

“Sorry to burst your bubble, but you’re not even close. I thought you were some sort of genius like Stark since he sent you to MIT and then kept all his Iron Man stuff in your basement.”

“You went to MIT?”

He motioned to Sebastian he’d answer the question later. Maybe he should get the others to leave. No, a little late for that. “Wong, just tell me.”

“When I first met you, your Temporal Aura was off, more like wrong, but I was a little busy. Do you know why?”

“Testing me?"

"Yes"

Considering the man could turn him into a frog, he determined it wasn't time for snark. Sammy didn't need to see that. "The first time I met you, you and Pepper brought Morgan to me before the battle at the Avengers Compound.”

“Ok, just checking, you never know with time travel. At Stark’s funeral I pointed your Aura out to Strange and he agreed with me. You were on the wrong timeline.”

“The what now?”

“The wrong timeline. People don’t stay on the wrong timeline. Those things get taken care of.”

“Taken care of?” Well, that didn’t sound good.

“Let’s just say there are more beings affecting time than those possessing an Infinity Time Stone. Lasting almost 30 years in the wrong timeline only to return to the correct one without assistance from any form of timekeeper doesn’t happen…until you. It’s fascinating.”

“Fantastic isn’t the word I would use.” This conversation was getting more confusing (and terrifying) by the minute. “So, what does all of this mean? And please no timey/whimey or magicity/smagickity explanations?”

“It means I need to have a discussion with Strange but I can’t find him. He’s off universe. It’s so frustrating.” Wong waved his arms and another portal began to open. “Maybe you can help. What’s the name of Stark’s other lost boy?”

“Huh? Oh, you mean Spider-Man?”

“I know that. What’s his real name? His identity?”

“I don’t know. He wanted it to remain secret, unlike his mentor.”

“Someone must know.”

“Pepper?”

“None of Team Iron Man. Maybe this has something to do with why I can’t find Strange. Do me a favor…no more time jumping until I get this figured out.”

“I won’t know how.” 

Once he was sure Wong was gone, he turned back around. Sammy was bouncing with excitement. Sebastian…have you ever heard the expression If looks could kill? Neither was a good thing. Like his other self, he should probably get a head start on the curse jar because…FUCK!!!!!