#maybe a vacation where I don’t have to do anything adult for like a week

[pellelavellan]

I would like a hug and a vacation from adult responsibilities

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Finish Line || LS2

Summary: A farewell fic to Logan because I'm a sookie and miss him already. Pairing: Logan Sargeant x fem!reader (living in America) WC: 4k

Summer Break 2021

Your mother always said, “Nothing good is easy and nothing easy is good.” To an eighteen year old fresh out of high school you thought she was referring to studying and exam results, not the more impactful experiences you would face once the red brick walls were left in the rear view mirror. 

It would only take a matter of weeks to learn the real meaning.

Loving Logan wasn’t easy but it was impossible to stop the feeling of falling that came soon after meeting him. From the moment you met there was an indescribable connection but the paths of your future were heading in completely different directions and you knew at the end of summer you would say your goodbyes.

In the meantime you would enjoy what the weather had to offer and what better way to emancipate yourself from the innocence of youth and broadcast to the world that you were an adult than a girls road trip to Miami? You may not have been old enough to drink but that didn’t stop the college guys on summer vacation from keeping you and your friends well supplied. 

Looking back, it only proved how young and naive you were. 

“Dalt, I really shouldn’t be here,” Logan complained as a red cup was thrust into his hand. “I could get in so much trouble for this.”

“Relax, bro, you’ll be fine.” His older brother clapped him on the back happily. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

The beach house was right on the waterfront and Logan stepped out onto the white sand to dip his toes in the warm water. He didn’t know who’s family the place belonged to but Dalton seemed to know everyone by name. It only made him feel even more left out and he thought maybe he should have just stayed in England for the summer break. 

The house was stifling with the humid temperatures compounding to a sauna with all the bodies inside. The beer had started off cool but it had warmed in your hands and began to taste disgusting so you abandoned it into the hands of a stranger passing by who swiftly chugged it back before shouting the Greek alphabet you assumed was the name of his frat house. You had certainly bitten off more than you could chew and debated catching a Greyhound bus home where you felt safe but you wouldn’t ditch your friends who were absolutely in their element.

The beach wasn’t like any you had seen before arriving in Miami. The sand bars were tiny pockets of islands and each property seemed to be its own space divided by narrow canals that lead to dry docks for their expensive boats. 

“Mind if I join you?” you asked the stranger who sat in the sand at the water's edge. It was impossible to ignore each other’s presence when the rising tide had left such little space.

“It’s a free country,” he said with a small smile, his palm quickly swiping away the picture he had drawn in the sand. 

“I don’t know about that. Sometimes it feels like a prison. Sorry, that was really morbid.”

He laughed and tipped his head back to the sun that still beat down despite being late in the afternoon. “You’re not wrong though. I love coming home, but sometimes I’m glad I don’t live here anymore. I don’t know how to fit in with that,” he said looking back at drunken revelers who had stripped down to their swimwear despite having no inclination to actually enter the water. 

He looked like the rest of the guys there: tanned skin over a toned body and dirty blonde hair hidden by a cap he wore backwards. The southern drawl also confirmed the fact he called this place home. 

“Where do you fit in then?”

His shoulders shrugged as he picked at a desiccated chain of Neptune’s necklace that had washed up on the beach. He busied himself with plucking each individual bead off the seaweed and flicking it back to the water. “I don’t know.”

“Okay, well, what did you want to be when you were a kid?”

“A Formula One racing driver, or a fisherman.”

You buried your toes in the sand, wiggling them to dig deeper where it was cooler. “I thought the all-american dream was to be an astronaut?”

You met his blue eyes and saw the amusement that sparkled in them. “I’m afraid of heights,” he admitted with a grin before he held out his hand. “I’m Logan.”

“I think we are beyond names here, I already know your hopes and dreams,” you teased, shaking his hand. 

“But I don’t know yours, yet.”

“I can give you my name, but as for hopes and dreams, I have no idea what I want to be. I’m still trying to figure that out.” You realised his hand was still in yours and gave it another small shake. “I’m Y/N.”

As the sun fell below the horizon the party grew larger and soon it spilled into the slice of paradise you had carved out with Logan. Sand was kicked up as two guys tackled each other to the ground and Logan threw a protective arm around you before they could crash into your side.

“Back it up bro,” he said as he rose to his feet and pulled you up too, tucking you in behind his back. “You could have hurt somebody.”

“Aw, Sargeant, is that your girlfriend?”

Logan ignored them and turned to check you were alright. His eyes scanned over your body and slowed on their ascent before he cleared his throat and met your eyes again. “Do you want to get out of here?”

You scanned the crowd and spotted two of your friends dancing and the other sat on some guy's lap, smiles on all their faces. You couldn’t disappear and make them worry but you didn’t want to stay as the party only grew more chaotic. “Yes, please, I’ll just tell my friends I’m leaving.”

You weren’t going to attempt to get amongst the gyrating bodies so instead headed to Dakota. The guy sitting beneath her noticed your arrival first and grinned at Logan as he stepped in beside you, his hand resting on the small of your back. “You’re leaving aren’t you? Well, you lasted longer than I thought you would.”

“You two know each other?” you asked. 

“Only since birth,” Logan answered. “This is my brother, Dalton. Dalton, this is Y/N.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” you said before turning your attention to your friend. “I’m going to head off, Kote. Logan said he can drop me off at the apartment after dinner.”

“Are you sure? I can take you back if you want.”

You laughed and leaned into Logan, enjoying the warmth that came as his arm curled around your waist. “I’m good, someone needs to make sure those two get back.”

You both looked at the twins who had found dance partners and knew the rented 4 bedroom apartment was probably going to double in residents by morning. With a resigned sigh that she didn’t really feel as the group mother, Dakota nodded. “I’ve got them, you two have fun.”

The wink she sent you off with made your cheeks heat but you hadn’t actually planned on doing what the action implied. Of course Logan was attractive, and the thought of taking him to your bedroom was one that had you melting, but you were quite happy just enjoying his company too. 

“Are you hungry? I know this great spot but it’s a bit of a drive from here.”

Out in the street where the sounds of the thumping bass couldn’t reach your stomach rumbled and you smiled sheepishly. “Just a little.”

The restaurant he knew was on Key Largo, about an hour south of where the party was in Miami Beach and you were amazed by how many bridges had been built to connect the keys. It would have felt a bit scary driving over the ocean if it wasn’t for Logan recounting stories of growing up in the state. It was a good distraction to listen to the fondness in his tone as he remembered fishing off the now-closed piers that he pointed out. 

“I think this is where you fit in,” you said as he cruised along the highway in his pickup truck, the radio quietly playing an RnB station in the background. It was warm enough that the window was down and the breeze blew his hair back like a runway model.

He glanced across the car and lifted a questionable brow. “In Florida?”

“No! Behind the wheel. You look, I don’t know, comfortable? No, content, that’s the word.” 

On the beach Logan had shared how he was halfway through the season of Formula 3 in Europe and had hopes to join an F1 team in the future. It was also when he mentioned returning to the country he currently lived in, four thousand miles across the Atlantic Ocean. Despite only just meeting him, you felt the four week countdown arriving like a dark storm cloud.

Those four weeks flew by almost as quickly as you fell in love. 

Summer Break 2024

The soy milk screeched and you winced at the sound before saving the new girl, and the coffee, from the machine. Thankfully it wasn’t scorched as the shop was already full with the busy morning foot-traffic and you wanted to keep it flowing for the customer’s sake. 

“Soy latte with a shot of hazelnut?” A hand went up and you passed the takeaway cup over. “Have a nice day.”

You looked at the next order stuck to the bench and immediately searched for the customer, a smile splitting your face when you found him. “Baby, you’re home! Why didn’t you call?”

Logan ducked under the staff counter and met your embrace with strong arms that pulled you to your tiptoes. “I called, but you must have been busy here. God, it’s good to see you, sweetheart.”

You checked your phone in the pocket of your apron and saw the missed call before slipping it over your head. “Marie, can you keep an eye on everything?”

“Yeah, course, hun, take your time,” the part time barista said with a wave. “Welcome home, Logan.”

“Thank you.” 

You dragged Logan eagerly through the swing door that stated ‘staff only’ and past the break room to the disused office at the back. “I’ve missed you so much,” you managed to say between the desperate kisses you shared as he kicked your door closed. 

“Missed you too.”

Your hands reached beneath his shirt and he chuckled breathlessly as he caught them before they could move any further. “Tempting, sweetheart, but not here.”

You pouted as you draped your arms around his neck instead and held him tight. “I have the studio booked in 20 minutes, did you want to come?”

Logan rolled his eyes at the stupid question and didn’t bother to answer as he tucked his hands into the back of your jeans and buried his face in your hair. “You smell like blueberry muffins,” he hummed happily. 

“I can steal one,” you offered but when you pulled away he quickly pulled you back with a shake of his head.

“Diet.”

You grabbed the flesh on his abdomen, feeling the hard muscle beneath. “You’re perfect, baby, one muffin isn’t going to change that - but it will make you happier. Go grab a seat in the staff room.”

You walked him back down the hall and let him settle into the couch while you grabbed a muffin from the front counter. Most of the rush had quickly cleared and with the lull in orders you made him his favourite drink. 

“You spoil me, sweetheart,” he said with a gratefully smile as you placed the plate and cup on the coffee table. “Thank you.”

“Anything for you.” You sank into the couch beside him and watched him pick apart the muffin, finding all the blueberries to eat first. He could feel your eyes on his hands as they fiddled with crumbs but before he worked up the courage to explain why he caught a flight two days earlier than planned. “What’s going on, baby?”

He exhaled a heavy sigh and wiped his hands clean before taking yours. “I think it’s over.”

Your heart cleaved apart and your ears started ringing as your world came crashing down. There was only one semester left in your art programme before all the plans the two of you made would come to life - plans that started with moving to England with Logan. Plans that were crumbling down.

“It’s over?” you repeated as silent tears streaked your face and your hands slipped from his.

Horror bled into Logan’s features and he snatched your hands back, placing them over his chest where his heart beat rapidly with panic. “Not us, never us,” he rushed with a harsh shake of his head. “Fuck, sweetheart, you are my everything.”

You sagged with relief as he wiped your eyes but the relief was short lived as you understood what he meant and the phantom pain in your chest returned. “Have you spoken to James?”

He nodded and leaned into your touch as your palms ran up his chest to cradle his face. “It’s not good.”

To hear the defeat in his voice was something you never wished to hear again. It was a sound that no 23 year old should make, he was too young to feel the immense pressure he was under and a weaker man would have been broken by it. But Logan was strong, mentally and physically - he would recover from this, you would make sure of it.

“Come on,” you whispered as you rose to your feet and tugged his hands. 

“Where are we going?”

“I’m taking you home.”

“But you have class.”

You grabbed your handbag from your locker and tossed him the car keys. “This is more important, and I can paint anywhere.”

—

The drive to Miami took most of the day and the frown on Logan’s forehead seemed to soften as the arid air turned humid and the paddocks turned to swamp before he sped through Alligator Alley. The top 40 charts played quietly on the radio and Logan hummed along with the ones he liked while he held your hand on your thigh. 

A contented sigh of relief exhaled from deep in Logan’s chest as the sunset and the city lights illuminated the horizon. Though he was tired to his bones, just the sight of his home was enough to rejuvenate him and he sat up a little straighter before taking the exit that would lead him to Fort Lauderdale. 

Madelyn and Daniel were already expecting Logan and the front door opened before he could turn the engine off. It had been a while since they last had Logan home and you felt a little guilty since most of his returns to home soil were to visit you instead, but they didn’t hold it against you. Madelyn was just happy that there was someone who loved and supported Logan as much as she did.  

It was immediately clear that she wasn’t aware of his current struggles as you saw him hide behind a confident smile as she asked how everything was going. 

“I don’t want to disappoint them,” he admitted as he closed his bedroom door after dinner. 

You placed your bag on the floor and took a seat at the headboard before patting the spot beside you. Logan flopped down on the bed and rested his head on your thighs while his long legs hung over the edge, looking up as if you had all the answers. 

“You could never disappoint them, Lo, they just want you to be happy. And, you're worrying about things that haven’t even come to pass. We don’t know what the second half of the season will bring.”

“I know you are being reasonable, but I can’t help thinking this is the end. Everyone else thinks so too.”

“You mean everyone on X, formally known as twitter,” you said with a roll of your eyes that made him chuckle. “How about no social media for the whole break? Just disconnect from it all for four weeks.”

“And what happens at the end of the break?” he asked quietly, sensing deja vu from the last time he asked this three years ago. It was an eerily similar state too with his head on your legs but you were on the white sands instead of a bed. You had already fallen in love but he was due to fly back to Europe and you would be getting in the car with your friends and heading home. He had forever changed you that summer.

You combed your fingers through his hair as you relived the same memory. “We will be grateful for the time we had together.”

A smile tugged at his lips and he sat up so he could pull you onto his lap. “I’m not letting you go again.”

“I should hope not,” you stated as your knees settled either side of his thighs and you reached into his pocket to fish his phone out. “Now say goodbye to this, I am having you all to myself.”

He plucked the phone from your fingers and tossed it to the side table before putting all those glorious muscles to good use. The room spun until he caged your body beneath his and he gently kissed his way across your collarbone. “You already have me, sweetheart.”

–

A sick twisting feeling gripped your gut as you waved goodbye to Logan through misted eyes. No matter what you had said, you could feel his stress growing as the break came to an end and now he was going back alone. You wished you could go with him.

The drive back to your apartment was too quiet but you couldn’t listen to the radio because the songs he would have hummed to would only make you miss him more. It always took days, weeks even, to reacclimate yourself to the loss of his presence when he left. It never got easier but the memories made were worth it.

The days dragged by as classes began again and the repetitive routine of life was reestablished. Finally it was the weekend and you could curl up on the couch and watch Logan’s practice on F1TV while you were surrounded by paintings of him. There were two new additions that had come back from Miami, one capturing his happiness as he reeled in a bluefish and the other capturing his perfect features as he sunbathed shirtless, that one was purely indulgent.

“Oh no, Sargeant has taken a big shunt into the barriers there.”

Your feet slammed to the floor as you jumped out of your seat and stumbled closer to the tv as if you could reach through it and help, but you were helpless to watch as Logan remained in the car in the middle of the track - red flags waving. 

“Come on, baby, get out of there,” you begged as you heard his radio saying he was okay, but then the back of the car ignited into flame. You were screaming for him to get out as George’s car rolled by, his hands gesturing wildly for Logan to get out too before he finally was free of the seat harness and jumping out over the halo. 

You finally breathed a sigh of relief but it didn’t last as the camera cut to Logan leaning on the barriers, his head hung in defeat despite the helmet hiding his face. You knew your boyfriend better than anyone, you knew exactly what was going on inside his head and you knew you had to do something.

The credit card Logan had given you years ago had been left discarded in the back of your underwear drawer. He said it was for you to use but you had never been with him for the money and even as a broke uni student you hadn’t used it once. But this was an emergency, and if you were ever going to use it then you could be damn sure it was going to be spent on him.

One quick email was sent to your professor begging for an extension due to a family emergency before you packed a bag and booked the first flight out to Amsterdam.

With shaking hands you typed a message: I’m so glad you got out of there, baby. I’m on my way and I love you so much xxx

You knew he wouldn’t be able to reply for a little while since he would have to get back to the team garage, and there would be other responsibilities first like having a medical check and debrief, but you sent it anyway along with the flight numbers so he knew where you would be and when. It was going to be a long day with the 13 hours of flights plus the change in timezone but nothing was going to keep you from getting to Logan before the race tomorrow.

–

A stranger with a whiteboard greeted you at the airport and the exhaustion of the trip faded away when you reached the paddock with a pass in hand and stepped into the Williams garage. Bodies of mechanics moved in sync as they rushed around the car preparing it for the race that was due to start in a few short hours but it was one man that was standing among them that drew you closer. 

“Lo,” you greeted softly behind him on raised tiptoes. 

A wide smile split his face as he turned to embrace you, lifting your feet off the ground as he buried his face in your neck. “Hellow, sweetheart,” he breathed against your skin before inhaling the familiar scent of your perfume. 

Your hands tightened on his waist as he pressed a kiss to your temple. “Are you okay?”

He pulled back and his smile faltered. “I’m better now that you’re here.” 

You reached up to trace the curve of his cheek where his smile had been but his team principal called his name before you could feel the shadow of his beard on your palm. “Can I borrow you for a minute?” he asked Logan before spotting you, a flicker of surprise on his face. “Hello, Y/N, it’s lovely to see you again.”

“You too, James,” you replied politely before stepping out of Logan’s arms and giving him a little nudge in the right direction. “I’ll wait over in hospitality.”

Logan spent what time he could with you, reassured by the feel of your arms wrapped around his neck and your cheek pressed to his as you sat on his lap in the single chair that furnished his driver room. The thin walls did little to dampen the noise of the motorhome and the crowd beyond but for a few minutes Logan could forget it all and the pressure that came with it - until the clock ticked away the precious minutes alone and reality returned.

“I have to score a point today,” he whispered like he was confessing a sin and he tipped his head back to stare at the roof. “No point, no seat. That's the deal.”

“Can they do that with your contract?”

“They can do whatever they want, sweetheart. I’m lucky they let me go this long without contributing.”

You cupped his face and tipped it forward so he was forced to look you in the eyes. “There are more ways to contribute to the team than just scoring points. You spend hours in the simulator every week so they can get their precious data.”

“And then I go and cost them $250k when I crash,” he laughed humorlessly and dropped his forehead to yours. “I think this is it. I’m tired and it’s so hard to enjoy it now. That’s the worst part out of all of it. I used to like my job, it was all I wanted to do.”

Your thumbs caught the tears that clung to his lower lashes. “What do you want now?”

“I honestly have no idea, I just know I want to be wherever you are.”

A knock at the door interrupted the promise you were going to make and someone in a William’s shirt said it was time to head back to the garage before ducking back out of the room.

“I love you” you whispered between the kisses you traced across the bow of his lips. “I want you to go out there today and forget James and points and all that stuff and just enjoy the race. I have watched you give everything to this team but today I want you to be selfish, okay? Enjoy it out there or it’s all for nothing, no matter the outcome. And when you get out of that car I will be waiting for you, arms wide open.”

Logan closed his eyes and exhaled a shuddering breath before he captured your lips in a passionate kiss that left you both breathless. Resolute and proud, he stood up and placed you on his feet before grabbing his cap and slapping it on his head. “I’ll see you at the finish line.”

[relenafanel]

wangxian HALLOWEEN [part 5]

choose your own adventure!

Modern AU - meet cute (all autumn/halloweeny vibes)

{I accidentally switched tenses. I’ll fix it later. Sorry!}

I have energy this month, let’s do a fun activity together. Keep the story going with your choices! I'll write the next part once the day-long poll has finished.

Poll results from part 4:

Part 5:

Pick the answer you like best. I encourage you to pick just based on vibes and/or what you want me to have to write rather than what makes the most reasonable plot. It's more fun that way!

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄

It’s a week before his birthday! Wei Ying wakes up and can tell it’s going to be a good day. It might even be a good week! He has plans today to go out later with his siblings. It's rare that they all have a day off, and he's excited that they get to do what he wants to do.

And you never know! He might meet the love of his life during a ghostly historical tour!

Well. It's unlikely, but it just feels like that kind of day. One where anything can happen. He even woke up early, excited to start the day and go to a ghostly historical tour .

He's also excited it's finally cool enough out that he can put on his boots without sweating to death. Autumn is great!

The other day Jiang Yanli had hinted that she had a cake planned for him next week, and she always gave him the most thoughtful presents of something he'd mentioned needing in passing in like July. He was also looking forward to the PlayStation gift card Jiang Cheng inevitably bought him every year because he overthought things and then panicked.

But, he suspected Jiang Cheng used a vacation day so he could come hang out at the ghostly historical tour with them, so that was all that mattered. Truly. #YunmengBros.

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄

The tour didn't start until 7:30 pm, after sunset, so he dragged his siblings to the autumn market first. His sister bought fresh local vegetables, and his brother found a cool sword replica he eyed obviously and then pretended he didn't care about. Wei Ying made eye contact with his sister, and they silently communicated over which one of them would buy it for him once his birthday rolled around.

But! Jiang Cheng's birthday wasn't first. Wei Ying's birthday was first. Which meant it was more important by 5 days! It was logic that worked as a child and logic that worked as an adult.

They all stopped at food vendors to grab something to eat. Wei Ying got a corn on the cob on a stick (it was fine) and some habanero tacos (very good). He ate everything quickly so they could get to the ghostly historical tour faster, and then had to wait for Jiang Yanli to decide what to eat and then eat it - the foodie - and for Jiang Cheng to decide what to eat and then eat it - the picky eater.

Eugh. Every time.

"You can get a dessert," Jiang Yanli pointed out to him in a gentle, amused tone. "You're going to be waiting a while."

“Yeah because Jiang Cheng eats like a grandma.”

“At least I don’t eat like starving orphan!” Jiang Cheng snapped. Then he paled. “Uh. I mean.”

Wei Ying shrugged. “Well it’s true.”

It was cool though. He had food security now! He bounced in his seat impatiently.

“Why are you looking forward to this so much?”

“Do you know the kind of haaaauuuuntings there are in the old part of town?”

“Sure?”

“It’s gonna be cool!”

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄

It was cool! They arrive at the meeting point after dark, the whole area felt spooky. There was a fog coming in off the bay! He couldn’t even plan how cool that was!!

They were 3 of 30 people, which was maybe more than Wei Ying would have guessed, but they were doing this close to Halloween so it made sense. There were entire families in attendance, which was very cute! Kids had so much joy in them. It was why he wanted one someday!

He looked around, still bouncing with energy, and spotted

the prettiest person he’d ever seen

Wow.

Wow! Maybe he would meet the love of his life!

“What are you looking at?” Jiang Cheng hissed when Wei Ying’s attention spent too long away from their tour guide.

“Nothing.”

“Oh,” his sister said, laughing behind her hand. “He looks very tall and kind.”

“He looks bitchy,” Jiang Cheng observed.

The three of them looked over at the same time. There was no subtly in the Jiang/Wei household.

“That’s the one!” Wei Ying said, giving his brother’s shoulder a punch. “I’m going to go talk with him.”

“Ok, have fun,” his sister said.

“We’re literally here because of you, jackass,” Jiang Cheng said. “Come back soon.”

That was really cute! So supportive.

Ok, ok, he was going! He sidled up next to the hottie and said “I love ghost stories. Did you know that there used to be an asylum in this location in the 1830s and when they broke ground for the library they found a pit of bones under the old basement? They say that sometimes in the spring finger and toe bones still surface around the foundation and that there are spots in building that are always cold.”

“While the location of the asylum is a demonstrable fact, local lore is not,” the hottie responded.

"Oh, so you don't believe in ghosts?" Wei Ying asked. "That's ok. I'm Wei Ying."

He put out his hand for the hottie to shake and instead got extreme side-eye.

"Are you part of the tour?" The man next to hottie asked. They had a very similar look, but this one had a kind softness to him that fortunately, or unfortunately, did nothing for him. He just looked like some guy. Funny how that worked, right?

"Me? Ah, no, I'm just a fan of local stories. Storytelling traditions are pretty cool, aren't they?"

"Wei Wuxian," the hottie suddenly said. "You wrote a research article on the ethnomusicology of regional work song traditions in the area."

"I did!" Wei Ying said. "But I am off work today."

"WEI YING!" Jiang Cheng yelled across the parking lot. "WEI YING IT'S ABOUT TO START."

Literally like 10 feet away, but ok Jiang Cheng.

"My brother," Wei Ying nodded. "Time to go, nice talking to you."

He slipped away. Was it nice, though? It had been weird.

"Too bad this isn't a pub crawl," he said to Jiang Cheng. "There are 3 universities in walking distance, you'd think someone would have thought to make a ghostly pub crawl. What are the legalities of that?"

"I don't know. Shut up."

"You shut up."

"Listen to the tour guide," Jiang Cheng hissed.

"...And so, we are very fortunate local ghost expert Dr. Wei Wuxian is in the audience today to take over."

WHAT?

OMG.

"What did you do?" Wei Ying gasped.

"Bribed the tour guide. Happy Birthday, loser."

(๑>ᴗ<๑)

Best brother ever.

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄

"Wei Wuxian," the hottie said, coming up to him after the tour. "You were engaging."

"Thanks," Wei Ying said, swiping his hair back off his face. "I wish I had forewarning to prepare. Good job I'm a giant nerd. Hey, I didn't catch your name."

"Lan Wangji."

Wei Ying gasped. "The historical non-fiction author?"

"Mn."

"I've read your books!"

That was amazing. He was beautiful and smart and with similar interests? What were the odds? They felt very low.

Lan Wangji looked pleased that Wei Wuxian had read him.

"Listen," Wei Wuxian said, "I need to go, but we should keep talking! Want to meet for lunch later this week?"

Lan Wangji hesitated for a moment. "I would enjoy that."

Wei Wuxian beamed. Wow. "Great, it's a date! My email is available on the university website."

"Mine is available online as well," Lan Wangji said.

"Even better! I'll contact you."

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄

to: inquiries@lanwangjiauthor.com from: weiwuxian@university.com subject: Lunch Date Hello Lan Wangji, I am inquiring about a lunch date with you, Lan Wangji, author of [A/N insert title i'm too lazy to think up]. Possible times include tomorrow between 12pm to 1pm, or Wednesday between 12pm to 2pm. Location: my office. Meal: sandwich of your choice from the cafe in the lobby (egg salad, tuna salad, chicken salad) or mystery stir fry (ingredients: 🤷‍♀️). Would supper be more reasonable, instead? Yours, Wei Wuxian PS: here's my cell phone number! ⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄

to: weiwuxian@university.com from: inquiries@lanwangjiauthor.com subject: RE: Lunch Date Hello Wei Wuxian, Supper would be reasonable. I will text you my suggestions. Lan Wangji

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄

Wei Wuxian was nervous! Did Lan Wangji know that when he said 'it's a date!' he had meant 'it's a date!'?

Once the poll is finished I'll make a whole new post with the results and copy/paste the story with the continuation. tagged: wangxian halloween pollfic for future reference

[ethicalvinyls]

you and ellie are on a first date after making things official and you guys take edibles and go to the zoo, when you guys get back home you and ellie have sex for the first time and it’s really cute and awkward cause ellie is a loser AH IM BLUSHING😭😭

let me preface this by saying it's not all that. this request has taken me a very long time because 1. I was on vacation with no internet, and 2. I have lost so much motivation to write. so give this some slack. BUT, enjoy!

not proofread!

wc: 5.1K

Dates are not an activity you participate in. It might be because before today, you’ve never been asked out on one. But even with your virginity regarding any romantic aspect, dates seem embarrassing to you. A night full of awkward laughter and jokes you have to laugh at or else you’re deemed a shitty person. You have to seem interested even though you might not be. You might not even like the restaurant you’re sitting at, or the museum you’re sleepily wandering around. And if there’s a price tag on the meal, tickets, or whatever it might be, you have to paw at your purse, pockets, fake jean pockets, even though the person who asked you out is the one who has to pay. 

At least that’s what dates look like in movies and television and across social media.

You try not to let that image dance across your mind when Ellie, your official girlfriend as of last week, asks you out on an official date. These past couple of days have been all about official with you two: holding hands on daily walks, posting one another on social media, sharing creative joints like crosses Ellie has never made for anyone else, and going around town kissing and hugging and being the poster adults for PDA. 

You like to think that because of how you’ve been acting towards one another, this awful idea of dates won’t even exist after the date to the zoo today. How Ellie is with you—soft, overly cheesy, kind, comedic—doesn’t compare to the assholes you’ve seen ditch women in movies, or on Twitter where women have said men have made them split the check. Ellie would never do such a thing—she’d rather die than let you pay for anything while she’s with you. 

You’re getting ready for the date when someone softly knocks on your door—so soft you would miss it if your room wasn’t merely a foot next to the entrance. You only have on the black bralette Ellie bought you and a pair of jeans. You pick up a tank top and rush to the door, your arm shoving itself into the right arm hole. You slightly open the door so only your forehead and eyes can be seen, and peek outside. Ellie stands there, dressed in a black Henley, a washed-out brown bomber jacket, her black jeans, and her insanely beat-up Converse. 

You pull your arm out of the tank top and fully open the door, the bottom half of your face stringed into a defined smile. “Hi,” you say. Ellie doesn’t move instantly as she stares you down. She just smiles as harsh as you are—maybe even harsher—and nods. “You hungry? I have a couple snacks in the pantry if you want something before we go.” 

She shakes her head and walks into the apartment, her eyes still trained on your body. You want to laugh and pull her head into your neck, ruffle her little shag with your recently painted nails, kiss her until her eyes are trained on your face and not your tits. 

“Uh… No. I’m fine. Are you alright?” 

You shake your head and pull her into your room by her pinky. White and pink lights is all that illuminates your room, no buggy yellow overcast that paints an odd look on your face. Ellie says she enjoys how it’s dim and bright at the same time; how euphoric it feels to sit on your bed and watch you paint your face. 

You don’t really talk to one another after that, only sit in melodic silence as you continue setting your face with powder and hurry to apply your lip liner and plum lipstick. When you dust off your face and stand to pick out your clothes, Ellie digs into her bomber jacket, her face contorted into wiggly eyebrows and a poking tongue. 

You stand back and place your hands on your hips, observing her doing. You open your mouth, a breathe hopping into the air before Ellie cuts you off with a… an apple fritter covered in saran wrap. 

You pull a confused face and drop your hands from your hips. “Is that a—“ 

“It’s an edible,” she cuts you off, unwrapping it. “Are you okay with that?” 

You nod as you walk up and sit beside her. You’ve known she’s sold weed in many forms—pens, carts, disposables, buds, whatever the names for them were—since you met her, but she’s never once sold edibles. You’ve known her for less than she’s sold, but you know she’s never once made oil for edibles, nor baked anything a day in her life. 

Air bubbles at your lips and pops, signaling that words are also about to pop out of your mouth. But again, Ellie nicely cuts you off—as though she can read your mind. 

“I made them last night. I kept getting edible-making videos on my feed and decided to give it a go. They’re for our date.” 

The scent of weed coats the air and your nostrils. It takes a second for it to dim down, but once it does you can finally smell the caramelized apple, the brown sugar and overall sweetness of the baked treat. 

You huff a laugh of surprise and lift a finger to your lips. “You baked this?” 

Ellie shrugs. “With the help of Dina, yes.” 

You nod, figuring that Ellie alone is incapable of baking anything as time consuming as apple fritters. Thanks to Dina, of course, this baked good looks and smells absolutely delicious. 

“So… do we eat it now or wait?” You ask, your fingers curiously running across her thighs. 

Ellie chuckles and a light blush coats her freckles. “If you’d like,” she says, then splits the fritter in half. She lifts the piece into the air and looks up at it with second thoughts. “Can you handle half?”

You look at the large half, almost instantly remembering her customers reviews: strong, ‘will hit you really hard,’ ‘I knocked out with one hit.’ Some may have been more exaggerated than others, but the vast majority claimed Ellie’s weed was strong. And if you take the entire half she offers you, you’ll be so high you end up throwing up. 

You shake your head and take the piece from her. You split it in half and give her the bigger piece. “I’ll this, get dressed, and by the time we get to the zoo, I can see if I need more.” 

She nods and slides the bigger piece of apple fritter from your fingers. She pops it into her mouth and chews then swallows. She looks over at you as you lick the residue off her fingers and wink. She shuts her eyes for a second and opens them as if she’s been struck over the head, dizzily reacting to your wink. Her red cheeks brighten as you stand in only your bra and jeans and walk over to your closet, where you unhook your bra and try on different shirts. 

The zoo, in most occasions, is not your cup of tea. When you were a kid you’d much rather sit in the antarctic section of the path and watch the penguins bounce around and jump into their icy water. The smell of waste and excretion was light and the room was typically cold. You enjoyed sitting there and watching them until your parents rounded back the path and picked you up. 

But now as you walk about with Ellie—high as hell, might you add as you took another quarter of the edible before entering—you’re enjoying all aspects of the zoo: the giraffes, gorillas, birds, every single one, and especially the penguins. The cool air that remains trapped in the room smoothes over the skin under your jacket, leaving goosebumps all over your body.

“It’s cold,” Ellie whispers against your neck. Her body is shaking although she has spent every second in this room glued to your side. “You used to love it in here?” 

You chuckle. “I typically came here during the summer,” you tell her, “when most families come. We have decided to come here during the fall—which I’m not complaining about, by the way.” 

“I take no offense,” she happily replies. “But… it makes sense.” 

You wrap an arm around her shoulders and pull her up to the window revealing all of the flopping penguins. No one is in this room, they only walk in and glance at the penguins after the cool air strangles them. 

You press your free hand against the glass and a penguin turns its nonexistent neck to watch you guys. It hops down the ice block where the rest of its family lives and waddles to the edge. It flops into the water and sinks down. You laugh as it floats back up and spins. 

“Oh my god,” you whisper against the glass and watch it fog up. “Is the penguin putting on a show for us or is that just in my head?” 

“Mhm-mhm.”

A string of laughter falls out of Ellie’s mouth and it catches up to you, too. Soon enough, you both are in a fit of laughter. Due to the questionable amount of the edible you’ve ate in the past hour and a half along with the dancing penguin, you both are doubling over and slamming your foreheads against the glass. 

You rub your stomach to tend to the growing pain while Ellie holds onto your arm, trying not to fall to the floor. 

“I think we had too much,” Ellie says through heaves. 

“How?” You ask as your laughter simmers and you can finally catch another look at the penguin. It’s back on its rock beside its pals and you wonder if the show happened at all. “You’re not light-weight.” 

“Dina and I used a looot of oil in these things. Like… too much.” 

You place a hand on your lower belly and suck in an intoxicating breath. “Oh God,” you mutter. 

Ellie’s eyes steady—as does her posture—and she places her hands atop your shoulders, smoothing the worry down your arms and through your fingertips. “You okay?” She asks, her face contorting into a doctor-esque look. “Do you want to go now?” 

You look over her, as if you haven’t been staring at every inch of her since you arrived at the zoo. Her black jeans do her ass the biggest, fattest favor, and the tight Henley snuggling her breasts make you want to take its place. When she turns her her head every which way, you stare down her face, as if you haven’t seen her freckles a load of times, or the hair she continues cutting shorter. (This time you hope she keeps it this way. )

“You want to go?” She asks again, and you remember she asked you this in the first place.  

You shake your head and sigh as you realize it was a mistake. You’re slightly dizzy and fucking freezing. “We can leave this exhibit. Let’s move onto the next one.” 

“The ants and insects?” Ellie asks, obviously a joke as she slides her fingers onto your torso and tickles your you.

You squirm and slap her hands off. “No! Hell no! I mean the giraffes.” 

Ellie kisses your cheek and runs her mouth along your ear. “Okay,” she whispers, and you have to tighten your hands into fists to keep them from running up her damn Henley. 

Your hands are wrapped around a cheeseburger and you’re leaned against Ellie’s old gray truck. You sit outside your apartment and watch as people get in and out of their apartments and cars. 

“Do you ever wonder what people are leaving?” You ask. Your question is stuck in a blob of the same question and you try your best to word it correctly. 

You look over at Ellie as her brows wriggle on her forehead. “Whaddyamean?” She asks, her mouth full. Usually you’d stand up and run away after watching your date talk with their mouth full, but you must be in serious love because you find it cute as hell. 

“Like…” you breathe. “When people walk out of their houses, or whatever, I wonder where they’re going. Who are they going to meet? What are they going to do? Or when I’m driving—or you are—and you stare out the window and just look at these drivers faces; do you not wonder where they’re going? If they have a family they’re coming home to. If they’re struggling in some part of their life but they’re happy nonetheless.” 

“Sonder,” she says. 

“Hm?” 

“Sonder,” she repeats, now looking at you. She’s completely entranced. “I’ve heard that’s what it is.” 

“Is it weird that I wonder that?” You ask her. 

She shakes her head as if that’s a stupid question to ask. “No. I think it’s interesting to always have those questions. To always want to know.” 

You nod even though you yourself think it’s strange. No one has ever been on her side on this matter. You explain yourself well to those you tell—past partners, flings, friends—but no one has attempted to understand. 

“Seriously” you ask, much quieter, less thrilled to hear her truth. 

Ellie sets down her burger and the faintest chuckle rips through her. “You think I’m a liar?” She questions. 

You shrug and lower your burger to your thighs. The wrapper between your fingers is greasy, it almost feels as though its mimicking the sweat coating your forehead. Anxiety is biting your skin off; Ellie knowing about what most run from cannot be thrilling. 

“I don’t think you’re a liar.” You pick up your drink and take a sip, soothing the lump of food lodged between your words. “I just don’t know if you’re telling the truth.” 

She laughs this time and takes your drink from your hands. “That, my love, is quite literally the definition of a liar.” 

“Is it?” You ask, sounding smaller and smaller the more you talk. You feel like it, too. 

Ellie places the drink beside you as she walks around your shaking body. She steals the burger from your hand as well and carefully dumps it into the take-out bag. You stare at her through all of her motions, especially as she looms over you, her body wriggling over yours and ready to grab your hands. But as she does—grab them—she pulls back. You both laugh, you more than her, causing a scarlet tone to spread across her dotted cheeks. 

“I’m sorry,” you chuckle. “It just feels so…” 

She violently nods. “Yeah.” 

“Anyways”—you shake your head and scramble all of the past few seconds into an amnesiac memory— “tell me what you were going to say.” 

She does so as well, and instead settles her hands on your knees. “You are not strange, or crazy, or creepy. You just have a creative mind and a desperate need to know about people. You may not go up to them and flat-out ask what they’re feeling, or if they have kids and a partner and what-not, but you think about it, and you hope they’re okay.” She stares into your eyes now and you stare back. Typically you silently beg for the other to fall tired of staring, but this time you take it in like a warm blanket.

This moment causes you to realize Ellie is different than who you’ve spent time sharing deep secrets with. As she hazily drinks you in and smoothes her thumbs over your knees, softer than anyone has ever handled you, you see how different she is. How different she feels when you think of her. How your body doesn’t empty itself of warmth when you think of your potential 'futures' together. 

Ellie feels safe. She is safe. And she loves how you think of every passerby with the same care as you do with friends and family. 

You wipe your greasy—and sweaty—hands on your jeans and push her rustled hair behind her left ear. Your thumb glides past her earlobe and ghosts over her jaw. 

Ellie leans herself onto your hand, takes her own, and touches every single one of your fingers. She sounds like a horse as she whinnies and rubs her face against your palm. 

She continues turning until her lips meet your fingers. She kisses your fingers and slowly opens her mouth, air striking your skin and casting goosebumps along it. Her tongue darts out and licks the pad of your index. You shiver. 

You fight to keep your eyes on her but break as Ellie chuckles. A rumbling sounds in the pit of your stomach and instantly, you know you’re in trouble. You look down at your lap and try to cross your legs, but everything down there is far too uncomfortable to do so. 

“You okay?” Ellie whispers. 

You nod. “Yeah,” you say through nervous laughter. “I just don’t want anyone to catch you falling into your urges, you know?” 

“I don’t care,” she whines. “I want to.” 

It feels as though a fly catches in your throat. You can barely breathe at how she sounds—whiny, desperate, in need to kiss you… and not just on your thumb. You want to let her do it all to you right now as she stares hungrily into you, her chest rising and her lips puckering. But…to kiss her and deeply taste her when anyone could be peeking through their curtain or getting off as they watch through their car window… You would much rather not. 

“I want to, too, El,” you reply. The rest of your sentence tugs at your tongue but you bite down on it. 

“But..?” 

“But if you want to then I think we should go inside.” 

Ellie grabs your face and smashes her lips against yours. She kisses you hard and fast, her teeth closing down on your bottom lip. Her hands wander from your face to your shoulders to your lower back. She sneaks her fingers under your shirt and grasps your skin. 

Your mouth parts and a humiliating groan slips out. You shut your mouth by biting down on her lip—as she had done to yours. 

Ellie digs her nails into your skin and soon enough, you’re full-on making out—teeth silently clashing, mouths sucking on lips and tongues fighting one another for a kind of flavor only insanely horny folk’ can taste. 

“Okay,” Ellie hums against your mouth. “Let’s…” She runs out of breath and you pull away. “Let’s go inside?” 

You bite down on your swollen lip and nod. “Mhm-hm,” you answer with a shaken brain and a pulsing center. 

Ellie grabs your to-go bags and drinks and slips her hand into yours as she leads you up to your apartment. You slide your key in shake it around, unlocking the door that somehow feels difficult to open. Maybe it’s because you want to fall inside and fuck Ellie’s brains out for the first time already, or you simply forgot how to open doors. 

You finally get to open the door and as if you’re on a mission, you pull Ellie inside with enough force to pull her arm out of her socket, and slam the door shut. Poor neighbors you have, but they’ll understand. They see Ellie come by almost everyday, and each time they see her, they raise their eyebrows and cross their fingers, as if to say ‘Today is the day,’ but it never is. 

However, tonight… might be the night. 

You open your door with your hand desperate to hold hers. You tug her into your room and as if anyone else lives with you, you shut the door. You drop your bag and kick off your shoes. All you can hear is your short and rapid breaths. 

“You want to?” Ellie asks after you’ve done kicked your shoes off and have slid out of your jacket. 

You look up as your fingers tug at your shirt. Her shoes are off and her jacket is dangling off her pointer finger. You feverishly nod. “Yes,” you spit out. “Yes, I do. I really do. Only if you want to.” 

Ellie drops her jacket and hastily makes her way to you. She grips your shirt where you hold it and pulls it up your body. “Up,” she whispers, “please.” 

You like it—her attempt at being rough. You say attempt because after she roughly pulls your shirt over your head and tosses it onto the floor, she smoothes your hair down and tenderly kisses you. 

You’re left in your black bralette and jeans. Ellie looks down at your body from where you stand centimeters apart (it feels like such). Her breath spreads across your breasts and your nipples harden. You tip your head back and stare at the ceiling as the feeling of Ellie’s fingers appear at the button of your pants. 

“Can I take these off?” She asks. 

You nod. “Please,” you say, your voice groggy. 

She quickly undoes the button and pulls down your zipper. She slides the denim down your legs and kisses your thighs as she does so. You watch her as she does this—how her body slides down, her ass looking great in her jeans, her body almost arching at the taste of your skin. 

She aids your legs out of the holes and pushes the jeans away. She stands up again and feels the ridges of your body: the slight jump from your plump thighs to your hips, the stretch marks sliding across your tummy, the groove of your belly button. 

Ellie takes her time feeling your body, smelling your skin, dotting hickeys along your hips and space between your underwear and belly button. She groans as she reaches your breasts. Her face appears in front of you as though she wasn’t just at your tits, and she kisses your cheek, her hands palming your breasts through your bra. 

You release a strangled moan. You nod and nod, pushing her forward. 

She leans down to kiss your tits while her hands work on pushing your bra strap down. You can’t bear standing as she does this to you, so you push her back until her knees hit your bed. You push her down and smile at her as she pushes herself up on her elbows. 

“Oh god,” she mutters as she looks at you. “You’re beautiful.” 

You blush. “Shut up.” 

She shakes her head and swallows, the sound pinging in your ears. “No. C’mere. Please.” 

You nod and hop up onto the bed. You straddle her waist and rest your hands on the hem of her shirt. You tilt your head to the side and move your body around atop her. You whimper and she curses beneath her breath. “Why are you still dressed?” 

Her mouth opens and you laugh. 

“C’mon,” you murmur. You paw at her shirt and begin pulling it up her body. She sits up and lets you take it off. You leave it on the bed and quickly get back at her body—toned and ready for you. Your fingers roam along the band of her bra and find their way under. You cup her tits and run your thumb across her hard nipple. “Does this feel good?” 

She chokes out a “Yes,” and rolls her head back. Her hips buck and you continue. You pinch her hardened buds and watch her bite down on her lip and curse louder than you’ve ever heard before. She’s blushing all over, her cheeks fiery red, causing her freckles to hide behind the ferocity. Her chest has become splotchy, and not from any hickeys you’ve imagined giving her. She’s blushing and hot, too—physically hot. Warm to the touch. 

"You okay?" You stop to question. 

She nods. "Nervous. Horny." Her words and wobbly but flopping out of her mouth in big waves. "Both?" 

You chuckle and with the back of your hands, you push her bra up over her sore tits. She blushes harder and you lean down to kiss her lips. "Stop," you hum between pecks. "You’re okay. It’s just me." 

"That’s exactly why!" She groans and tilts her head to the side, her eyes rolling as you run your fingers down her body and maneuver your mouth to her tits. Thankfully, Ellie isn’t some masc lesbian who thinks salivating on and over her breasts is atrocious. Currently she’s moaning and humming your name, begging you to keep going. 

"I want more," you say, popping your lips off her nipple. 

"Wh-what, like… You want me to take my—" 

"Take your pants off, yes. And those boxers of yours if you’d like, too." 

She swallows and nods. "Yeah. Of course. Just erm… Scoot back a bit." 

You pull your legs over hers and  unbutton and unzip her pants. You pull them down and as she did to you, you take her feet out and lay her pants to the side. 

Now she’s bare. Almost. 

You sweep a hand over her thighs and close to her center. A thumb accidentally glides over her clothed clit and she jerks. "God, please," Ellie whines. She slaps her hand over yours and grasps it tightly. “Just…” Her mouth trembles, lips widening and shutting as if she’s either going to cry or… cream her pants. “Skip the extra foreplay. I need you on me.” 

You nod and plant a soft kiss on the inside of her thigh. You jump up and pull down your panties. You toss the boring boy shorts onto the flowing pile of clothes and start to crawl onto the bed. 

Ellie watches you with wide eyes. Her breath is snug in her throat and her knuckles are white from how tight she’s holding the bed sheets. 

You sit beside her—your ass on your heels—and grip her side. From there, you trail down to her navy boxers with a wet spot right on her center. You smirk but send your tongue to fight the inside of your cheek to prevent it from spreading across your face. 

Ellie sits up as best as she can and tears off her boxers. She sends them flying somewhere in the room and you both chuckle at the sound it makes. Your mouth drops in a certain wonderstruck you have yet to experience. She’s shaven, only leaving one dark strip. 

You nod, ready. You grip her hips and nudge open her thighs. You look into her eyes and move your hands up onto her shoulders. She braces hers on your waist and pulls you up onto her thigh. You lower yourself down onto her and feel the heat of her skin on your pussy. You groan and bite down on your lip. 

You look at Ellie as she situates herself beneath you and ask, “Is this okay for you?” 

She nods. She rolls her hips against you and you drop your head, your mind already foggy the more she rolls and circles them. You follow her lead, both awkwardly trying to figure out what feels best and how to continue doing that. 

Quickly, though, Ellie catches onto the specific way she rolls her hips, pelvic bone slamming into you perfectly. You push a hand down onto Ellie’s clit and circle your fingers around the pulsing bud. She jolts but the movements spur her on. She moves faster and the chord in your lower belly is being pulled taut. 

You groans and gasps in the air coming from the both of you leave behind the embarrassment of the first few seconds of heat action. You dig your nails into her hips and take the lead as Ellie slows down. 

This… this leaves Ellie gasping and fucking quaking. You roll onto her and slither a hand onto her nipple. You roll her hardened bud between your thumb and index and she arches her back. She digs her hands into the mattress and lets out an ear-shattering moan. You lean down and kiss her breasts. You grasp and lick them, and this drives her crazy. 

“Touch me,” she says. 

“I am, babe,” you pant. 

She grabs your hand and leads it down to her center. She trails your fingers down her slit and groans at the contact of your hot fingers on her clit. You lift your hips in order for her to follow you down right where— “I want you inside me.” 

You blush. The redness—not of the heat tinting your skin—chars your cheeks and you skip a breath. “In—inside of you?” 

She nods. “Please,” she whines. 

You nod and slide a finger inside of her. She’s wet, so easy to slide another in. And you pump your fingers in and out of her, sliding your palm against her clit. You look down at the mess on your hand, then at Ellie’s sex hair and sex face and how red her tits are. 

Your core is throbbing. How you are as of now—knuckles deep inside of Ellie, fucking her out of her mind—has you coming yourself. The sound of your fingers against her wet pussy along with how hot she looks writhing beneath you has the chord in your belly ripping. 

You gasp at first. You cry out her name and soon enough, Ellie is coming. She shakes and slaps her hand over your wrist. “Keep going,” she begs you. “Keepgoingkeepgoing—“ 

You do so. And the more you go, the more her legs shake. She presses herself against your palm and soon enough, she comes again. This time, she slowly pulls your hand away with her thighs tight against you fingers. She whines when she fully pulls you away. 

She takes that hand and pushes it onto your lips. “Open,” she says, and you do. She slips her fingers into your mouth and you suck her cum off your fingers. “Good. That’s my girl.” 

You roll your eyes and pop your mouth off your fingers. “Don’t say that or I’ll sit on your face to shut you up. 

She tilts her head with wide eyes and looks up at you. “Is that a threat? Because I surely wouldn’t mind that.” 

You push her into the mattress and straddle her waist with sore thighs. You kiss her mouth and suck on every inch of her mouth. “I wouldn’t mind either.” 

“Then c’mon,” she says, slapping your ass. “Get on and ride my face darling.” 

[afterdarkprincess]

The Devil's In The Details (But You Got a Friend in Me)- Part 5

Pairing: Sami/Jey Rating: Explicit Chapter Summary: Jey returns in time for the Draft and his and Jimmy's rematch against the Brawling Brutes.

Took me ages, but I've got an update for this one :)

Thank you a million times to @elementaldoughnut12 for the prompt that turned into this fic <3

tags for @feelschicken @imabillyami @southerngirl41 @jeysbvck and @harmshake (if anyone else would like to be tagged in my fics please let me know!

This fic is explicit and this part contains: Masturbation, Phone Sex and canon typical violence.

AO3 Link

Part One Part Two

Part Three Part Four

Jey enters the arena the next day in a foul mood. The Draft was announced and scheduled while he was away for the same night as their rematch with the Brawling Brutes, and it feels like just another way for Roman to manipulate him and his family.

Roman has the influence to keep them all on Smackdown together, but he also has the influence to separate him and his brother. And after the displeasures the Tribal Chief expressed, Jey is full of anxiety for himself and his brother’s futures if they don’t get the tag team titles back.

He’s gotten a string of messages from Sami since he departed from his hotel for the American Bank Center, but it hasn’t done much to assuage his anxieties or lift his spirits. It’s not even been a full day and he’d give anything to see Sami’s smile in person again, and part of him is terrified of how these feelings have taken over his entire life.

Jey checks in and receives the directions to their private locker room, already unnerved that the instructions hadn’t been sent to him in advance by Paul, but he could chalk that up to having been on vacation. He passes several others on the roster, but keeps to himself for the most part, only nodding and giving a small wave to Xavier and Kofi.

He enters the locker room to find Jimmy there alone. They certainly aren’t as inseparable now as adults as they’d been as children, but something in Jey just feels right at the sight of his twin, especially having been apart for a week.

“Ey, Uce, what’s up?” Jey cuts him off, enveloping Jimmy into a bear hug, holding onto him tightly and not letting go for a while. “Damn dude, you good?” Jimmy chuckles, trying to lighten the mood.

Jey nods, trying to play it cool. “Yeah, uh, just missed ya Uce, that’s all.”

Jimmy grins, “Makes sense, don’ know how you was gon’ have fun on that vacation without me, huh? Even wit’ seein’ Sami.” Jey feels a pang in his chest at the mention of the man he loves. “How’s he doin’ anyway?”

“Uh, he’s good. Just doin’ PT and stuff, you know?” Jey wants to tell his brother about their week and all the things they did together, though maybe not everything. He’s not used to hiding things from Jimmy, not big things like this.

Jimmy meanwhile is shoving a protein bar into his mouth. “Mmhmm,” He garbles. “I bet. Fuckin’ hated that when my knee was busted. Shit hurts and then they got you on the treadmill like that? No thanks.”

“Yeah,” Jey tries to change the subject, just to keep himself from spilling the beans. He’s not ready to do this tonight. “What’d I miss?”

“Well this draft for one, ‘cause we ain’t been through enough right now.”

“No shit,” Jey agrees.

“Big Uce still pissed at us I think, at least I ain’t heard word from him since you left and that ain’t usually good news.”

“And Solo?”

Jimmy shrugs, “I dunno, Uce. He been ‘bout the same, quiet n’ stuff.” He cracks open a bottle of water. “Can’t figure him out.”

“Where he at tonight?”

“Beats me,” Jimmy shakes his head. “Wiseman took him off somewhere, man. Tryin’ not to think about that, keep our eyes on the prize for this rematch tonight.”

Jey sees red just thinking about the Brutes. “We gon’ get those titles back, dawg. And once we do m’gonna bury that fucker Holland.” His hands shake as they curl into fists.

As usual Jimmy misses nothing, “Ey, calm down bruh. We gon’ take care of ‘em like you said. No worries.”

The conversation lulls and it’s quiet for the moment, Jey staring down at the floor.

“What you think Big Uce gon’ do if we don’t win?”

Jimmy stands, clapping a hand onto Jey’s shoulder reassuringly. “Can’t be thinking like that, Jey. We ain’t gotta worry about that cause we gon’ whoop those guys no problem. We gon’ have the titles back and everythin’ gon’ be how it was before.”

Jey hears Sami’s words in his head, that even if things go back to how they were it still isn’t a good place for them, that Roman won’t be happy no matter how many accolades the Bloodline has.

He’s not ready for that conversation with his twin either, not with this amount of pressure on them to deliver tonight. He nods slowly, “You right,”

“Course I’m right, Uce! Now let’s go watch this draft with the rest of these suckers to see their faces when we get picked first!” Jimmy heads out the door with a spring in his step, and it’s doing nothing for the dread sitting heavy in Jey’s stomach.

He gets an alert on his phone, another text from Sami.

Hope everything’s going well<3 I’ll be watching, got a pizza coming for the occasion lol 6:45pm

Jey laughs in spite of himself.

Bet it ain’t as good as good as my food tho 6:46pm

Course not- gotta save those frozen meals and ration them lol 6:48pm

Can’t have you wasting away, baby 6:49pm

He hesitates for a moment staring at the screen before he hits the emoji button and sends a solitary red heart. It shouldn’t send his heart rate up just sending one little text message, but it feels like a big step.

Jey goes to throw his phone into his bag to go join Jimmy when it goes off again, the screen showing an identical heart back from Sami. Jey smiles, feeling just a little bit of the weight he’s carrying on his shoulders vanish.

He’s not in this alone anymore.

—

Most of the smackdown roster is gathered together backstage watching the live feed. Even they don’t really have the clearest picture of what the draft will look like this time, and gossip and rumors fly.

Jey finds Jimmy hanging around the back of the room pacing, they have a promo to cut after the first round of picks, so they stay closer to gorilla.

“What took you so long Uce?” Jimmy shoved a hand into his shoulder playfully.

“Aw nothin’ for you to worry ‘bout. Still no Solo?” He looked around for his youngest brother’s bleached blond curls but didn’t spot him.

Jimmy shrugged. “Nah man, Kofi and Xavier ‘round here though.” The Usos didn’t have many friends left on the roster after the last few years, but the New Day never took their on-stage antics to heart.

“Yeah saw ‘em when I got in,” Jey took a bottle of water from a nearby table. “Anything yet?”

“Nope, show’s just about to start though.”

The intro starts on the monitors, and Jey’s mind wanders back to Sami watching along at home. He’s hit with the same feeling he had at Wrestlemania, that Sami should be here alongside him. How would things have changed over the last few months if Sami had been by his side? Would he and Jimmy still have the tag belts and be in Roman’s good graces? Would Sami even still be with the bloodline?

Jey shakes his head to clear the thoughts away. It would do him no good to be distracted like this before a promo and a title match.

Triple H is on the screen, having gone through his spiel about how the evening will proceed and what this means for the company and blah blah blah. Jey’s just anxious to hear where they’re going, as there’s no doubt the Bloodline will be drafted together first, Roman would demand nothing less.

“With the first draft of the evening, Friday Night Smackdown selects…” Hunter pauses, as if it will be a surprise. “Three drafted as one! The Undisputed WWE Universal Champion Roman Reigns, the Enforcer, Solo Sikoa, and the Wiseman Paul Heyman, the Bloodine!”

Jey’s pulse roars in his ears as he processes the lack of he and his twins names being called with Roman’s. His eyes lock with Jimmy’s, wide with confusion and anger.

“What the hell man?” Jimmy huffs, as if Jey would know.

“I dunno Uce, but we gon’ find out!” Jey storms toward gorilla, fire in his eyes. 
He runs headlong into Adam Pearce, hanging around backstage, his hands come up defensively. “If you boys have questions or comments about the draft picks I’m gonna need you to direct them elsewhere. Right now, you need to wait for Triple H to finish the first round and call you out there.

In Jey’s ire, he’d completely forgotten about the rest of the draft and their segment, nothing too complicated, just going out and hurling insults at their opponents, but now his mind is clouded.

There are a few more minutes of Triple H’s voice droning and echoing through the monitor feeds, calling out more picks for each brand but Jey barely listens as his mind races.

Is this another game? A punishment for me n’ Jim acting out? or for losing the belts? Is Roman gonna separate us or just kick us out the family? Maybe this ain’t a bad thing if it means we get away.

Before he knows it, he blinks at the shine of lights in his face as he finds himself in the ring, the cheers of the crowd competing with his loud heartbeat.

Jimmy looks at him, but Jey nods, letting his twin take the intro.

“Corpus Christi, the bloodline is now in yo’ city!” Jimmy projects into the microphone, and Jey knows he’s gonna need to pull it together.

Somehow he makes it through the promo, gets the words out that he needs to in a semi coherent fashion, barking insults at Butch and Ridge and Sheamus too for good measure.

They come out to try and intimidate them and it ends in a brawl, which is much easier for him to get through, using his fists to get the anger and frustration out of his body. And he gets a few good shots in on Holland, which always makes him feel better these days.

He stalks behind Jimmy as they head backstage, keeping his focus on the back of his brother’s head.

They storm through backstage, bypassing the room where everyone else is gathered, not stopping until they’re back in their own private locker room, and blissfully alone.

Solo and Paul are still nowhere to be found.

Jimmy is fuming immediately. “You wanna tell me what’s goin’ on, ‘Mister Right Hand Man’?” The title is spat at him, and Jey’s stomach sinks.

“I told you, Uce- I don’t know, I ain’t been here to know!” He starts pacing.

“Cause you keep runnin’ off to see Sami every chance you get, actin’ weird, keepin’ shit from me! You supposed to be my brother, Uce!” Jimmy shakes his head.

Fear and guilt creeps into Jey’s heart. He has been keeping things from his brother, and of course Jimmy’s picked up on that. It won’t do him any good to keep arguing with Jimmy, if he’s worked up like this who knows what will slip outta his mouth?

Jey takes a deep breath and rubs his face with his hands, trying to clear his head.

He starts, “Listen, I know thing’s been messed up lately-“

“You think?” Jimmy interjects.

“But you know I ain’t got nothin’ to do with this! Wiseman gotta know somethin’, or Solo even, since they done pulled a disappearing act.” Jey gestures towards the empty room around them.

Jimmy frowns, kicking his feet and huffs. “I know, Uce. I just don’t like how things been lately, you know?” Jey nods. “First losin’ Sami, then the belts, Roman actin’ like he’s our Daddy or somethin’ and now all this?” Jimmy drops to sit on the couch, head hung in defeat.

Jey takes a few cautious steps towards his brother, “I know, Uce, really feels like we jus’ can’t win right now.”

“It’d be better if I could trust you to have my back.” Jimmy fixes him with a look. “We got this title rematch tonight, and we should be focused on gettin’ back what’s ours so Roman can chill the hell out.”

“I got your back, Jimmy. I always do.” Jey answers, hoping that it will be enough.

His twin stares at him, unblinking, like he’s looking for his answer in Jey’s eyes. After a few long moments, he nods. “Okay,” Jimmy extends his hand, and Jey takes it and helps him to his feet. “But as soon as we get through all this, you gotta come clean about whatever it is you hidin’.”

Jey opens his mouth to deny the allegation, but he thinks better of it, and nods. “Alright, all we gotta do is put those clowns away tonight.”

“Damn right,” Jimmy claps him on the shoulder, and Jey feels like he can finally breathe again.

He looks at the clock on the wall, it’s already about halfway through the show and they gotta be ready for their match in about a half hour. “C’mon, we prolly outta get back out there.”

Jimmy nods, “You right, you know somebody gon’ be out there talkin’ shit.” He goes to head out the door but turns around. “Jey?”

“Ye?”

“You know I love you right?”

Jey feels his heart swell up in his chest. “Yeah, Uce. I love you too.”

Jimmy sticks his tongue out, making a face. “Alright now we done with that, let’s go remind these fools who runs this show.” He turns and walks out the door.

Jey spares one last glance back toward his bag, tempted to call Sami or at least check his phone, but Jimmy is already suspicious and will definitely notice his absence, so he follows suit and heads back out into the hallway to follow his twin.

—

The rest of the draft picks aren’t remarkable, mostly because they aren’t Jey and Jimmy.

They’re waiting in gorilla position for their music to hit, and as much as Jey tries to keep himself focused on the task at hand, his mind is far from settled.

He bounces on the balls of his feet, trying to feed this energy into his body, at least make it useful for the fight ahead of him, while his thoughts race.

if we lose again, that’s it. We out the family, we might be out already. Who gon’ watch out for Solo if Roman kicks us out? Wish I could talk to Sami…

The sound of spit hitting the floor stirs him from his thoughts.

Butch and Ridge stand before them, the tag belts on their shoulders and scowls on their faces.

Jey sees red, filled with rage at the sight.

He darts toward them, but is stopped by Jimmy before he can do anything stupid.

“That’s right, keep a leash on that dog.” Butch taunts.

Ridge cracks his knuckles menacingly. “Won’t have to hold it long, gonna put you down, boy.” He spits at Jey’s feet.

Jey can barely think for how angry he is, but their music starts and he has to wait before he can put his hands on Holland, has to put on a good show to stay in Roman’s good graces.

Jimmy turns to him, blocking their opponents from view. “You good, bruh?”

Jey huffs out a breath. “M’good.”

“Jus’ gotta get the belts.”
 He nods, following Jimmy out onto the stage.

Jey is thankful for their reputations, that they can get away with scowling during their entrances because he can’t bring his face to do anything else at the moment.

The crowd is behind them, cheering and throwing their ones to the sky. Their love for the Honorary Uce has carried him and Jimmy through this feud even at the darkest of times, so it’s what he’ll latch onto today. He sees signs in the crowd.

“WE MISS YOU SAMI”

“FOREVER UCEY”

He feels more steady by the time they get into the ring, less likely to lose his temper at a moments notice. He stretches his arms and flexes against the ropes as Mike announces the incoming tag team champions.

Whatever good will the Brawling Brutes had carried with the crowd by their association with Sheamus is long gone. The fans boo them the whole walk down the aisle, though it doesn’t phase them much.

Butch is growling at both of them, but Ridge’s eyes are cold and fixed directly on Jey. Unmoving and unflinching.

Jey stares right back. If the man wants to make this personal, he’ll make it personal.

The bell rings signaling the start of the match. Jey waves Jimmy to the corner as Butch hops over the top rope. Ridges eyes stay locked on Jey’s as they both take slow steps forward to the center of the ring.

Neither makes a move until they’re nose to nose in the center of the ring, Jey looking up slightly to keep eye contact.

“M’gonna enjoy this,” Ridge says under his breath.

“Me too,” Jey’s eyes are blazing as he lets his hands take over and do the talking for him.

—

Jey lays in bed, staring up at the ceiling. He’s alone, which feels more like a punishment than anything else.

They lost. Again.

More specifically he ate the pin again. From Ridge.

Jey blinks hard, rubbing his hands over his tired eyes. Maybe if he just closes his eyes, the whole day will start over again.

His phone lights up with another message. He has about 20 unread texts from Sami and just as many from Jimmy.

He’s not sure who wants to avoid more.

Sami’s expressed several times that he doesn’t need Jey to fight his battles for him, but each loss against these monsters that took him out feels like letting Sami down, like failing to protect him again.

And Jimmy…

He can’t get the looks of hurt and betrayal out of his mind, after his brother had been caught in a brutal spear that he’d been aiming for Butch. The smaller man had dodged out of the way at the last moment, and it had ultimately been his twin he sent crashing to the mat.

Jimmy knew it was a mistake. Knew Jey hadn’t been aiming for him. But Jey still felt immense guilt. Especially since the error cost them the match.

The match. The belts. Their place in their family.

He knows Sami has his back, and that they have a back up plan. But his family has been Jey’s whole life, even the thought of losing it is terrifying to him.

The phone rings, vibrating loudly against the nightstand. He slowly reaches a hand over to see who it is.

He’s relieved to see Sami’s smiling face lighting up the screen. Probably the only person he’d answer right now.

“Hey Sami,” Jey sighs.

“Hi sweetheart…” Sami’s soft tones bring tears prickling to his eyes again. “I’d ask how you’re holding up, but I can imagine it pretty well.”

“Yeah,” He sniffs hard, trying to keep it together.

“So.. staying on smackdown at least?”

Jey huffs, “Yeah, ‘least OG didn’t keep us in suspense.”

At the end of the match as Jey lay in the ring in shock from the pin, Roman’s music had hit, sending a chill of fear down his spine.

But in the end, it was just Paul, squabbling about influence and draft picks, but ultimately confirming that the Usos would be going to Smackdown with the Tribal Chief after all. Roman had put him through that anxiety for seemingly no reason.

Can’t say he’s surprised. Just another mind game.

“Talk to me, Sami?” He chokes out. “Somethin’, anythin’ that’s not this.”

Sami obliges, launching into a story about some guy he sees at PT each week, as usual he’s got a talent for filling empty air. Jey isn’t paying the most attention to the details, but the sound of Sami’s voice is soothing.

“… And that’s when I said, it’s your spot now, my dawg!” Sami breaks off into laughter at his own joke, and Jey chuckles, feeling like he can at least breathe again.

When both of their laughter dies down, he says. “Thanks, Sami. Dunno what I’d do without you.”

“Of course, baby. I love you so much, we’re gonna get through this.” Sami takes a pause. “Any word from Roman?”

Jey shakes his head before remembering that Sami can’t see him. “Nah, nothin’ yet.”

Sami hums. “How’s Jimmy taking things?”

“Dunno,” He sniffs. “Ain’t talked to him since. We uh- we already had one fight earlier an’ I don’ wanna run that back.”

“I get that,” Sami says. “But I gotta think maybe you’d feel better to clear the air with him, I hate seein’ my favorite twins fight.”

It’s meant to be a joke, but after all the tension between him and Jimmy it just makes his heart hurt.

“He knows I’m hiding somethin’,” Jey’s voice is soft, like this too is a secret. “Thought maybe I had something to do with the draft, that I was in on whatever Roman was plannin’. I dunno how long I can keep this up, Sami.”

The line is quiet for a while, and when he speaks Sami’s voice is small. “I don’t wanna make things hard for you, Jey-“

“Don’t you even think that,” Jey’s feels his nerves rattle, at how quickly Sami would suggest them splitting up. “It took me way too long to get you, Sami- I ain’t givin’ you up.”

Sami’s sigh of relief is audible. “M’sorry, I shouldn’t have-“

Jey shakes his head, even though Sami can’t see him. “Nah, you just doin’ what you always do, baby. You look out for me. But I’m bein’ selfish now and I’m not letting you go.”

Say it. Say it now, he deserves to know.

“Sami, I-“ Jey pauses, his heartbeat loud in his ear.

How can I tell him I love him when I ain’t even free yet?

“Can I see you?”

Before he’s even got the words out the facetime call comes through, and Sami’s face is on his screen and it shouldn’t make him feel this relieved, to just be able to see him as he moves, adjusting himself and turning on a light in the bedroom so Jey can see him even better.

“Jey…” Sami breathes his name and Jey winces, knowing already what he’s about to say.

“S’not that bad.” His fingers find the edge of the bandage that covers the cut above his right eye. Ridge had flung him into the ring post, and he’d caught the edge on his eyebrow. It looked much scarier on TV, with blood trickling down into his eye.

On the screen Sami’s brow is furrowed, then slowly his face relaxes as the camera gets closer to his face. Finally the screen only shows the creases of Sami’s lips, puckered to kiss the screen, and Jey feels his face heat up.

Kissin’ me better an’ everything.

Sami’s face is relaxed when Jey can see all of it again, and he aches to reach out and touch him.

“Miss you, boo.” The words slip out of his mouth unbidden, but it’s true.

His laugh echoes in the quiet of the room, “It’s barely been a day since you’ve seen me.”

“So? That ain’t mean nothing.” Jey protests. “Miss them cute cheeks of yours, wanna put my teeth on ‘em”

Sami blushes beautifully, pink spreading across his newly chubby cheeks as he squirms. “Stop, you don’t mean that.”

Jey pushes himself up further, raising an eyebrow. “Oh you think I don’t? You just wait til’ after Puerto Rico, I’m gonna put in the fangs and show you just how much I wanna bite you.” He bares his teeth and chomps at the screen playfully, sending Sami into giggles. Jey feels his dick twitch in interest just at the thought of getting his mouth on his lover. “Mark you all over before I get my mouth on your dick, wanna make you feel so good, Sami.”

Sami’s blush deepens, “Will you let me fuck you again?’

He keens, suddenly aware of how empty he feels, and his dick filling in earnest now. “Yeah- yeah, Sami. Are you-?”

On the screen, Sami nods emphatically. “Thank goodness I’m already in bed. Want your hands on me, Jey.”

“I know-“ Jey bites out. “I know baby, wish I was there. Touch yourself for me.” The camera jostles between Sami’s hands and then his head is thrown back into the pillow as he groans. “Go slow, ain’t no need to rush. Tell me- please Sami, tell me how it feels.” Jey wraps one of his hands around his own cock and strokes slowly as he gets even harder.

Sami whines, “Feels so good, but it’s not the same- Ah, fuck, Jey!” The ginger’s breathing heavily, his shoulder moving on screen just enough to suggest the pace of his hand on his cock.

“Show me,” Jey blurts out. “Let me see how hard you are for me,”

The image on Jey’s phone wobbles and Sami seems to drop the phone. When it returns, the camera has switched and Jey sees the disheveled comforter around Sami’s pale thighs, the color lovely against the pink of his stretch marks. His cock stands proudly, supported by Sami’s hand with his thumb rubbing slow circles around the head.

Jey imagines his tongue making those same circles, and he really ought to be embarrassed by the desperate noise he makes at the thought, but he can”t find it in himself to care.

He’s not going to last long, overwhelmed with sensation and emotion and longing and the sound of Sami’s pleasured sighs.

“Jey— please, wanna see you too.” Sami begs, the sound high in his throat and Jey can do nothing but comply, frantically pressing his thumb on the screen to swap the camera, so Sami gets a view of his shorts pushed down and his hand working his dick. “Oh, oh Jey- so gorgeous, such a pretty cock, have I ever told you that?”

Jey huffs out a laugh but the compliment goes straight to the tight heat in his stomach as he approaches his orgasm. “Nah, don’t think you have.”

“Gorgeous, perfect, so perfect, mine, mine-“ Sami gasps and Jey’s eyes are glued to the screen as Sami’s cock shoots cum all over his awaiting fingertips.

He groans, following right behind, painting his stomach with his jizz as he falls over the edge to the sound of Sami’s breath.

Sami’s camera switches again, and he brings two cum coated fingers to his lips, licking them slowly before putting them into his mouth to clean them off.

If it was remotely possible for Jey to get hard again, he would be.

“Fuckin’ hell, Sami. Are you tryin’ to kill me?”

Sami grins after he removes the fingers from his mouth, shiny with his spit. “Never, sweetheart. How many weeks until Puerto Rico again?”

“Just over two,” Jey sighs, reaching for a tissue to clean up his own mess. “We’ll have 4 days together I think?”

“Can’t come soon enough.”

Jey feels the weight of the day and the fight settle into his bones, and knows he’s going to fall asleep sooner rather than later.

They make their long goodbyes, Jey still trying to memorize how the words “I love you” sound coming out of Sami’s mouth, how they make him feel when they’re directed at him.

When finally the screen goes black, and he’s alone again with his thoughts and a list of unread messages, Jey tosses his phone onto the side table and surrenders himself to sleep. --- I really hope I get the next part out sooner than this one! Thank you for being patient with me 🙈

[deathfavor]

@ofsavior said: “Hey, uh — Kazutora-kun.” Clearing his throat, Chifuyu stands tall. Emerald eyes meet gold, and hesitation flickers across his expression. One hand rubs the nape of his neck, and Chifuyu grows awkward. “Would you wanna… go to the zoo sometime?” And maybe hold hands or walk into the sunset before dinner together. You know, the way two adults — two bros — should be. Lips fall to a line as anxiety pulls him back to reality. Huffing to himself, he crosses his arms. “We can get icecream after if you want.”

  Kazutora’s made himself comfortable where he's sat on the couch, bottom lip caught between his teeth in the way he always does when he’s focused, gaze fixed on the game on his phone. ( The advancement in technology is still wild to him to see how far it has come in his absence. Though he is rather concerned about breaking its delicate screen compared to the older phones. ) His brows furrow with concentration, but his eyes lift to look towards Chifuyu the moment other speaks.

   “ You don’t need to use honorifics with me, y’know. “  Kazutora answers with an almost silent chuckle, pocketing his phone to give the other his full attention. Never mind that Kazutora’s said this before. He’s pretty sure he’s written it too. It probably won’t change anything now. But it’s a thread of conversation that is easy and familiar and it might help with whatever causes the hesitation in Chifuyu’s expression and the awkwardness that is showcased with every gesture.

  Kazutora does not push ; he knows better than anyone how patience is valued and necessary.

   “ The zoo? “ He hadn’t expected that. Gold eyes immediately brighten at the idea of it, an excited buzz starting up in his chest.  “ Fuck yeah! Of course I want to! “  He clasps his hands together gleefully at the suggestion. It’s a display not unlike that of a child whose just been informed summer vacation is near. “ God, can you believe I forgot about zoos? I loved the zoo. “  It would have been obvious even without Kazutora’s surge of words about how enthusiastic he is with the idea based on how his eyes shine brightly, the way he leans his whole body forwards, and the weightless, happy smile on his face.

   “  And I have money for the gift shop now. “ His eyes narrow playfully, a conspiring look on his face.  “  Oooo! We could get matching shirts! What do you say, Chifuyu?  “  He asks, trying and failing to hide the devious giggle. Knowing Kazutora, his favorite shirt was going to be the gaudiest, overpriced shirt that the gift shop would offer. And he would absolutely love it.  

   And ice cream?  “  Chifuyu, if I ever turn down ice cream, I’m either sick or have been replaced by a doppelganger or body snatcher. “  He says with a mock serious tone.  “  Sounds like fun. “  He beams.  “  But if I have to wait three weeks for this zoo visit, I might pass away. “  He adds with an easy laugh. “ Did you have a day in mind? “ He asks, the gears already turning in his head over this.

[wetwasteofagirl]

emdr for heff! part The End

I hope I can answer your questions!  I don’t have autism so I hope my experiences can be helpful.  MY mom did try to get me diagnosed twice as a child and then I had a neuropsych as an adult, and each time they were like “no she’s just weird.”  Okay thanks!  But still—this is something people don’t know & what I was saying last night about my post—bipolar is not ADHD but it will often imitate it because it’s the same brain stimuli gone fucking crazy.  My bestie has pretty intense ADHD and he and I often share ADHD coping techniques.  They help my life so much.  They don’t always apply because some of the things that affect ADHD don’t affect me.  But since I think there’s the whole AuDHD thing, they often go together, perhaps me and my pretend ADHD brain can be helpful to you too.   

In terms of physically, I don’t have a very great digestive system lol, and it responds very poorly to stress and anxiety.  This has only happened 2 times—the first intake session where I whipped out a bunch of things that are hard for me to talk about, and then one other time that I can’t remember.  My stomach started hurting right after the session and it hurt and hurt the whole night.  (My mom says the stomach stores a lot of grief in it, lol). This only happened twice, and it didn’t surprise me, and it didn’t last until the next day or anything.

I’ll say it can be very exhausting.  Sometimes the session ends and it feels like my brain hurts, because sometimes it starts throwing thoughts/images at you that are a lot to process.  This summer I haven’t had a session every week because of sickness/vacations, but in the spring I was having it every week and I was actually starting to feel a bit odd.  It was shaking up some old, bad feelings, like bad self esteem (I have questionable self-esteem: sometimes maybe good, sometimes maybe shit), and some bad feelings that I thought I’d already worked through came back.  It was interesting, because I decided this was because it was shaking up some things in my head.

I kind of equate EMDR to cleaning out a closet.  I have a huge walk-in closet in my apartment which is amazing because I am quite the maximalist and have a shit ton of stuff.   For yearssss I never organized it, it was full of piles of stuff, and it was getting me really stressed out.  So here we have Thanksgiving in November and my job gave me a full week off for that which was really nice, and so I spent days of that week cleaning out my closet.  Of course that involved taking basically everything out of it, going through it, vacuuming, filling trash bags, etc…it took days, and it was hard work, but I was very motivated to do it and by the end of the week my closet was beautiful.  It’s been 8 months and it’s still beautiful and I love my fucking closet!  There’s even extra space on the shelves now, which is amazing.

So my EMDR experience feels similar.  I’m in the part right now where I spend days taking things off the shelves, sorting things, donating things, taking out the trash.  When you’re cleaning and your place gets messier before it’s cleaner, that kind of thing.  So that’s what the resurgence of the bad thoughts felt like!  I think it’s from going into a hard place mentally and exploring hard, repressed stuff.  Like having my younger self in my head saying she doesn’t trust me.  That’s rough!!!  I almost cried, and I’m not really a big Crier at Sad Things.  That was hard to hear.  So that’s going to shake up your mind!  So I think you can’t have a lot of sessions at once—it’s probably good to take a break sometimes.  It’s rough on the mind, but also really rewarding.  I’ve had optimistic moments and moments where I’ve felt proud of myself.

A good therapist will also make use of the EMDR technique to do positive memories, coping skills, etc. I don’t respond well to most coping skills because my brain outthinks them.  I’m like “yeah, I know what this is for.  It’s just fake to make me feel better but it’s not actually fixing the problem!” But some of her coping skills are actually very effective, and after a couple of hard sessions, I did have better self-esteem and feel more optimistic after using the coping skills.  That in itself is pretty cool.

I personally don’t have any sensory overload during the sessions, other than every once in a while feeling some intense emotions.  But it’s not so bad on that front.�� I will say as a caveat that due to my combination of mental health issues I have a pretty high tolerance for mental distress.  That’s the only way I’ve managed to still make it to this age—just being able to “put up with it” and keep going.  Idk if I’m super qualified to say how distressing it is, because it takes a lot for me to be like “I literally can’t tolerate this.”  But it’s definitely not that bad!

As for the intrusive memories, my trauma is different…there isn’t anything actually bad to remember:/ I’m kind of working on that concept right now, that a lot of the fears I’ve always felt weren’t based on something that was truly going to happen to me.  It’s kind of hard to explain without just saying what it was, lol.  So I don’t have that, but I do have these moments where I suddenly realize something I never thought of before and it’s very upsetting.  But it feels productive at the same time. 

Plus, a good therapist will check in and be like “how are you feeling about this part of the memory, where are you feeling it in your body, etc.,” so they’d be able to step in and help you.  It ultimately feels very rewarding, and I feel very proud of myself for doing this.  I said to my therapist the other day, I’m doing this to help the little girl inside, and I’m doing it to show that I care about her and that I’m independent and capable enough to be able to help her.  When she was younger, she couldn’t get help, and now she wants the kind of help that an adult can’t get. My little self wants Mom to come save her.  And that’s not how it works now as an adult, Mom can’t save me, and I as an adult don’t need that. But the little self thinks I do, and she’s unresolved, she needs the help, so she’s roaming around me bitter and angry. She’s like “I don’t care about your accomplishments, I didn’t get the help I need.”  That kind of thing. That’s hard!  That’s a crazy thing to have going on inside you.  But it also feels great to address the little self (or whatever age the trauma is coming from) and say no, I do care about you and I’m going to help you.

Also, any amount of “shaken up” I might feel after a session doesn’t last till the next day or anything.  It’s temporary if I feel it at all.

I don’t know if this answered any of your questions!  Also, feel free to always ask me any more questions.

I would say it’s probably something that’s worth it.  If it’s hard for you to handle a lot of thoughts and emotions coming at you, it could be an intense experience, but if that’s something you can power through, I think it’s really rewarding.  By the way, I’m not putting a value judgement on this, if that kind of thing is hard for you I don’t think it’s a weakness at all.  There’s just a family stubborn trait, and I have it, and I kinda take a beating mentally constantly, so I’m used to kind of toughing things out.  But I don’t even think it’s that dramatic! Just know you might see something weird in your mind, or something unexpected, and you might feel tired, but it’s for a good cause, it’s to help you and that alone is an empowering feeling!

[jjtheresidentbaby]

hello!! i’d like to request little eddie with cg steve! maybe eddie could be having a hard time because he’s the freak and he doesn’t really embrace his little side because he’s ashamed of it! so he’s just bottling everything up and everyone can see it, but then one day the bullying just becomes too much and he slips and goes to steve and then it’s just a bunch of comfort and fluff! >:3!

Bad Days | Eddie Munson x Steve Harrington

(I didn’t really stick harshly to the ashamed part as I really wanted to write fluff but I hope you still enjoy >:3)

Summary: after a bad day the only cure is tickles and movie nights, duh

Genre: slight angst, fluff

Warnings: swearing, slight bullying, tickling (?)

~

Eddie always hated days like this. The long, drawn out, painfully slow, deathly boring, days right before the start of a school vacation. This week of school has been all but hell with the jocks choosing the week before April vacation to go insane with the bullying. “Freak” and “loser” thrown over Eddie’s head as he roamed down the halls just desperate to get home.

It’s last period and while this would usually be a good thing right before a break, it’s not when it’s this class. It’s english and while Eddie normally adores this class, it’s about the only one he always passes, the group in the back have drained the enjoyment out of it. It’s three boys and two girls that sit in the back corner right behind where Eddie is with that nice black haired girl next to him.

Those damn jocks and their girlfriends don’t let up do they. Throwing pieces of paper to the back of Eddie’s head like this is damn grade school, seriously assholes, they say Eddie should grow up but are back there wadding up spit-balls. Idiots.

“Would you leave Mr.Munson alone. I do not want to have to give you detention the day before break.” Mrs.Lynn scolds before giving a brief smile to Eddie that he returns but quickly drops when the woman turns back to her book. Mrs.Lynn is nice and he’s had her before, she tries her best to help but english is never the problem, it’s the people.

~

“Have fun on break freak!” A piece of paper is slammed up against the back of Eddie’s vest as he sighs and slams his locker maybe a bit too hard as some people startle. He didn’t mean to but he feels more than stressed, which is dumb when he’s leaving school.

Eddie shouldn’t be at all stressed or feel the urge to cry. The paper just has a simple ‘kick me’ written across it and gets dumped into a trash bin on his way out, yet Eddie feels hot tears well in his eyes.

Everything’s so much and for some reason he finds himself wanting to be held into someone’s chest or even just sit on the ground to color in- no. No. He’s not going to regress. He’s an adult and doesn’t need to act like a little kid to relax, that’s dumb, it’s make him even more of a freak.

“Hey Ed’s what’s up?” Eddie trudges his way into the trailer while throwing his school bag to the couch and flopping next to Steve. That stupid little feeling won’t go away no matter how hard Eddie tries.

“You okay?” Steve tips his head to the side in that oh so familiar puppy dog look. Eddie gives a small chuckle, Steve’s so oblivious to how his face shows every expression so dramatically. It also has the feeling of needing to cry fading away to nothing.

“Just a bad day at school.” Steve hums then leans to wrap his arm over Eddie’s shoulders and pull him into his chest while he lays halfway down on the creaky couch. Eddie’s boots get kicked off as he shoves his bag to the ground too, emptying it of its papers, whoops.

“Anything I can do to help?” Steve’s free arm bends upwards to rub his hand through Eddie’s hair which definitely makes him feel even smaller. It’s like there’s no point in trying to fight it anymore as he snuggles into Steve’s chest

“Mm mmm.” He shakes his head against the soft material of Steve’s t shirt that’s actually Eddie’s but Steve didn’t have shift today so it didn’t matter.

“Oh? Is someone feeling tiny?” And dang that’s it. It’s over. Eddie must succumb to the little headspace when Steve’s asking him things in that tone of voice.

“Maybes.” Eddie peaks his head up to look at Steve who’s grin is wider than wider as he leans to press a kiss to Eddie’s forehead.

“Maybe? Well maybe we should call Robin and Nancy to have a movie night?” Steve quirks a brow with the same beaming smile when Eddie nods excitedly.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah! Rob and Nance!” Eddie sits up to be straddled Steve’s lap and while he was about to keep going about what movie to watch- he’s quickly interrupted when Steve’s fingers reach to tickle at Eddie’s ribs.

“Stevie! Nooo! Someone save me!” Eddie’s giggles fill the trailer quickly while Steve goes crazy with the tickling.

“Nobody’s here to save you now baby boy! Nobody!” Steve gives an exaggerated villain style laugh that has Eddie dissolving into even more laughs.

[rotationalsymmetry]

For me — a kid in the “honors” classes at a magnet high school — 1 and 2 weren’t at all a problem, it was all 3. But 3 was bad.

it wasn’t just that there was a lot of homework. It’s that there was literally more work than I was capable of doing. There would often be more homework assigned on Monday and due on Tuesday than I could actually do in 24 hours, if I wanted to eat and sleep. And there would be the same amount assigned Tuesday and due Wednesday. And homework where we had a few days to do it on top of that. And long term projects like reports that we were somehow expected to do on top of that. There were no field trips. Field trips would mean cutting into the class time of a different class, and teachers were jealous of their time. Everyone acted like they were the only ones assigning homework. I had an English teacher who told us that when he assigned us a short story, we were supposed to read the story, read it again, go on a walk and think about it, and read it again. I have no idea what he was high on, but frequently I couldn’t find time to read the stories once.

I was so organized over the two week long winter break in my junior year of high school. I had a schedule drawn up, broke down my homework for each class into chunks with deadlines so I would know if I was on track. I gave myself no weekend days off, only Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, and New Year’s Day and gave myself a three day buffer at the end. (After being exhausted like I had never been exhausted in my life the last week of classes.) I gave myself regular breaks, gave myself meals and time to shower, and I might have stopped work for the day as early as 9 pm, probably the equivalent of twelve hour days. I ended up working through my buffer, and even so there were a bunch of history flash cards that I meant to get done that I didn’t get to. And then classes started again.

At one point my uncle, who was either in or had recently graduated from a PhD program, suggested I take one day off a week. That sounded completely unworkable, so I ignored him, but I did give myself one full hour of free time before bed every day, and I did give myself all of Friday afternoon and evening after class.

(it is…also the case that pretty often my parents would invite me to do something recreational over the weekend, and I’d say yes without thinking about it too hard. For whatever reason some part of me figured carving out time from studying because I wanted to was unacceptable, but family time was allowed. And I did at least have variety in what I was doing for school: it wasn’t just book learning, there was also music and sports practice.)

I checked out a book from the library called Yoga for Busy People. My mother said something dismissive about the idea that I was “busy”.

As an adult, and someone who approves of labor rights, I think people deserve a standard 8 hour workday, a standard 40 hour work day, two days a week off, and frequent holidays or vacation time. I did, strictly speaking, get a great deal of vacation time. I sure as fuck wasn’t working 40 hours a week. I was working (does some mental math) yeah, about 12 hour days Monday-Thursday, 8 hours Fridays, and maybe another 8 hours each Saturday and Sunday? (That’s a guess. I don’t really know. I didn’t track my time. It could well have been 12 hour days on the weekend some of the time too.) So … about 72 hour workweeks? And feeling absolutely miserable because I still wasn’t getting it all done and nobody once suggested to me that might be anything other than a personal failure to work hard enough?

That sounds insane writing it all out like that.

And it could have been worse. I did actually remember stuff well, so I didn’t really have to study on top of assigned work. I didn’t have any responsibility for chores, which is not generally the case for working adults. The commute was not long and was probably necessary decompression time, as I was not able to do schoolwork while I was in transit. And there was some time when I was supposed to be doing schoolwork but was lost in daydreams, but I’m not sure that should matter because nobody is 100% effective during extended workdays. It’s normal for people at office jobs to not actually be working every minute that they’re supposedly at work, even aside from official breaks.

But that was only half of the nightmare. The other half was: I was sort of under the impression that school was supposed to prepare you for the adult world, especially the working world. I figured since I did well in school, that would transfer over to having an easy time getting work. And then I decided I didn’t want to go to college (and I mean, seventy two hour work weeks, of course I didn’t want to sign up for more of that) and I thought this “getting a job” thing would be pretty easy, I mean everyone can get a job, even people who did terribly in school, right?

it turns out the skillset for getting hired, when you have no credentials beyond a high school degree, is very different from the skillset for getting good grades in school. And I was terrible at getting hired. And, at least for retail (and canvassing, don’t get me started on canvassing), terrible at staying hired, because customer service means interacting with people, which I am bad at. And people don’t really like training people they’ve just hired for their shitty minimum wage customer service job, so you also have to figure out what you’re supposed to do without being explicitly told, and figure it out fast, which I am spectacularly terrible at. So I went from working my ass off for no pay but at least getting some sort of symbolic/status reward for it, to failing at things that I hadn’t realized it was possible for someone who was genuinely trying to fail at. It was not a comfortable experience for my ego.

And I still. Have not. Figured out. How to organize my time and reliably consistently get done the things I think I should get done. Without immanent deadline pressure or someone else who is going to be disappointed if I don’t get the thing done. Because the way I learned to get things done was to respond to deadline pressure and fear of facing the disapproval of others. I am 40 years old.

I think a lot of the skepticism and derision toward the idea of "gifted kid burnout" stems from the fact that a lot of folks have no idea what the gifted track in most high schools actually looks like; they've got this mental image, possibly informed by popular media depictions, of "gifted kids" as a privileged group of students who get to go on extra field trips, monopolise the teachers' attention in class, and constantly be told how special they are, but who are otherwise treated identically to all the other kids.

In practice, the gifted track in most high schools – most North American high schools, at any rate – has the same problem as any other educational program: the need to adhere to published metrics. These programs exist for the benefit of students only insofar as those benefits can empirically be measured, which leads to several common outcomes:

Students on the gifted track being afforded fewer choices regarding elective classes – often to the extent of having no choices at all – in order to stream the highest-performing students into the subjects that are most valuable in terms of boosting institutional metrics.

Students on the gifted tracking receiving restricted access to educational resources such as tutoring because it's perceived as a waste of funding. In many cases, gifted students are not only denied access to tutoring, but expected to serve as volunteer tutors and teaching assistants themselves, effectively becoming a source of unpaid educational labour for the schools they attend.

Students on the gifted track being assigned considerably more homework, often literally doubling their workload in an environment where homework loads are already routinely high enough that kids have difficulty finding time to eat and sleep, simply because you get more measurable academic performance data that way.

The upshot is that the gifted track is often less about fun perks and constant praise, and more about receiving less freedom, fewer resources, and heavier workloads than one's peers, getting strong-armed into providing unpaid labour to the school on top of it, and constantly being told one should be grateful for it – and that's without touching on the fact that the unspoken secondary purpose of many gifted programs is to serve as a quarantine for all the neurodivergent kids the school couldn't find an excuse to institutionalise or expel.

Like, shit, there's a reason kids on the gifted track exhibit elevated rates of alcoholism and substance abuse compared to general student populations. That doesn't arise in a vacuum!

(To be clear, I'm not saying that people graduating from high school and immediately having an existential crisis upon realising they're not special after all isn't a thing that happens, but in my experience that's more usually something that happens to the kids who were on the football team, and reframing it as a nerd culture thing is really weird.)

[relenafanel]

wangxian HALLOWEEN [part 3]

choose your own adventure!

Modern AU - meet cute (all autumn/halloweeny vibes)

{I accidentally switched tenses. I’ll fix it later. Sorry!}

I have energy this month, let’s do a fun activity together. Keep the story going with your choices! I'll write the next part once the day-long poll has finished.

Poll results from part 2:

Part 3: what does LZ say

Pick the answer you like best. I encourage you to pick just based on vibes and/or what you want me to have to write rather than what makes the most reasonable plot. It's more fun that way!

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄

It’s a week before his birthday! Wei Ying wakes up and can tell it’s going to be a good day. It might even be a good week! He has plans today to go out later with his siblings. It's rare that they all have a day off, and he's excited that they get to do what he wants to do.

And you never know! He might meet the love of his life during a ghostly historical tour!

Well. It's unlikely, but it just feels like that kind of day. One where anything can happen. He even woke up early, excited to start the day and go to a ghostly historical tour .

He's also excited it's finally cool enough out that he can put on his boots without sweating to death. Autumn is great!

The other day Jiang Yanli had hinted that she had a cake planned for him next week, and she always gave him the most thoughtful presents of something he'd mentioned needing in passing in like July. He was also looking forward to the PlayStation gift card Jiang Cheng inevitably bought him every year because he overthought things and then panicked.

But, he suspected Jiang Cheng used a vacation day so he could come hang out at the ghostly historical tour with them, so that was all that mattered. Truly. #YunmengBros.

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄

The tour didn't start until 7:30 pm, after sunset, so he dragged his siblings to the autumn market first. His sister bought fresh local vegetables, and his brother found a cool sword replica he eyed obviously and then pretended he didn't care about. Wei Ying made eye contact with his sister, and they silently communicated over which one of them would buy it for him once his birthday rolled around.

But! Jiang Cheng's birthday wasn't first. Wei Ying's birthday was first. Which meant it was more important by 5 days! It was logic that worked as a child and logic that worked as an adult.

They all stopped at food vendors to grab something to eat. Wei Ying got a corn on the cob on a stick (it was fine) and some habanero tacos (very good). He ate everything quickly so they could get to the ghostly historical tour faster, and then had to wait for Jiang Yanli to decide what to eat and then eat it - the foodie - and for Jiang Cheng to decide what to eat and then eat it - the picky eater.

Eugh. Every time.

"You can get a dessert," Jiang Yanli pointed out to him in a gentle, amused tone. "You're going to be waiting a while."

“Yeah because Jiang Cheng eats like a grandma.”

“At least I don’t eat like starving orphan!” Jiang Cheng snapped. Then he paled. “Uh. I mean.”

Wei Ying shrugged. “Well it’s true.”

It was cool though. He had food security now! He bounced in his seat impatiently.

“Why are you looking forward to this so much?”

“Do you know the kind of haaaauuuuntings there are in the old part of town?”

“Sure?”

“It’s gonna be cool!”

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄

It was cool! They arrive at the meeting point after dark, the whole area felt spooky. There was a fog coming in off the bay! He couldn’t even plan how cool that was!!

They were 3 of 30 people, which was maybe more than Wei Ying would have guessed, but they were doing this close to Halloween so it made sense. There were entire families in attendance, which was very cute! Kids had so much joy in them. It was why he wanted one someday!

He looked around, still bouncing with energy, and spotted

the prettiest person he’d ever seen

Wow.

Wow! Maybe he would meet the love of his life!

“What are you looking at?” Jiang Cheng hissed when Wei Ying’s attention spent too long away from their tour guide.

“Nothing.”

“Oh,” his sister said, laughing behind her hand. “He looks very tall and kind.”

“He looks bitchy,” Jiang Cheng observed.

The three of them looked over at the same time. There was no subtly in the Jiang/Wei household.

“That’s the one!” Wei Ying said, giving his brother’s shoulder a punch. “I’m going to go talk with him.”

“Ok, have fun,” his sister said.

“We’re literally here because of you, jackass,” Jiang Cheng said. “Come back soon.”

That was really cute! So supportive.

Ok, ok, he was going! He sidled up next to the hottie and said “I love ghost stories. Did you know that there used to be an asylum in this location in the 1830s and when they broke ground for the library they found a pit of bones under the old basement? They say that sometimes in the spring finger and toe bones still surface around the foundation and that there are spots in building that are always cold.”

“____” the hottie responded.

Once the poll is finished I'll make a whole new post with the results and copy/paste the story with the continuation. tagged: wangxian halloween pollfic for future reference

[butwhyduh]

I know that you don't write anything nsfw for Damian (even the older one) and I 100% understand and respect this. I have one idea that I'm not sure if you'd be comfortable with but I thought that the worst that could happen is you saying no. Basically we all know that Damian is the artist of the family. Would you be comfortable with writing older Damian (like 16-19) having/drawing a bit risque sketches of his GF in his sketchbook. Not full on porn or nakedness but something closer to a lingerie sketches with a bit flushed expressions. Like a product of a teenage mind. Maybe his brothers finding such thing or big Bad bat being called to the school because his son was drawing sensual girl during the math lesson. If you're not comfortable, again, understandable and have a nice day!

Damian careful slid the charcoal across the paper. He was focused 100 percent on his drawing as he sat in the shade under a tree on the lawn of Gotham Academy. He was drawing the curve of your neck and the highlight of your collarbone. He had long since memorized them.

“Wayne! What are you drawing,” said the obnoxious voice of Bradley. His father owned a minority share in an oil company and Bradley thought he was hot stuff. Damian thought he was an idiot.

“None of your-“ Damian said before baboon grabbed his notebook. It was Damian’s last year in this stupid school and then he was an adult. But apparently in the meantime he couldn’t beat up idiots at school.

Damian hopped up to grab it back. Maybe a single punch wouldn’t be too bad. Then Bradley started turning pages.

“Woah! Wayne is a freak! Who’s the girl? Are you a stalker? Mr Walker, Damian Wayne is drawing porn!” He yelled as he danced just out of Damian’s reach. Damian lunged and punched him square in the jaw before grabbing the book.

“Detention! And give me the book,” Mr walker said walking quickly down the lawn. His stupid beret quivered in the breeze. He was American and wore one.

“It’s none of your business,” Damian said holding it tight. Months of drawing you was in there. Some of which were quite suggestive.

“Give. Me. The book,” he said with his hand out and Damian know his punishment would grow if he didn’t give it over. Damian gulped as he handed Mr Walker the book. The man started turning pages.

“This is inappropriate for school. Also illegal for minors,” Mr Walker said showing Damian a drawing. It was of you laying on his bed wearing nothing but Damian’s shirt and a smile. It was oversized enough to cover to your thighs but your nipples were prominent. He had only drawn it a few weeks earlier.

A crowd had circled around the group. Bradley had a huge grin.

“Wayne’s a freak just like his dad!” Yelled the bully. Damian glared between the teacher and kid.

“I don’t know how they do things where you are from but here, this won’t be tolerated. We’re going to the office and I’m calling your father,” the man sneered. Racist, Damian thought but held his tongue.

“Mr Wayne, I apologize for calling you during work but we have a situation with your son. He was hitting another student and has drawn sexually explicit material at school. Oh, you’re on the way? Excellent. We’ll be in the office,” Mr Walker said. He held the notebook open and casually turned the page in the headmaster’s office.

He was gone on vacation and this idiot was in charge. Damian was sweating in the room as for some unknown reason, Mr Walker had a fire roaring in the fireplace. Damian adjusted the collar of his uniform. Was this man even alive?

“We don’t need to keep disgusting things like this anyways,” he said before tossing the notebook in the fire.

“NO!” Damian roared as he stood to his feet. The notebook was gone before his eyes. All of his sketches of you. From the first moment you had met all the way to last night. “How dare you!” He yelled.

“You don’t want to take that tone with me, young man. Your father will be here soon and it will be a shame if he is picking you up because you’ve been expelled for threatening the Vice principal,” Mr Walker said with a wicked smile. Damian could test out of high school fairly easily and this stupid school could founder without the Wayne’s money.

“I don’t think that will be a problem,” Damian said standing up tall. He was taller than most and certainly more than this idiot. The other man backed up a step and Damian enjoyed the worried look on his face. “I will be withdrawing along with all of the Wayne foundation backing. I hope you enjoy the pay cut you stupid racist. Also, you can’t pronounce Latin to save your life.”

Mr Walker stared at him aghast as Damian left the building.

Bruce met him at the curb where Damian explained the situation. Bruce simply nodded.

“Get in,” he said and for the first time Damian was nervous. What did his father think? “I believe we need to buy you another notebook, yes?”

Damian looked out the window with a little smile.

Part 2

[lord-explosion-baku]

Trident Tale

Merman!Shinsou x reader, Kirishima x Reader

Warnings: adult themes (Minors DNI)

A/N: read the prologue on AO3

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3

(Original image by @maewoahoah)

Synopsis: Moving to an island where everyone is big on the surf scene and other oceanic happenings might not have been the brightest idea for someone so afraid of anything that has to do with water, but you make do by spending your days looking after the Bed & Breakfast, trying not to burn the house down when you fry a few eggs, and obsessively scrolling through Eijirou Kirishima’s social media page. He’ll never notice you, and you think you’re fine with that, until a mysterious force washes into Ms. Shuzenji’s pool after a particularly nasty storm.

Hitoshi Shinsou is a pain in the ass from the get-go, but you put up with him, fins and all, when he promises he can help unite you with your soulmate. The catch? The fish is hellbent on taking back what was stolen from him, and he won’t lift a gracious finger until he gets what he came for.

You’re helpless to lend him a hand, so long as you stay dry. Unless, of course, he has other plans.

You know how the saying goes: you rub his fins, he’ll rub yours.

Storms have never really been your cup of tea. Though you keep yourself locked inside a good percent of the time, there’s nothing quite as suffocating as the compress of clouds overhead. It’s not like you always have to see them to be uncomfortable, but you definitely feel them pressing down, closing in, and caging you, even when you’ve got yourself tucked under a blanket on Ms. Shuzenji’s couch.

It’s been a little over a year since you first moved to the island. All you needed was a new beginning, and you got that, but you got that, and the tropical weather that you’re still getting used to. It’s currently typhoon season, and holy seaweed-on-your-doorstep, is it storming.

There’s little you can do to distract yourself while staying and working at Shuzenji’s bed and breakfast. There are currently no guests, aside from you, so all the rooms are made, and the old lady is on another one of her long vacations, so you’re basically being paid to lounge. You’re grateful for that, at least. But the only thing that’s keeping you physically separated from the terrifying weather is a thick glass pane that water sloshes on every time a wave laps over the backyard walls.

The things that separate you mentally are the old-timey recordings of Shuzenji singing alongside an ensemble cast, and the little device in your hand. If you didn’t have your boss’s haunting melodies echoing throughout the house, and some big, beefy, tatted eye-candy to gawk at during the storm, you’d surely go insane.

Eijirou Kirishima, one of the island’s best surfers, is out on his board, live-streaming his current fight against the waves. His whoops and hollers can be heard over the crashing tides, getting even you excited for what’s about to come. That’s the thing about Kirishima; he’s wild, you’re not, and it’s hot as hell. Oftentimes, you catch yourself daydreaming about joining him out in the surf—he guides you through the waves, maybe yoou impress him a bit with your sudden affinity for wave-riding, and the two of you wash up on shore where you’ll both share your first kiss. It would be feasible if you could swim. It would be feasible if you bothered to learn how to swim, but for now, you’re content with your imagination. At least he can make you hate the terrible weather a little less.

The conspiratorial smirk he shows the camera is borderline swoon-worthy when the swell begins to pull him further out. It’s impossible not to bite your lip every time you catch a glimpse of his arms forcing themselves through the sea. He makes this look easy—like the storm is child’s play, and as the winds blow Shuzenji’s trash bin into the sliding glass door, you welcome the delicious distraction.

As Kirishima stands up on his signature trident board and rides one of the biggest waves he’s seen all day, you’re once again struck with how much of a coward you are. He can fight the elements, while you can hardly bring yourself the courage to talk to him. Mind you, he’s constantly surrounded by a close group of friends—a close group of friends you find intimidating—and when he’s not with them, he’s out in the water. Where there’s water involved, you’re spoken for. Unless, of course, you’d like for the first time you guys actually speak, to be when he’s giving you CPR.

Not the most ideal “meet cute”, but if it works, it works.

A loud crash snaps you out of your admittedly salty daydream. Mango, Shuzenji’s orange tabby, yowls at the blanket of water cascading down the windows, and your stomach sinks. There’s only so many minutes you can pretend that the storm Kirishima is facing isn’t the one that’s destroying Shuzenji’s yard.

With a sigh, you roll off the velvet couch, and grimace when crumbs that were nesting in your shirt fall to the carpet: a mess to clean up later. Without any guests to mind, you don’t have to worry too much over keeping the place spick-and-span, so long as things are nice and tighty by the time the old lady gets back, which will be awhile.

You have an easy enough job—at least, when there aren’t bunches of thick seaweeds crashing over the yard’s wall, flooding the pool.

“Shit.”

Water sprays in every direction. The already trash-infested pool overflows as more kelp rolls in with the maniacal waves, and angry, white foam bangs on the back door. It's a disaster outside, and you’re not sure what to do about it.

Fingers wrapped around the back door handle, you struggle to think of a way to prevent a bigger mess, but even if you could manage to clean anything, nothing is stopping the tempest from wreaking anymore havoc. Best case scenario, you stop a plastic soda-chain from washing out to see and becoming a deadly necklace for an unlucky seagull. Worst case scenario, you slip, crack your head open on the pavement, and drown before you can ever utter the words “mahalo” to Kirishima.

Needless to say, you’ll take your life over a gull’s any day.

Another sigh.

A greater wave collides against the wall, bringing more of the Great Unknown into the pool. This is going to be a fun job to clean. Good thing you’ve got Shuzenji’s service boy, Denki Kaminari, on speed dial. You think if you sound particularly distressed in the morning, he’ll show up to help you out with just about anything in the matter of minutes. God bless desperate fuckboys.

So, for now, you cuddle back up on the couch, watch Kirishima shake saltwater out of his thick, red hair, and pretend that his storm is not the same thing as your storm.

It’s early morning when you finally rise out of bed. You hadn’t gotten a whole lot of rest—something to do with the wailing winds shaking your bedroom window nonstop, but after you finally drifted into dreams about snakes and dragons, you woke to clear skies, and light seagull calls.

From the second story, you can see early birds have already gotten the jump on cleaning up the beach. The sun is shining, the ocean blue and vast. The only trace there was ever a storm is already being taken care of. There are lifeguards riding around on ATVs and younger civilians with trash bags and grapplers picking up seaweed and absconded debris. The respect everyone has for the island is something to be admired, and you half-consider going out there yourself, after you’ve dealt with your yard, which is sure to be a wreck.

There’s no interest in picking out a cute outfit for the morning you’re going to have, even if Denki might see you, so you throw on a already-worn-this-week crop top, some pink shirts, and you’re good to go.

The first thing you do after Mango’s fed is check your socials. Kirishima posted a picture of his breakfast: a hefty plate with three eggs, sausage links, bacon, cut avocado, and what seems to be low-carb toast. The post reads, gotta eat ur gainz 2 gain ur gainz, and it’s so ridiculous that you’re infatuated with this reckless himbo. You wonder if you’d ever be able to hold an intellectual conversation with him, if you could ever manage to speak to him in the first place, but conversation wouldn’t matter if his mouth was between your thighs.

Following his example, you crack two eggs over a frying pan, sigh at the mostly empty fridge, then agonize over the state of Shuzenji’s yard. It’s worse than you thought it’d be. The pool is a sickly green color, and from where you’re standing inside, its murky depths seem to be almost opaque from the seaweed and garbage stewing together. Kelp litters the beige pavement, and there’s trash hiding in the shrubs. There’s a chocolate donut floaty bobbing around in there, too, and Shuzenji doesn’t own any floaties.

What a drag.

Before you get too far in your head about everything you’ll need to do to clean up, you quickly dial Denki’s number. He picks up after a ring and a half.

“I know what you’re about to ask,” says the boy on the line, and from his cocky tone, you can assume it’s not going to be about the cleanup. “I am absolutely free tonight. If you wanted to grab drinks at the Salty Barrel, maybe go on a romantic rendezvous out on the beach, watch the sunset on or in a couple blankets, I wouldn’t complain.”

“I’m not calling to ask you on a date, Kaminari,” you say as you step outside. The pavement is cold underneath your bare feet, and you have to tip-toe around to be sure not to let any kelp touch your skin. Yuck.

“But you’re not, not calling about a date, either,” he counters. By the volume of his voice, you can tell that he’s in his van, talking to you over the speaker. Good. So he’s already out and about.

“I need you to tell me how to drain Shuzenji’s pool.” Call you cold, but you’re used to Denki’s flirty nature by now, and you’ve learned that the best way to deal with it, is to not acknowledge it. Of course, you can’t be too callous when it comes to him, especially when you actually need his help. You eye the dangerously complex-looking valves off to the side of the house, and grimace. “There’s too many twisty thingies! I’m not sure what to do!”

“Now, hold your horses, little lady! Don’t go twisting any thingies just yet. Draining a pool is a process.” There’s a long pause, the loud growl of an engine, then silence. He’d pulled over to talk to you. “How’s your TDL? And what kinda PVC pipes you got?”

“The huh and what?” You don’t need to pretend to be in distress—you have no idea what he’s talking about.

“Listen, don’t touch anything. You’re calling because the pool’s a mess right now, right? You don’t need to drain it; at least, not yet. I can swing by in an hour or so to clean it, but I’ve gotta make some stops first. You’re not the only single woman who wants to watch me do my thang, especially not after yesterday.”

“It’s so bad, Kaminari.” The water in the pool sloshes around, like there’s actually something in it causing the water to ungulate and burble. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“Don’t worry your pretty, little head over it. You've got me, okay? It’s my job to protect and serve.”

“You’re not a cop.”

“Nope, I’m better than a cop. I’m a pool guy.”

He goes on to ask you to check out what kind of drain the pool has, if you can find the drain, then loses you when he starts talking numbers and gallons. While still on the phone, you send a few texts to Shuzenji, explaining the predicament, then Denki mentions rates. You’re getting the cutie pie discount, doubled because he counts Shuzenji as a “cutie pie” too—something you mention to her because she’ll get a kick out of it—then he drops all business to ask about food.

“I’m cooking my breakfast,” you say with a wary glance back at the house.

“But is your breakfast fries and a shake from Tiki Burger?”

You bite your lip as your stomach growls its empty sorrow. “No.”

“Would you like it to be?” His knowing grin is heard through the line.

“…I’m not gonna go out with you.��

He chuckles and you’re grateful that he can’t see your answering smile. “We’ll see how you feel after you see me work my magic. And hey, if you’d like me to wear a Speedo while I work—“

“You’ll be here in an hour?” You cut him off, because Denki in a Speedo is the last thing you need on your mind. The thought of Kirishima in a Speedo, however, gets you a little hot, which is saying a lot, since you’re a part of the Speedos and Dolphin-shorts Are Abominations To Swimwear belief system.

“Maybe sooner. I think my next client just needs me to check out their chemical levels. Inside pool and all. Everyone else knew to put a tarp out.”

The tarp you had blew away, but you don’t bother explaining that to Denki. Let him believe you’re the dim-witted “little lady” he wants you to be. If it means Shuzenji gets a discount, not that she can’t afford any bill Denki’s company throws at her, then let him believe you can’t open a pickle jar without a man’s help for all you care.  

“See you then,” you say, and end the call. There will be time to work on your charm once Denki gets here. Until then, you figure you could do some investigating so you’re not completely helpless.

Leaving your phone on the pavement so you don’t accidentally drop it in the water, you make your way around the pool to where you think you remember the drain being. You can’t say you’ll know what kind of drain it is, but if you remember correctly, it’s circular, and like, kinda meshy? That description simply won’t do.

Dropping down to your knees, you peer down into the pool, squinting, as if that can help you see through all the muck. There’s definitely a lot of kelp and algae, sand drifting through the water, someone’s wayward brazier, and oh. A school of fish—little babies circling about. It’s wild, but you suppose it could be possible if all the chlorine washed out and there was enough salt water to sustain marine life.

The fish move together, bopping into each other, mouths gaping open to eat whatever they find in their temporary home. You don’t know enough about marine life to know what kind of fish they are. Silvery little things. Maybe Denki has something that can help transport them from the pool to the ocean. It’s not far—Shuzenji’s house is on the beach. It would be a shame if all the little fish had to die. You don’t particularly care about touching or feeding fish, but a life is a life, and if they can be saved, you’d at least like to try.

But all your thoughts of saving fish life stop when you catch something moving in the water. It’s not the fish—they’re not that big, but it’s definitely fishlike. Fish plus. It moves like a shadow, serpentine and fluid. You catch a glimpse of scales, so it’s definitely not a dolphin—even then, it’s bigger than a dolphin, and more graceful than a shark. You begin thinking of leviathan, and other mythical creatures, as ridiculous as that is, when you see a long flowing fluke.

Okay. This thing is not just big. It’s gargantuan, and to see this much of the creature without seeing its head makes your skin crawl. You imagine falling in and being swallowed whole, suffocating in the dark, drowning in a monster’s belly.

The thought spooks you static, just in time to meet a pair of eyes in the water. This is your overactive imagination—you’re scaring yourself insane, but you don’t look away, and those eyes, almost human and curious, don’t disappear.

You’ve consumed enough media to know how these impossible interactions go. The creature is inquisitive, but keeps its distance. It often has to be coaxed out of hiding, and even then, the thing is skittish and untrusting. You’re certainly not one to go “pspsps, hey little guy, I’m not gonna hurt you,” but even if you were, you don’t get the chance, because this thing you’re looking at isn’t the least bit skittish, and in one second, you’re making eyes at at it, and in the next, the thing is exploding out of the water.

A large, broad chest towers over you. The thing pushes itself up with arms, human arms, but it’s anything but human. Sure, it has hair, although an odd purple color, framing its angular face and jaw, which are both human enough. Also framing its face are a pair of long, pointed fins sticking out from where human ears should be. Water dribbles down its chest, down to its navel—its navel. Your brain screams mammal, but underneath its navel are scales, rippling down to where its legs should be. Not human. Not fish.

Fish plus.

Man.

Fish plus man.

Fish-man.

Its eyes are almost the same color as its hair, only a shade lighter, and much sharper, narrowed in on you. It’s glaring. You realize this at the same time you realize that you're staring at it with your mouth agape. This would be so rude in any other setting. It’s also rude to pop out of a pool that isn’t yours without any other warning, but you’re not about to chastise the thing. You’re far too scared.

Then the thing reaches out to you, sprinkling water on your thighs and your shirt. Its hands look like a man’s hand, but its long fingers are connected by thin, indigo webbing that matches its tail. Its tail. You lose focus trying to find the word for this creature that’s barely on the tip of your tongue, when you realize the palm of its hand, its fishy, webby hand, is hovering over your cheek, the other carefully placed next to your knee to keep it upright.

You open your mouth to speak, but only a hiss comes out. The creature, wary, brings its hand back, but only slightly. Not enough to put you at ease, but enough to allow you to gain your composure, and scream.

“H-help!!!” You screech. “Help! Somebody! Help me!”

It claps its hand over your mouth, knocking you back. Water drips down on your shirt as it leans in, mouth curling up with distaste. Then, it does something impossible.

It speaks.

“So loud,” it growls in a low, masculine timbre.

It speaks, you think, it speaks and it has no manners!

You try to yell back, probably something with little thought, but you have a mouth full of fish-man hand, and the more you warble in its palm, the more apathetic it appears.

“Be quiet and still,” it commands, as if obeying it is supposed to be the most natural thing—something it expects from you. It catches you so off-guard that you actually listen, only trembling a little bit as those indigo eyes scan over your form. It’s uncomfortable having an unknown but cognizant creature observe you so closely. You shiver when its gaze roams over your belly, down your legs. You want to curl your legs up, move away, but you’re afraid if you even twitch more than it’s comfortable with, it’ll grab you and drag you into the pool. Your nightmare.

Instead, it does something slightly less worse. It moves its hand from your mouth to your cheek. The palm of its hand warms your skin in an unnatural way, like you’ve been laying in the sun for half an hour and it’s only your cheek that heats up. The creature's eyes widen as light begins to emanate, either from you, or from it, you’re not sure, but definitely from where it touches you. Tingles run from your neck down to your spine, and you wish you’d put a bra on before going outside, because this thing’s touch is making your body react in a way that it shouldn’t.

“So easy,” it purrs appraisingly, somewhat less insolent, but you’re still taken aback, ears hot with embarrassment.

Un-fucking-likely.

“Easy?!” You squawk out. “What do you mean by easy?”

It doesn’t answer you, and instead, moves its fingers from your cheek, down your jaw, to your chin. It begins leaning closer, heavy lids closing. You notice its lips for the first time: a defined line and a pretty bow. If you were in a less dire situation, you’d be able to admit that they’re very nice lips, but they’re getting closer to you, closer still, and you realize with a jolt what it’s trying to do.

Your foot meets its chest in a heartbeat.

“Nope!” You belt out, extending your leg so there’s more distance between you and the impolite beast. “Not today, fish-breath!”

Unperturbed, it lifts a lazy brow. Then, to your absolute horror, it presses both of its hands into your bare leg, and again you’re lit up, warm, and tingly, only far worse than before. Stomach tightening, you make a choked noise, trying to hold in the sigh that claws at your throat.

“Fish-breath.” It repeats your insult like it’s a balled-up piece of paper to be thrown in the trash. “I’ve been told that my aroma is quite appealing.”

“By whom? Other fish-breaths?!” You wriggle your leg out of his embrace, or whatever you could call that invasion, only to have it slip down so your foot rests in the fish-man’s hands, bright as the stars in the sky. “Eww ew! Don’t touch me! Get away!”

The creature scoffs, but let’s you go, and you both watch as the light disappears from the arch of your foot where he’d been touching. Fish-man slinks back into the murky water, hiding under a blanket of algae.

You have enough time to gather your composure, wipe the water droplets off your face, and rub your eyes. For a moment, you try to convince yourself that this has all been a sleep-deprived hallucination, but you’ve never really been one to delude yourself, unless your Kirishima fantasies were involved, and you know that you’ll have to try another tactic to accept the reality of your situation. Perhaps you can try to be civil with this creature, ask it if it’s…hurt, or if it needs a late night escort to get it back to the sea. But then, the thing resurfaces on the opposite end of the pool. It faces you, and leans back against the wall, arms spread out against the pavement, basking.

“You know,” he says, “your decorum is severely lacking. Don’t humans have classes that teach them proper etiquette—how to be more polite towards their guests and such?”

What’s lacking is your patience for marine life.

Standing up, you take in the thing, which you’re now pretty sure is in fact a man of sorts, in its entirety. His tail is long, longer than human legs, extending past the halfway mark of the pool, if your measurement counts his fluke. There’s a golden cuff on his right arm that spirals around, accentuating his large biceps. You stubbornly admit that it’s attractive—he’s attractive, at least, he would be for people who were into fish and not surfers. You brush whatever you’re feeling in the pit of your stomach off by telling yourself that you’re simply awestruck, and move on.

“Where I’m from-“ you begin, straightening your sodden crop top- “we offer our guests various beverages and snacks, depending on the time of day.”

Annoyingly, he looks interested.

“Since it’s the morning, I’d offer a guest tea, or coffee, and if I’m looking to impress, I’d maybe cook them a hot meal.”

The creature offers you a sardonic smile. “I happen to be famished.”

“However, with home-invaders, we’re more likely to pull a gun on them before heating up the earl grey.”

He loses the smile, and you’re glad that he might have an inkling of what a gun is. You’ve never owned one, and they don’t allow firearms on the island, but the threat stands. But if he was intimidated, even for a moment, he doesn’t show it anymore, and proves just that by turning his back on you, and resting his head in his arms. He has a dorsal fin with what looks to be a deep, x-shaped scar near his tailbone. You try not to wonder what that could’ve been from.

“Then how do you propose I go from a home-invader, to a house guest?” Asks the creature with little interest.

Cautiously walking around the pool with your arms crossed, you begin to list things off for the far-too-comfortable fish-man.

“You can start by telling me who you are, what you are, why you’re here, what you want, and why you think you can lay your webbed hands on me.”

“Oh, is that all?” He hums noncommittally. Content. Aggravating. “Why don’t you start then? Who are you, and why are you here?”

The back of your neck grows hot and uncomfortable. “How entitled do you have to be to—!” You start, but you’re swiftly cut off by the shrieking of the fire alarm. Smoke plumes from outside the house’s windows, and you curse under your breath before darting towards the door. You’d completely forgotten about your eggs.

In your haste to move the pan off the stove, you burn your fingers and drop the pan to the kitchen floor, two blackened egg crisps flaking off and diving in different directions. Mango yowls at the commotion and investigates one of the fallen egg crisps. Before you can tell him to buzz off, he loses interest in your mess, not bothering to give it a taste. You don’t blame him, but the eggs didn’t appear to be cat-bad. Ah, you can’t kid yourself. They are cat-bad. They’re completely inedible. Now you’re going to have to head to the market, while worrying about a man trapped in Shuzenji’s pool.

Your stomach roars at you.

After cleaning the mess as best as you could while desperately and ruefully wanting to return to your guest—no, not guest—invader, you get the alarm, half-heartedly fan the smoke out of the house, and return. Angry. This guy better start talking soon, or things are going to get ugly.

To your utter displeasure, he looks all the more amused at your newer, messier state.

“Was that supposed to be the hot meal,” he asks, cocky. “Because if so, I’ll pass.”

Instead of biting his head off like you’d like to, you present him with the still-dirty frying pan, pointing it at his head like you intend to use it.

“Start talking, fish-for-brains.”

The beast snickers, raising his hands in the air in mock-surrender. “Easy there, tiger shark. You know how to use that thing?”

You refuse to humor him. Instead, you keep your scowl tight, your arms steady. If he’s not threatened, he’ll lose interest in this game, then he’ll have to talk.

Lo and behold, you’re right. The fish-man rolls his eyes, and looks at you, again, with apathy.

“My name is Hitoshi Shinsou,” he says, lackadaisical, like he’s already bored of himself. “I’m one of Ryūjin. What humans have learned to call merpeople are actually descendants of the sea gods who lived centuries ago. I’m here, simply because the storm washed me here. What I want is to retrieve what’s mine. I thought I could lay my webbed hands on you—well-“ the corner of his mouth tilts up-“darlin’, it was because your body reacted to me.”

Mouth forming the beginning of a question that never comes, you stare in disbelief at this myth. Then the last thing he said dawns at you.

“I did not react to you!” You rebuke, steady hands now shaking.

“Oh no?” He says, but it’s not a question. It’s a challenge.

Hitoshi grabs the flat end of the frying pan and yanks it, and you, closer to him, closer to the water. You cringe and whine when a wet, webby hand closes around your wrist. Inadvertently, you drop the pan, but he pays it no mind as it sinks past his tail. Your skin begins to glow underneath his palms, and the tingles come back, shooting up your arm, causing tiny goosebumps to appear.

“Would you look at that,” Hitoshi croons, slow and almost sensuously. His indigo eyes narrow on your index finger where you’d burned yourself. To add to this nightmare, he closes his lips around it, and begins to suck. Your stomach flips, and you’re not sure if it’s because you’re disgusted, or scared, or…enjoying the feeling of his warm mouth, his tongue, touching your skin.

“Stop.” It’s a whisper. It means nothing. You think you want it to mean something, but your thoughts are buzzing into a blur. Knees growing weak, you descend, leaning closer to him, not caring about the water or the seaweed or the fish, and instead, entirely focused on his mouth. It’s glowing, his mouth. Faintly. Like a single candle lit in an otherwise empty room.

When he eases off of you, he runs his thumb over your now-healed finger, and let’s your arm fall limply at your side.

“All better,” he whispers back at you.

There are prickles all over your skin once you regain an ounce of dignity.

“What the hell was that?” You ask, breathless for no other reason than shock.

“The glowing?” He asks. “The healing?”

“Both.”

“Your reaction to me.” He’s cocky again. This is something sick. Mythical creature or not, this has got to be a game he plays, washing into people’s pools, causing problems, sucking on lonely girls’ fingers. He probably gets his kicks this way, and uses whatever other kind of magic he has to erase whoever he’s tormenting’s memories, if he doesn’t end up eating them when he’s done. Bogus.

You won’t let him get to you.

“Alright, Hitoshi Shinsou, how would you like me to get you back into the ocean? You healed my finger-“ although it’s essentially his fault you were burned to begin with, if you take into account the sequence of events-“so helping you out is the least that I can do.”

“I could use your help,” he muses lightly, turning his body back around to his chest and abdomen are turned towards  the sun. You tell yourself not to stare like you know he probably wants you to. Though his eyes are closed, he peeps at you, sneaking a glance. “I don’t want to go back into the ocean, though. Not until I get what’s mine.”

With the might of a girl who just wants to go back inside and scroll through her phone, you swallow your bite, and ask, “what would that be?”

“Oh, this and that-“ he waves his hand around dismissively-“other things.”

With the might of a girl who just wants to go back inside and find another frying pan, you say, “alright, listen. Someone is on their way to the house to clean the pool. I don’t know what one of Ryūjin means, but I’m guessing people like you don’t always want to be discovered by people like us. So you either tell me what it is you need, or see how my pool guy reacts to a mermaid lounging around in my backyard! I wouldn’t put it against him to call the local news station. Get this place flooding with cameras. Does that sound like a pretty picture to you?”

Absolutely none of your threats penetrate Hitoshi’s cool nature. In fact, he laughs.

“When he gets here,” the merman drawls, knowing he’s got you hanging on every word, “invite him to swim.”

[daisybeewrites]

Request: Phil and Melinda have been in a relationship since they were in the academy and Daisy is just finding out now?!

ASHAKDAFS YES

okay so i’m in the middle of writing the penultimate chapter of my academy au series so heres this lil baby blurb :) i hope this is okay!!! thx for requesting (read: i love u) x

ps gif is mine xP

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The base was quiet. It was a rare luxury to relax in the common room, humming to the soft sounds of Coulson’ record player in the corner. Daisy was stretched along the couch, computer open and one earbud in, falling into a rabbit hole of cute animal videos on Tumblr.

What could she say? She was a sucker for baby otters.

With no one else around, Daisy didn’t feel the need to fill the silence. She could feel the base around her, usually buzzing like a beehive, now calm and collected, yet strangely comforting. In a week, the Playground would once again be overrun with agents. Her team was scattered over the world; Jemma visiting her Mum in England, Fitz taking a short vacation to Brazil to see the monkeys, Mack and Elena in Italy, and Bobbi and Hunter somewhere ‘hot, tropical, and away from the other.’

The only ones who stayed behind were Coulson, out of necessity as director, herself, because where exactly was she going to go on vacation?, and May, who gave the excuse of having the gym all to herself.

Not a bad sentiment, Daisy thought, slowly sitting up. Maybe training would be a good day to end a day of self-indulgent lounging.

Daisy was already in athletic clothes, so she headed straight to the gym, leaving her laptop locked in the living room. She heard a thunk and a laugh. Coulson and May must have been sparring.

Daisy was not prepared for what May and Coulson were actually doing in the training room.

"’Sup, AC—ahhHH!" Daisy quickly covered her eyes, turning around. She was an adult. They were adults. But her mother figure and father figure laid out on the sparring mats, not-so-innocently making out was a shocking sight.

"Daisy, we’re both fully clothed. You don’t need to cover your eyes."

Daisy peeked between her fingers. May was helping Coulson up.

"Since when is this—you two—you were? I’m not even—? What did I miss? How long have you been keeping this a secret? Does the team know?" Daisy fired off questions. "Were you two going to—?"

"No! Daisy, chill pill," Coulson chuckled. "We were not. And to answer your other questions — Nothing, not a secret, most of them."

Daisy paled. "Am I the only one who didn’t know?"

May snorted, smiling softly, "Yes, I think so."

Daisy frowned. "So you’re telling me my parents got together and didn’t even tell me?"

"To be fair, Daisy," Coulson started, glancing at May with what Daisy now recognized as heart eyes sappier than any rom-com, "You were probably like two when we got together."

Her jaw dropped.

"This entire time?!"

"What are we yelling about?" Mack asked, arms loaded with bags as he called from the hallway, back from Italy already.

"May and Coulson were kissing in the training room!" Daisy shouted back. Coulson laughed.

"Okay? And? They do that everywhere. It’s not anything new," He responded, voice quieting as he left.

"Does Jemma know?" Daisy asked suddenly. Coulson blushed and looked down. May smirked knowingly.

"Oh. My. God!" Daisy cried. "How did she manage to keep this big of a secret from her own girlfriend?!"

Coulson shrugged.

"So are y’all married, too? Any other kids I should know about? Do I have secret siblings?" Daisy joked, finally past the shock. She ran out, dialing Jemma, before they could answer.

"We will never hear the end of this, will we?" Coulson asked May. May shook her head, kissing his shoulder then leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek.

"No way, not ever."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

sooooo…,, when’s the wedding tho?

ahhhhh thank you again for this request it made me so happy :D

want to request a fic? consult my (sorta kinda) reliable ask box!

[winter-soldier-vibes]

just a wittle request, could you do something where bucky comforts the reader who has mommy issues after she has a panic attack over the thought of turning out like her mother?

Hi there, sorry this took so long! I still haven’t processed my own so I had to take a few breaks. I apologize if this is off the path of what you meant, I’m going off of my own experience but I know it’s different for everyone.

You're nothing like her.

Bucky x reader

Word count: 3219

Warnings: mommy issues, toxic childhood, talk of divorce, panic attack/anxiety, negative self-talk

A/N: This takes place in a timeline where Bucky is retired

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

You did everything you could to avoid it. To avoid her

You left home as soon as you could. When you were in college you were surrounded by people who were homesick, people who wanted to go home, people who finally had to take care of themselves. Things you couldn’t relate to.

You had been supporting yourself most of your life. Not that you had much of a choice. Your dad left when you were younger, your mother blaming it on you. If you had been better, maybe he wouldn’t have left. You, being young, believed her. What else were you supposed to do, growing up in a world that preaches ‘mother knows best’?

Load of bullshit to you.

You knew better now, being an adult, that she didn’t know best. She worked or went out with friends and left you to raise yourself, telling you it was your fault when she neglected her responsibilities. And when you would get upset she would play the victim, crying ‘woe is me’ because you were so ungrateful to the person who raised you after you drove her husband out.

“You know it’s your fault right?” she had snapped at you one night at dinner. There was a graded paper, a B written on the top of it.

“What?”

“You’re the reason he left me. He just couldn’t stand you. You’re the reason why he left and why I’m so miserable now.”

You had felt tears in your eyes.

“Tears, really? Tears aren't going to change the fact that MY husband LEFT.”

Her husband, not your father.

No, you knew better now to know that what she had done and said was wrong. But that didn’t make you forget. It didn’t make it any easier for you.

You went to college, saved up as much as you could, and gave tight-lipped smiles when people asked why you didn’t go home on weekends or vacations. You tried not to talk about her much, but that didn’t stop you from thinking about her.

You had stood at your college graduation, caps thrown and loud laughs and cheers echoing around. There were a bunch of people celebrating around you, taking photos, but you had stood on the outskirts. You had a small smile on your face for everyone else, but you couldn’t help but feel empty inside. You hadn’t made many friends, not close friends, but that was a good thing. You could take the photo so no one was left out.

Not so much of a text from her. She hadn’t come, she hadn’t called or anything.

In a twisted way, you were glad that she hadn’t. She couldn’t make a big deal about how you weren’t the top of your class or how you didn’t deserve to be. How you didn’t have a job set up to start the next week even though you already were planning on submitting your resumes. There wasn’t a way to please her, so it was almost better that she wasn’t there.

You had texted her after a few days and she made up some bullshit excuse that she had forgotten to put it on the calendar.

She liked your Instagram photo though. So thoughtful

You worried you would turn out the same way. Or that she had rubbed off on you in some way. You kept to yourself as much as you could, staying in, keeping your emotions to yourself. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust people, maybe it was, but more so you were worried that you would seem like you were playing the victim.

You didn’t want to bother anyone or make anyone feel obligated to listen to you. You worried that behind your back they would complain about you being emotional or making everything about you.

You worried they would talk about you the same way you thought about your mother.

People are supposed to look to their parents to teach them what to be, yet you found yourself wanting to avoid everything your parents did to you. They taught you exactly who you didn’t want to be.

Your father left. Your mother hated you.

You didn’t share your opinions because you didn’t want to be told you were wrong. You didn’t want to force your ideas onto anyone. Not like what you said would make a difference anyway, not that it mattered in the first place.

You remembered all of the sentences you would start but not finish because no one had heard you. Trying to jump in a few times and eventually giving up when the conversation had moved onto a new subject. All the times people would interrupt or interject, making you feel like you didn’t have something to say that was worth hearing.

You thought it would get better when you got a job. But the pressure you put on yourself to do well in school was transferred to the job you had gotten. You still were afraid that people saw yourself as your mom used to and that you would never be good enough for anyone. You thought that achievements would make you feel fulfilled.

But if you didn’t believe in yourself, what were a few “job well done's” supposed to do?

It made it hard to get into a relationship. People say that “you have to love yourself before you can love someone else,” but that didn’t feel so true to you. It was more that you didn’t trust yourself to love someone else. You worried about hurting whoever you were with, and you told yourself that if you didn’t get close to anyone, you couldn’t hurt them.

But then you ran into him.

He was on a morning run and you were walking home from a night shift, both too tired to see each other coming. You because you had just finished a shift, him because he was running off the nightmare he had had the night previous. Both of you craving a sleep that seemed just out of reach.

You were very apologetic, as was he, both afraid that you had hurt the other. You avoided his eyes even though they were trained anywhere but your own, as he fiddled with his gloved hands and you scratched the back of your neck.

It was the first time either of you had seen someone as unsure as yourselves

You had parted ways with only each other's names. Bucky and y/n.

The two of you crossed paths a few times in the following weeks, eventually getting each other’s phone numbers and agreeing to meet for coffee rather than hoping the other left at the right time. Eventually, the subtle nervous tics each of you had died down as you got to know each other.

For the most part.

You still overly apologized for everything. If you were a few minutes late, if you spaced out...you took the blame for everything.

Traffic had been bad, a storm and an accident causing you to be 5 minutes late rather than 15 minutes early. You had run into the coffee shop, scanning the restaurant with wide eyes when you saw Bucky sitting there casually.

“I am so so so sorry, I should’ve left earlier, there was an accident, I’m so sorry I’m late -”

“Y/n, don’t worry about it,” he had said, a smile on his face and a slight flash of concern on his face. “Seriously, it’s a couple of minutes. It’s literally fine.”

“No, I’m really sorry, I should’ve known or called or something.”

“Relax. It’s totally fine, I promise,” he had said, concern a little more present on his face. “Are you okay though?”

“What? Yeah, I’m good. How have you been with everything?

You wouldn’t let him talk about you. The same way your mother never let you talk about yourself.

Don’t think about her.

He had started opening up to you but you still kept your personal life under lock and key. Your name, how work was, and your physical well-being was about as personal as you got. Even so, if work had been a shit show or you had to pull an all-nighter would go unspoken. He didn’t need the burden of your personal issues. Not when there was nothing he could do about it.

The past was the past, you just had to learn how to get over yourself.

You couldn’t change what your mother had said over a decade ago.

You worried if you talked about yourself at all then you would be making the situation about you. You worried you would project your anger or sadness onto him. He didn’t deserve that. Plus, it wasn’t like he would be able to do anything, right?

You promised yourself you wouldn’t let him get too close. That if he didn’t get close to you, you couldn’t hurt him.

But damn, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t start developing feelings for him. And from the way he had started acting, you thought maybe he was too.

The hugs that were ever so slightly too tight or when he smiled at you a little longer than normal. He had opened up to you about many things in his past, and from the way he talked about it, you could tell he hadn’t talked about it much with anyone else.

You found comfort in your friendship, the way he trusted you. You liked being there for him, and you were honored that he trusted you enough to open up to you. Yet it also made you uneasy that you would ruin it in some way or drive him out.

The same way your mom drove out your father.

Goddamn it don’t think about her.

The closer you got and the closer you and Bucky had gotten, the more nervous you were. That you would turn out like your mother. You were having a harder time keeping to yourself, keeping up the façade that everything was all bright in your world. You wanted to be a light for everyone.

But at some point, days turn to nights and the light gives way to the darkness.

And you weren’t sure how much time you had left before you cracked.

Bucky had started making small moves towards you, and you were trying your best to deflect them in efforts to not fall flat on your face for him. He came over Wednesday nights for a movie and take out with you, and what started as being on two opposite ends of the couch had moved to being next to each other to him having his arm wrapped around you. Sometimes you felt he was a little too close and you would either shift away or get up to grab another drink or ‘use the bathroom’.

When you came back you would make an attempt to sit a bit further away.

Sometimes when Bucky would say goodbye at the end of the night he would hug you. That was nothing new, you were both big on hugs, but lately, he had been hugging you longer or tighter, lingering a few moments longer than could be platonic. You had started ending the hugs earlier, giving him a small squeeze before pulling away.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to be with Bucky. It was that you were so scared that you would drive him away, leaving you as soon as you had started calling yourself his.

Which is what brought you here. Bucky had come over for another one of your movie nights and had his arm behind the couch rather than around you. An invitation for you to curl into his side, but he wanted you to make that choice. Eventually, you had found yourself curled up with him, his arm wrapped around you, and you could feel the tension.

You wanted to move away before you found yourself in too deep, but you couldn’t resist. It had been a long day and you found comfort with Bucky. Bucky turned his face slightly towards yours, kissing the side of your temple and you felt butterflies in your stomach. Your mind told you to shift away, to not let him get too close, but you found yourself turning your head towards Bucky and he leaned forward to kiss you gently.

After a moment you broke away, emotion taking over you. “I’m sorry, Bucky, I - I can’t do this,” you said, resting your forehead against his.

“Why not?” Bucky whispered, looking into your eyes.

Because I’ll hurt you.

I’ll disappoint you.

I’ll drive you away and I can’t lose the best thing that’s happened to me.

You sighed, standing up and moving away from Bucky. You couldn’t say those things to him out loud. Not without the entire story. And you weren’t ready to share all of that with him.

Bucky stood up with you, afraid he had just ruined the friendship or whatever relationship he had with you. “Y/n, wait, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

You had already left the room and couldn’t really hear him over the sound of your thoughts.

This wasn’t supposed to happen

I wasn’t supposed to let this happen

How could I be so stupid?

You were feeling tears in your eyes and Bucky followed you, afraid of what he did. Your breathing was picking up and you had started mumbling some of these things to yourself.

“Y/n, what’s happening, what did I do?”

You shook your head “You didn’t do anything, but I need you to leave, please,” you said, trying to hide your emotions. You hated being like this.

“I’m not going anywhere y/n, just tell me what’s wrong.”

“Get the fuck out of here Bucky! I don’t want your help!” you snapped suddenly, Bucky looking taken aback before your eyes widened.

“Oh god…”

You shook your head and started crying harder, stumbling over your words. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean it like that, I didn’t mean to yell, I’m so sorry Bucky please don’t leave I'm so sorry.”

Bucky came forward and hugged you gently and you cried into his shirt. He whispered comforting words into your ear as you tried to breathe, embarrassed at how vulnerable you were being.

Bucky kept his breathing slow and even, trying to get you to match him. He had no idea what was happening but he knew he needed you to calm down before he asked. Whatever it was had to be something deep, and you weren’t in the space to talk about it right now.

He brought you over to sit on the corner of your bed, still hugging you as you cried. You were mumbling out apology after apology but Bucky wasn’t having any of it. He kept hugging you, telling you that he wasn’t going anywhere and that you were safe. He had never seen you so upset, or upset at all to begin with.

After you had calmed down a bit, Bucky asked you again what had happened. You shook your head, not knowing what to say.

“I’ve opened up about so many things to you, right?” he pulled back to look at you.

You nodded slightly.

“And you’ve never judged me for any of it.”

You shook your head this time.

“Then why can’t you let me do the same for you?”

You took a deep breath, fiddling with your hands. “I don’t wanna hurt you,” you said, not meeting his eyes.

Bucky drew his eyebrows together, still confused. “Y/n, you’ve been the nicest person I’ve ever met. How would you hurt me?”

You were already shaking your head. “No, see, that’s what’s gonna happen. I’m gonna be nice and sweet and...and I’m gonna fall in love with you, and you’re gonna fall in love with me. A-and then I’m gonna let you down over and over again and snap at you for things that aren’t your fault and...and you’ll get sick of it and leave and I’m going to hate myself for it, okay?”

“Hey, hey, slow down,” Bucky held your shoulders as they started shaking. You brought a hand to cover your mouth, Bucky hushing you again. “What are you talking about? Where is this coming from?”

You took a shaky breath as you ran a hand over your face. “I’m just like her, Bucky. I told myself I would never let myself be like her…”

“Like who?” Bucky asked, blood already boiling at who made you feel like this.

Her.

You weren’t supposed to think about her.

You promised yourself.

“Y/n, stay with me here,” he said, guiding your face back to look at him. “Who?”

“My mother.”

Bucky looked at you for a moment. “What?”

“You know, mothers bring you into the world. They say a mother knows when something is wrong with their kid, that babies are put on their mother’s chest because the skin-to-skin contact starts the bonding process. They’re supposed to protect you, and love you, and take care of you. But then you start to get older and it’s your fault that you were born when you didn’t ask, or your dad left and it’s your fault before you even knew he was gone. All I wanted was to be told what to do and all she would do is tell me what I did wrong. I can’t be like her and the older I get the more scared I am that I’m going to hurt everyone the way that she hurt my father and me.”

You had started crying again as Bucky looked at you, both broken-hearted and furious that someone would make you feel this way. Not to mention it was your own mother.

You took another shaky breath. “I thought the world of her when I was younger. And she barely even gave me the time of day. I keep telling myself that I’m not what she thought of me, but what if I am?” you shook your head again. “And I am so scared that I’m just like her.”

“Y/n, look at me, I need you to look at me when I say this, okay?” he cupped your face with both hands, wiping away your tears with the pads of his thumbs as he looked into your eyes. “You are nothing like your mother.”

You let out a small sob. “You don’t know her.”

“I don’t need to,” he said firmly. “You are kind and gentle. You work hard and you make sure that everyone is taken care of before you even consider yourself. You aren’t going to scare me away or hurt me.” He wiped fresh tears from your eyes. “You are your own person, your mother has no say in who you get to be. Who you are. You are not your mother, and you never will be.” he said, still holding your gaze.

You held his gaze a little longer, knowing he believed what he was saying. You didn’t, not quite yet, but maybe if he believed in you, you could too. You nodded slightly, giving him the smallest of smiles. “Thank you.”

Bucky returned the small smile. “You know I love you, right?”

“I love you too,” you said, smiling.

You meant it, and you knew he did too. And maybe one day, you would love who you’d become too.

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

tags: @babydaddy-buckybarnes @buckys-blue-eyes @buckys2thicc @broadwaybabe18 @peggycarter-steverogers @im-sick-of-failing @barnesplums @bucks-bunny @mardema @abitgryffindorky @freigeistundanderes @thatfangirl42 @strawberrimae @sup--ernova

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[thenovelartist]

Boys as Dads - Tears of Themis Headcanons

I've been sitting on this for days, writing it after @luke-appreciator mentioned the boys as dads and henceforth planting the idea in my mind.

Luke

LOOK! Luke is living past his three year “time limit” goshdarnit! He gets to see his kids grow up!

And he has several of them with his MC (I’m thinking four or five.)

They were all mostly planned. (They were just rolling with however many they were blessed with until they decided to stop.)

When his first child was born, he cried. He didn’t think he’d get this opportunity, but now he’s a dad and feels overwhelmed by the blessing.

He is as involved in his kids’ lives as he possibly can be.

He’s the dad that will teach his kids how to fix everything.

Totally the hands-on dad of wrestling and headlocks and ruffling their hair.

Yes, even his girls, but in a slightly different context. Uses those moments to teach them self-defense. (Yes, he’ll do that to his boys, but he’s more concerned about his girls.)

That said, he’s very protective of his kids and wants to give them all the knowledge he can to make sure they can keep themselves safe.

Will try to get his kids into Sherlock Holmes.

One of his kids is named John after John Watson. It was actually MC’s idea, much to Luke’s surprise and delight.

When he’s away on mission (which already makes him sad because he doesn’t like being away from his precious family), he hates it when he has to go full dark mode. Because he’d at least like to call them and tell them good night if he can’t be there.

The king of pictures.

There are cameras scattered throughout the house so he can easily steal a picture whenever he wants to.

Will put together scrapbooks upon scrapbooks of photographs for all kinds of events. The kids get in on these activities, and it has become a bit of a family event to arrange the pages together.

Not a day goes by he takes for granted. Does not matter if he’s cleaning up diapers or one of his kids is sick or he’s having to do damage control when something gets out of hand. He cherishes all of it.

Vyn

I see Vyn having one or two. Both were totally planned.

Mostly, he just sees children as patients, but now, he’s got two children he actually raises.

And the moment his first child is placed into his arms, he realizes with sickening clarity that his actions have a direct impact on their lives.

While he knew that beforehand, there was a moment it clicked, and Vyn felt himself change that day.

He strives to be the best father he can, minding everything he does to lead by example.

He didn’t have the greatest childhood, meaning he does everything he can to make sure his kids never have to experience the things he wished never happened to him.

He’s a bit of a helicopter parent despite knowing he needs to not be. All he wants to do is protect his kids, is that so wrong?

However, because of that, he happens to understand and sympathize with parents more now. His kids wrecked him in ways he didn’t think possible.

It’s a bit of a learning experience for him to allow his kids to learn on their own. He knows so much and wants to just tell them everything they need to know, but realizes that he can’t do that. He has to let them learn and grow in their own ways.

He wants to give his kids the best, from quality schooling to extracurricular activities. But he’s also is more than happy to teach them their way around the kitchen and garden as well as play games and do puzzles with them.

Also really enjoys reading them books at bedtime. A habit that will linger around for surprisingly long while.

He’s the dad that is glad to help with homework whenever they need it.

Always offers to listen to them and talk them through things. It would be pretty shameful if the psychiatrist couldn’t help guide his own kids through their own mental hurdles.

And he knows he did something right because his kids are comfortable talking with him about a lot of things, even in their teenage and young adult years.

Ends up the dad who has the best life advice that his kids eventually learn to always listen to even if they don’t appreciate it when they’re younger.

Artem

Ends up with a large family, both adopting and raising his own.

Probably two of their own, and two or three (or four… maybe five) adopted.

The kids they had were planned; the ones they adopted… not always. It tended to be a “this one grew on you unexpectedly” situation.

Loves all his kids equally, whether they’re his own or adopted.

Super supportive dad. Probably spoils his kids in praise and hugs.

That being said, he won’t coddle them. He’s all for supporting them, but knows when to allow his kids face the negative consequences of their actions. He’s an attorney, after all. This is his “justice” side showing.

But he’s fair. He will guide them the best he can but will let experience be the teacher if he needs to. And if experience is the cruel teacher of the day, he’ll be there, whether to pick them up, dust them off, and offer hugs or to talk them through how to best navigate the consequences and avoid the situation next time.

His schedule revolves around any and all events in his kids’ lives. Which, considering the size of his family, is a balancing act.

Days off are sacred. That is his time to spend with his family.

Nightly family dinners are a big thing in the Wing household. Game nights on weekends are even bigger. And louder.

He’s the dad that can go from tutus and tea parties to action figures and lego sets. Whatever his kids are up for, he’ll gladly participate.

Every year, for each kid’s birthday, will spend one-on-one time with them and do whatever they want to do for an entire day. With a big family, especially with the adopted ones, he knows it might be easy to feel lost in the crowd and doesn’t want any of his kids thinking that.

Once a year, they go on a week-long vacation somewhere in nature. No phones, no technology; this is family bonding time and time for kids to just run around and be kids.

All in all, grade A dad.

Marius

Ends up with two or three.

The first one was a surprise, and likely one more after that was not planned, either.

But the moment he holds his first child, a switch goes off in his mind and Marius matures, knowing he’s got not only his girl to protect and keep safe but now a helpless little one who’s wholly dependent upon him.

He’s probably the second most hover-y of the boys behind Vyn. And that’s less because he’s a helicopter parent and more because he knows he’s a target for people and is very concerned for his kids’ safety. So he’s hypervigilant of everything, including what school they go to, who they’re friends with, where they go, etc.

Their house… oh my…

He’s an artist, and he will inspire that in his kids. There’s paint, stickers, crayons, and markers freaking everywhere.

Oh, and art taped to practically every wall. And a few in his office.

Marks every major event down on a calendar. His assistant knows there will be hell to pay if there’s a scheduling mishap.

Never let him help with homework (unless it’s art). Because he’s the guy who will teach his kids the smartass answers to some questions, even if it gets his kids in trouble.

(Spoiler: his kids never mind and instead pick up his bad habits.)

(Much to MC’s chagrin. Will make Marius go sit in the corner, much to his children’s delight.)

Will put his kids into any extracurricular activities they want growing up.

Totally spoils them in that way.

But the minute they turn into little shits about their wealth? Say good bye to your technology for the next few days. Marius is all about spoiling his kids, but not rotten. Even he hates snotty rich people he has to deal with, and he’s not gonna let his kids be like that.

Loves spending time doing things with his kids. Up for anything from the midday ice creams when mom told them no to spontaneous adventures. Oh yeah, he’s that dad.

[toomanyrobins2]

Those Four Words Pt. 1

Summary: an escalating fight between Jason and his girlfriend leads to a tense two weeks in Wayne Manor

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

Word count: 2.1k

Warnings: language, mentions of sex and excessive drinking, mentions of character death

masterlist // next part

Jason Todd was in a terrible mood, having just got into an argument with Bruce. He decided to go up to his girlfriend’s studio to get away. She had been hard at work the past couple of days and he was getting needy. He came up behind her on the floor and pulled her into his lap. She tried to wiggle out of his arms. “Jay, I'm trying to do something right now.

He tried to snuggle closer to his girlfriend, “I deserve some of your time too.

“Deserve? You’re especially demanding today. What did you do?” Jason scoffed and pulled away. “What has crawled up your ass?”

“You did.”

She managed to escape and turned to look at her boyfriend, “I did? Huh, I think I would’ve remembered such a disgusting journey into your body.

“Dammit, Y/N! Enough with the sarcasm! You know what I’m saying.”

She sighed at Jason’s attitude, “I don’t understand what you’re doing right now, but you are starting a fight just for the sake of an argument. I’m sorry, but I can’t give you what you want right now.”

“I don’t want anything from you,” Jason was standing over his girlfriend, his whole body tense, “From any of you.”

“Why are you being like this? What happened?”

“What? You thought the minute we started dating all of our problems would magically disappear? Are you really that naive?”

Y/N put her brushes down and stood. She tried to walk closer, but he matched each step, moving away from her. “Jason, where the hell is this coming from? I thought we had got past this. Even you and Bruce are in a better place.”

“You think I'll ever forget you abandoned me. You all did!”

“Abandon you! What have you been smoking? We thought you died!”

“You replaced me!”

Now, Y/N was angry too and it was rare that anyone saw her this way. She was deadly calm, but the fire was roaring in her eyes, “I did not replace you.”

“That’s right, you were too busy whoring yourself around Gotham to even think about me.”

“That is not fair and you know it. I mourned you. We all mourned your arrogant ass. I never stopped missing you.”

“I saw the articles, Y/N! Don’t pretend you were mourning me. You were too busy whoring yourself around Gotham.”

Her mind went back to three years ago. Jason had died in an explosion set up by the Joker. She was sixteen and her best friend had died, and she hadn’t handled it well. What started as a way to get out of the house with friends, had led to this wild, secret life. Y/N had snuck out at night and used Bruce’s name to get into clubs. She drank anything she could get her hands on and had gone home with multiple men, trying to forget her pain. Once, Bruce had found out, her world had imploded. He sent her away and finally got her the help she should have received when her parents had passed. The only reason Y/N had moved back to the manor was that Jason had been found. She couldn’t believe that he was trying to use her moments of weakness against her, “How dare you throw that back on me. I was just trying to numb the pain. It wasn’t like I was celebrating the fact that you were gone.”

“Yeah, it really looked like you missed me.”

“God Dammit, Jay!” she stamped her foot, knowing it was childish, “If you would just listen to me!”

“Oh fuck off, Y/N! If I had known I was ever going to be stuck with you and your nagging, I wouldn’t have come back.”

“I wish you hadn’t!” The minute the words left Y/N’s mouth, she gasped and slapped her hands over her mouth. Jason’s emotionless mask slammed into place, and suddenly he was as blank as the day Bruce had found him. He turned to walk out and Y/N chased after him, “Jay, wait! I’m sorry!” He jumped onto his motorcycle and was out the door before she could stop him. She slammed her fist into the wall and cursed in frustration and pain. No one would see either of them for the rest of the day. Y/N stayed in her studio, wondering how they got to the point of shouting such hurtful things at each other.

The next day, they had both shown up for Friday night dinner, as was expected of them. Neither spoke, and the tension was too thick to be cut with a knife. Y/N had tried to pull him aside and apologize after dinner, but he had shot her with a cutting glare and stalked away. The other could tell that something had happened, but no one had the details. Tim wandered into the library after patrol that night, to find her in a chair tucked into the corner. “What are you doing here (Y/N/N)? Isn’t it a movie night with Todd?” He noted the tear tracks down her face but knew she hated showing weakness, so he said nothing about them.

“I wasn’t feeling up to it, so I canceled. I think I’ll head to bed now. Night, Timmy.” Y/N went to her room and cried herself to sleep, the guilt overwhelming her as she played the argument over in her head. If only she had just taken a break, maybe the whole situation could have been avoided. She woke up multiple times in the night, crying out Jason’s name after seeing him and the Joker over and over again. Finally, around 3 in the morning, she gave up on sleep and went to the kitchen to pour herself coffee. She decided to keep busy and started making breakfast for the family.

Alfred was the first to appear in the morning, as usual. Y/N tried to pretend that everything was normal, but nothing could be hidden from the family’s butler. He noted the dark circles under her eyes and the tremors in her hands from over-caffeination. The boys slowly started to emerge, and Alfred started to bring out all the food she had made. She made two plates out of habit and headed for the dining room. Y/N started to hand Jason his breakfast as she had every morning for a year, but suddenly she remembered and pulled her hand away. Jason didn’t even bother to look at her, and her heart clenched. She placed the plate on the table and walked back into the kitchen. “Sorry, Alfred, I’m not hungry. I think I’ll go paint.” She placed the plate she had made for herself on the counter and left.

Y/N’s studio had been a safe space since she had first moved into the manor. She had hidden away when she first arrived at Wayne Manor, unused to such an active family. Bruce had called workers to the manor and redid the room when she had told him she liked art. Now, after years of work, canvasses filled the room on all sides. Some paintings, others photos, she had accumulated in the three years. They hung on the walls and were laid across the floor. She flooded the room with Swan Lake, her sad music, and started to mix her colors. The music she played had become an easy way for the others to discern her moods since she hadn’t spoken to anyone except Fallon, Bruce’s wife, when she first came. Bruce and Dick had installed a speaker system in her studio to drown out the noise when she was overwhelmed, and everyone in the Manor could hear it if she turned it on loud enough. When the first notes hit their ears, all eyes in the dining room turned to Jason. He refused to look up and make eye contact, instead, he stared at the breakfast that had been abandoned on the table. Once everyone had averted their gaze, he pushed away from the table and disappeared.

This led to one of the most uncomfortable weeks in the Manor ever. Y/N barely left her studio and no one saw Jason for three days before he returned. When he did, he started to act as if nothing had happened. The music had eventually stopped playing altogether, so they had no idea what kind of mood she was in. Finally, Damian was the one to gather everyone else together, “Y/N/N has not come out of her studio in a week. Since Buckethead has just decided to pretend nothing has happened. We need to fix this.”

Bruce spoke up first, “Jason and Y/N are both adults. They are both being immature, and it will eventually work itself out.

“How can we fix this when we don’t even know what happened?” Tim looked up from his laptop, “I’ve been checking in on Y/N on the cameras. All she does is paint, and the most she’s slept in days is when she falls asleep accidentally. That never lasts long, and she cries. A lot.”

“Why did Fallon have to leave! We need to fix this, or the family vacation is going to be the worst!” Dick collapsed on the couch. Fallon had finally convinced Bruce that the family needed a vacation, but two weeks before they were supposed to leave, her sister had had a baby. She decided to go help her out and just meet them at the resort. They now had a week left, and it was not looking good. No one wanted to bother their mother since she very rarely took time for herself and was enjoying time with her family. They decided Alfred would be the one to try and convince Y/N to leave the studio at least and eat something.

He appeared in the doorway and watched silently as Y/N worked on a large canvas. He walked over and saw that it was a portrait of the family. “This is beautiful, Miss Y/L/N.”

“Thank you, Alfred,” her voice was hoarse from disuse.

“What is the plan for this one?” Alfred sat down next to her on the floor.

“Everyone hates photos, but Fallon wanted a family portrait for the sitting room. Since no one can sit still long enough I decided to paint one and give it to her for her birthday,” she slowly sucked in a breath, “Plus they only have the old one, and J--some people-- are missing from it.” Tears started to well up again in her eyes. Alfred wrapped an arm around Y/N and just sat with her for a moment.

“I’ve kicked the boys out of the kitchen. Do you think you could come down and eat something? For me?” She only nodded and they both stood. Y/N sat on a stool and silently ate the soup Alfred had laid out for her. She barely tasted anything, and she was starting to feel dizzy. Her vision started to blur, and the next thing she knew, she was waking up on the floor and had five heads floating above her.

“Hi, guys. Thought the floor looked lonely.” She tried to sit up but was cut off.

“That is it,” Bruce spoke firmly, “You are going to bed, and you are sleeping. I thought you were mature enough to deal with this but I see I was wrong.” He picked Y/N up and noticed she had lost weight. He carried her up the stairs and before he had reached her bedroom, she was already asleep again. Bruce turned to the boys. “At least one of you is staying in here with her and making sure she sleeps.”

Tim volunteered for the first shift and settled into her desk with his laptop. Y/N had barely been asleep an hour before she woke up from a nightmare of Jason dying. She shot up and shouted out his name, before bursting into tears. Tim -- being the awkward person he is -- was ill-prepared to deal with the crying Y/N. The only solution he could think of was to climb into bed with her and pull up a movie. She slowly fell asleep again and clung to Tim like a starfish. When Dick came to relieve Tim and saw that he was unable to leave, he climbed into bed with the duo. Anytime Y/N would start to become distressed, they would calm her down. Eventually, Damian and Titus joined the cuddle pile, the former somewhat reluctantly, grumbling about how he was only doing this for Y/N. Little did the Bat-Family know, Alfred had called Fallon and told her about the situation and she had rushed home.