#she actively AVOIDS espresso

[xothatnerdykid]

read your mind

You’re a newly minted pro-hero with a quirk that lets you to read the mind of anyone you touch. So imagine your surprise when you accidentally read a certain stoic, brooding hero's mind and find out he doesn't hate you like you thought, but rather, something dangerously close to the opposite.

Aizawa Shouta/Eraserhead x fem!reader. NSFW but not very explicit. 5,002 words.

“Your form was sloppy,” he says in lieu of a greeting.

You used to cringe when he’d tell you things like that, become sheepish and apologetic. Now, after months of knowing him, you'd simply smile and quip, “Awww, you watching my saves on the news again?”

You hated bumping into him. He was the reason you tended to leave mission briefings early: the ever-stoic, perpetually unimpressed Pro Hero Eraserhead.

As a relatively new hero working in the same city, you were thrilled at the chance to learn from someone as experienced as him. But your excitement quickly dimmed the first time you met as you noticed his gruff demeanor and critical, scrutinizing gaze.

You knew he was tough on everyone, but there were times when it felt like his criticism was directed at you more than anyone else. And no matter how hard you tried or how much praise everyone else gave you, he always found something to correct.

So, for the sake of keeping your self-esteem intact, you’ve resorted to treating his criticism like a game, teasing him back whenever he dropped one of his classic deadpan remarks. It was either that or crumble under the weight of his seemingly endless disapproval.

But today, all you can muster is a grunt in response, head throbbing from fatigue and chronic sleep deprivation.

“That’s my line,” he says flatly. Because apparently, someone always has to be the cheeky one between the two of you.

“Can we just…” You rub your temple, wincing as the pain spikes. "Can we just not do this today?”

“Are you feeling alright?” His voice loses a bit of its usual sharpness as he steps closer, eyes narrowing in concern. “You’re not hurt, are you?”

“I’m fine,” you huff, waving him off. "Just tired. We can't all function on only ten shots of espresso a day."

"Seven actually. I'm not a maniac. And you don't sound fine."

You roll your eyes, feeling too drained to banter with him. "I said I'm fine. Can you spare me the lecture?"

You mean to walk past him when you feel his hand wrap around your wrist, startling you. Suddenly, there’s that familiar buzz in your mind — your quirk activating with the skin-to-skin contact. The headache momentarily takes a backseat as his thoughts flood in.

Is she really okay? She looks like she’s about to collapse.

Why does she always push herself so hard?

You look up at him, eyes wide and unblinking.

He yanks his hand away as if he’d been burned, the flood of his thoughts abruptly cut off. His dark eyes flicker with something—surprise? Guilt? He takes a step back.

“Sorry,” he mutters, his voice rougher than usual. “Didn’t mean to…”

You open your mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. How are you supposed to respond to that? All this time, you thought he was just cold, that he only ever saw your flaws. But just now, he…

He was worried about you?

“I—” you start, but your voice falters. He’s still staring at you, his expression carefully guarded again.

“I’ll see you around. Feel better." His voice is clipped, betraying none of the thoughts you just heard. The words sound so casual, so dismissive, that for a moment you wonder if you imagined it all.

You want to say something to break the tension between you, but you're suddenly nervous. Your heart races, pounding with the weight of this new knowledge. Before you can compose yourself, another hero calls his name, and he mutters a quick response before leaving.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ 

You promised yourself you were going to avoid him like the plague.

Later that day, when you were tossing and turning in bed, still overthinking your last encounter — you promised. You even came up with (what seemed to you) a solid game plan: You were going to focus on hero work so much that you won’t even have the time to think about him, much less see him.

But the mission had gone from bad to worse in a matter of minutes.

What was supposed to be a simple recon had turned into a full-on chase through the streets when the criminal you'd been tracking for weeks unexpectedly showed up at the deal you were sent to bust. Orders be damned, you vaulted over the rooftop ledge and ran after them.

You leaped across buildings, adrenaline spurring you on. Your mind was focused, heart pounding in rhythm with your footfalls. You’d chased this villain twice before, and both times, they’d slipped through your fingers. You weren’t about to let that happen again.

The villain was fast, but so were you. With each bound, you closed the gap, watching as they darted into a narrow alleyway below. This was your chance. Your heart surged as you prepared to drop down and cut them off.

Suddenly, a figure descended from the shadows, blocking your target from your sight. Your stomach dropped.

Of course it was him.

"Stay back. This is too dangerous for you to handle alone.” His voice was firm and authoritative. Even with the goggles on, you could feel his dark eyes trained on you with that same stern expression you’d come to dread.

"Dangerous? I've been on this case longer than you have!”

You stepped forward but so did he.

“I said stay back,” he warned you. “Don’t be reckless. He’s already evaded you twice, and now he’s cornered. Desperate villains do desperate things.”

“He’s getting away! You’re ruining my chance to finally catch him!”

“And you’ll get yourself killed,” Aizawa snapped. “I’m not going to let a rookie run into a trap.”

Anger flared in your chest. You knew he didn’t respect you, hadn’t from the start. Always criticizing, always watching with that disapproving scowl. You try to push past him, but it’s no use. He’s stronger than you, and maybe even more stubborn.

“Wait here and let me handle it,” Aizawa growled, his voice low and commanding. His scarf moved like a serpent around him, a silent warning that he wouldn’t hesitate to use it if you pushed any further.

You clenched your fists but did as you were told. Much to your frustration, the villain was apprehended quickly after that. You watched from the rooftop, fuming as Aizawa cornered them with ease, his scarf tangling around the villain's limbs like it was second nature. Within minutes, the situation was over, and backup arrived to escort the criminal away.

You stayed put, your heart still racing with the adrenaline of the chase and the frustration of being sidelined once again. The cool night breeze did little to calm your heated emotions. It wasn’t fair. You’d been so close, only for him to swoop in like you were some rookie who couldn’t handle their own mission.

Now, you watch as he finishes giving his statement to the police and then make his way towards you.

You cross your arms tightly, readying yourself for whatever critique he’d throw your way this time. But when he stops in front of you, he doesn’t say anything right away. He simply takes off his goggles and looks at you.

His silence is almost worse than his usual condescending remarks. When he finally speaks, his voice is gravelly, strained. More measured than you expected.

"Are you okay?"

You blink. "I…I'm fine," you answer, maybe a bit too defensively.

Aizawa's eyes narrow, and for a moment, you think he’s about to call you out for your tone. But he just stares at you, his expression as unreadable as ever.

You shift on your feet, feeling the weight of his scrutiny. The silence stretches between you both, heavy and awkward, until he exhales and rubs the back of his neck.

"Good," he mutters, his voice softening just slightly, but there’s something behind his eyes—a flicker of something you can’t quite place. His hand lowers back to his side, and as it brushes yours for the briefest moment, something happens.

Skin contact.

Before you can stop it, his thoughts are bleeding into yours, loud and clear.

I should’ve handled that better. She probably thinks I hate her…

Dammit, I don’t want her to hate me.

Your breath catches in your throat. A rush of emotions flood your mind: frustration, concern. Genuine fear.

She doesn’t need to prove herself to me. She’s already good enough. More than good enough.

Heat floods your face, your pulse quickening. He… cares? Before you can process it fully, the connection snaps. A sudden coldness washes over you as your quirk is forcibly erased.

Aizawa’s eyes lock onto yours, his irritation visible in the sharpness of his gaze and the tight line of his mouth.

"I…I didn't mean to," you tell him, your voice barely above a whisper.

Something like uncertainty flickers in his expression, and his hair falls down in waves as he shuts off his quirk, too. His jaw tightens but his brow furrows as though he’s trying to decide what to say.

“I...know you didn’t,” he finally says, his voice low and rough.

You flinch, guilt bubbling up in your chest. “I’m sorry,” you murmur again, dropping your gaze to the ground. You didn’t want to invade his mind, but now you couldn’t unhear what you’d discovered.

Just like before, he turns to leave.

“Wait—” you blurt out, reaching for him instinctively. You don’t know what you’re going to say, but you can’t just let him leave like this. Not again.

He pauses, half-turning to glance at you over his shoulder. Your heart is pounding in your ears. The words are there, but they feel jumbled in your throat, tangled up in the whirlwind of thoughts and emotions swirling through your mind.

“I—I didn’t know. About any of it.”

Your eyes search his face for any sign of what he’s thinking, but his expression remains impassive. You fight back the urge to touch him.

“I thought you couldn’t stand me,” you admit in a small voice.

Aizawa heaves a sigh. His hand rises to pinch the bridge of his nose, and for the first time, you notice how tired he looks; exhausted, worn down in a way that makes him seem more human, less the untouchable figure you’ve always seen him as.

“I’m not trying to be hard on you,” he says after a long pause, his voice softer now, the anger draining away. “But you don’t always think things through, and that’s dangerous. You’re talented. You don’t need to prove anything to me or anyone else.”

His words surprise you, and you look up, meeting his gaze again. There’s no scowl, no biting critique, just honesty. You swallow hard, feeling an odd mix of warmth and discomfort settle in your chest.

Before you can think better of it, your hand moves instinctively, brushing against his arm. You freeze, realizing what you’ve done, but this time, he doesn’t pull away. And though he has every opportunity to, he doesn’t erase your quirk either.

I’m too close to her. The thought is faint, hesitant. She’s already in my head… and it’s getting harder to push her away.

Your breath catches in your throat. He’s not just frustrated with you — he’s frustrated with himself.

You pull your hand back, not wanting to intrude further.

You don’t know what you expect to see on his face; surprise maybe, or even anger. But for the first time since you’ve met him, you see something warmer in his eyes — something that sends a flutter through your chest.

Aizawa takes a half-step closer and your pulse quickens at the proximity. Then, in a voice so soft it’s almost a secret, he murmurs, “Don’t make me worry like that again.”

“I won’t,” you manage to whisper, your heart caught in your throat.

He takes a step back, as if remembering himself, and his usual stern demeanor slips back into place.

“Go home. Get some rest.”

You nod, still too flustered to speak. The warmth of his touch lingers long after he's gone.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ 

It’s well past midnight, the city quiet except for the soft hum of distant traffic and the occasional sound of wind rustling through the streets. Your patrol route brings you to the edge of a quiet park, where you catch a familiar figure standing in the shadows, keeping watch.

“You really like brooding in the dark, don’t you?" You smile at him from over your shoulder, though your usual sarcasm is gone.

“It's my favorite pastime,” he deadpans, but you don't miss the way his dark eyes hold yours a beat too long.

“Right,” you snicker. “The city’s most stoic hero. I bet you even scowl in your sleep.”

Aizawa’s lips twitch, the tiniest of smirks threatening to break through. “You can’t prove that.”

"Oh?” You smile sweetly, batting your eyelashes for good measure. “Something tells me I can.”

His gaze sharpens slightly, and for a moment, you’re sure he’s about to call you out on your teasing. But instead, he steps closer, his tall frame looming over you.

“You’re bold tonight,” he says, his tone somewhere between amused and intrigued. “Careful, I might start thinking you’re actually enjoying my company.”

You bite your lip to keep from smiling any wider. “And what if I am?”

He steps just a fraction closer, and you can feel the heat radiating off him in the cool night air. His voice is low and smooth when he says, “Then I’d have to wonder what it is you think you’re getting yourself into.”

The air between you thickens, the playful banter now laced with something a little more dangerous, a little more exciting.

“You know, I could buy you a coffee sometime,” you offer, hoping to diffuse some of the tension, keep the conversation light. “To say thanks for helping me out with that last mission.”

He pretends to mull it over but, before you can react, he reaches out and grabs the coffee cup you’re holding. He takes a deliberately long sip, watching you with an intensity that makes your skin tingle.

When he lowers the cup, he meets your gaze with a half-lidded look that sends your pulse racing.

“Consider it done.”

Your face feels impossibly warm now, and you’re sure your blush is painfully obvious, but you manage to keep your voice steady as you quip, “An indirect kiss? Maybe you’re the one who needs to be careful, or else other people will start getting the wrong idea.”

With a low laugh, he hands the cup back to you, and the subtle brush of his fingers against yours sets off another wave of his thoughts.

I wonder if she realizes how much I want her.

Your breath catches.

For a split second, you think you might’ve misheard it, but the heat in Aizawa’s gaze as he watches your reaction tells you otherwise. The cup is back in your hand, but your fingers are numb. Your focus is entirely on him, his thoughts still rattling around in your mind.

His lips twitch again. “You’re awfully quiet all of a sudden,” he teases, his voice low, almost a purr. “What’s going on up there? Something I should know about?”

You swallow hard, trying to gather your composure. He’s looking at you like he’s daring you to admit what you heard.

You take a deep breath and decide to play along. “Oh, nothing. Just wondering if you always flirt this shamelessly.”

“Maybe I just wanted to see how you’d react.”

Your heart is racing now, fingers trembling around the cup in your hand. His gaze is dark and intense. Unwavering. He's looking at you like he knows exactly the effect he’s having on you and he’s enjoying it.

Your quirk had always been a double-edged sword; sometimes it revealed things you wished you hadn’t known, and other times it brought clarity to situations that seemed hopelessly opaque.

This time, it left you with a dilemma.

“Go ahead,” he murmurs, as if sensing your thoughts. He’s close enough now that you can feel the warmth of him, his presence overwhelming but not uncomfortable. “Since you’re already in my head…why stop now?”

Your breath hitches. His invitation is dangerous, yet impossible to resist. There are a dozen reasons why you shouldn’t — you work together, it’s an invasion of privacy, you hated his guts just a few weeks ago — but the temptation is too strong, his presence too intoxicating.

Hesitantly, your fingers brush against his once more, and his thoughts flood in again, more intense and vivid this time.

She’s braver than I thought. I like that.

I shouldn’t be doing this. But damn, I can’t stop thinking about her. The way she looks at me…

“Good girl,” he cooes, his voice a low rumble that sends a flutter of excitement through you.

You feel lightheaded, dizzy with the weight of his thoughts, the tension between you at a boiling point. You swallow hard, trying to regain some semblance of control, but the way Aizawa’s eyes are fixed on you — dark, intense, hungry — it’s making it hard to think straight. He wants you to know. He wants you to feel what he’s feeling.

And you do.

You feel everything.

His desire is a palpable thing, hanging in the air between you, electric and heady. You can see it in the way his gaze lingers on your lips, the way his breath hitches ever so slightly when you lean in.

“Hardly seems fair. I don't get to know what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours.” His voice dips lower, enough to send another wave of heat crashing over you. “Are you going to keep me guessing?”

Your voice wavers slightly, but you manage to respond, “I’m not sure you’re ready for what’s in my head.”

He chuckles, a dark, low sound that makes your stomach flip. “You might be surprised.”

You can barely breathe as he brushes the back of his hand against your jaw, his thumb pressing lightly on the corner of your mouth. You feel his thoughts ripple through you again, even stronger this time.

I want her. God, I want her so badly…

Your knees feel weak, and it takes everything in you not to lose yourself completely in the moment, in him. The tension between you feels unbearable now, as if one wrong move could send you both over the edge. And you’re not sure how much longer either of you can hold back.

Aizawa smirks, just a hint of satisfaction flickering in his expression.

I could kiss her right now. It would be so easy.

The thought lingers between you, thick and heavy, and you can’t tell if it’s yours or his anymore. All you know is that just the idea of his lips on yours is making your entire body hum with anticipation.

Aizawa watches you carefully, as if waiting for your reaction. He knows you heard him, and he’s not backing down.

You swallow hard, the weight of his gaze pinning you in place. “Go ahead then,” your own voice sounds small and distant to your ears, but it’s enough to tip the balance.

His lips are on yours in a second.

The kiss is soft at first, tentative, as if he’s testing the waters, but it quickly deepens as the tension that had been building between you finally breaks. His other hand slides around your waist, pulling you closer, and you feel his thoughts rushing through you again.

God, she tastes even better than I imagined.

Your knees nearly buckle, and you can barely focus on anything except the way his lips feel against yours — firm, warm, demanding yet tender. He’s kissing you like he’s been holding back for far too long.

When you finally pull back for air, your heart is pounding, your breath shaky. Aizawa’s forehead rests gently against yours, his eyes half-closed as he catches his own breath. His thumb brushes lightly over your cheek, a small, affectionate gesture that has you smiling up at him in a tizzy.

“Still think I hate you?” he murmurs, his voice low and full of heat as he slides his hands into the curve of your waist.

You laugh softly, pulling him closer by his scarf. “I think I might need a little more convincing.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ 

The days that follow your little late night tryst at the park are deliciously unbearable.

It’s as if you don’t know how to be around him anymore. There's tension during training sessions. The gym hums with its usual energy, but you can’t focus. Not with him in the room. You’re sparring with someone, half-heartedly dodging and throwing punches, but your mind is elsewhere, replaying the feel of Aizawa’s lips on yours, the heat of his body pressed against you.

Across the room, he’s speaking to a group of trainees, the same unreadable, stoic expression in place. But there's a flicker of something else in his eyes when they briefly meet yours, a look only you recognize.

Your opponent lands a hit on your shoulder and you nearly stumble. You grit your teeth and bring yourself back to the present moment. When the sparring session ends, you grab a bottle of water and try to catch your breath.

He walks over to where you’re sitting off to the side, seemingly doing the same. His voice is low enough so only you can hear. "You're distracted."

You flush, struggling to keep your expression impassive. “And what if I am?��

“Focus, or I’ll have to give you some private training later.”

His words are a promise, dripping with intent, and your blood sings. You can’t find a response quick enough before he’s already pulling away, leaving you flushed and even more distracted.

It’s not much better during night patrol, when the city streets are dimly lit and mostly empty. Although the two of you are supposed to be overseeing different sectors, you know when you turn a corner into a dark alley that he's following silently, closely behind.

You walk deeper into the alley, pretending to scan the area, but the quiet crunch of his footsteps has your heart racing. Just as you’re about to turn back, a hand wraps around your wrist, pulling you into the shadows, away from prying eyes.

You open your mouth to say something, but he’s already on you, crashing his lips against yours.

“You’re making—it hard—for me—to concentrate,” he murmurs between kisses, each word punctuated by the soft graze of his mouth against yours. His hands press against your hips, pinning you gently yet firmly to the wall, and a wave of heat spreads through you.

Suddenly, an image flashes in your mind: him trailing his mouth downwards until he’s on his knees, hooking your leg over his shoulder and eating you out. A thought that isn’t your own.

“You’re one to talk,” you shoot back, though there’s no real bite to it. If anything, your voice is barely steady. “You’re supposed to be patrolling your own area.”

He runs his fingers along your jaw. "And let you wander into dark alleys alone?" He leans in, lips brush against your ear, nibbling. "Not a chance."

He crooks a finger under your chin and tilts your head up, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down the column of your throat, his teeth and lips lingering just enough to make you gasp.

I want to taste you. All of you, he thinks. I want you to make a mess on my face, on my fingers, and then lick it clean.

You grab a fistful of his hair and tug. He presses you harder against the wall, and it’s dizzying, intoxicating—

Until the sharp crackle of comms cuts through the haze.

“Report. Any activity?”

You both freeze, breaths mingling, still pressed close. His eyes flick to yours, and there’s a hint of amusement dancing in them.

“Nothing to report,” he says, voice calm and collected as if he hadn’t just been kissing you senseless a moment ago.

You look up at him, dazed and wanting, heart pounding. He tilts his head at you and you realize they’re expecting a response from you, too.

“N-no activity here either,” you manage despite the tightness of your throat.

The comms fall silent once more. Aizawa is looking at you through half-lidded eyes and a self-satisfied smirk. You hate him as much as you really don't.

“We should get back to our routes before someone decides to check on us," he murmurs.

“Oh, so now you’re concerned about protocol?” You arch an eyebrow at him, though you’re sure your flushed cheeks betray any semblance of teasing bravado.

"For now." He leans down to brush the shell of your ear with his lips. "But if you keep looking at me like that, I might just break a few more rules.”

A few days later, you find yourselves seated across from each other during a mission debriefing. The room is full of other pro heroes, but it might as well be empty for all the attention you’re paying to anyone else.

Your thoughts scramble every time Aizawa's knee brushes against yours beneath the table. He, on ther hand, is the picture of composure, listening to the debrief with his usual detached focus.

This meeting’s dragging. I can think of better ways to pass the time with you.

You try to focus on the mission details, but half way through, he moves his hand atop your thigh and you shiver.

How long do you think it’d take if we just slipped out, right now?

You steal a glance at him, and there’s the barest flicker of amusement in his eyes when they meet yours.

You force yourself to look down at your notes, but your mind is elsewhere, his presence impossibly distracting. Fuck it, you think before you slide your foot up his calf.

He sputters a cough, a rare crack in his usually unshakable composure, and you feel a surge of satisfaction. Under the table, his hand tightens on your thigh, his grip firm, almost possessive, and the thrill of it has you biting the inside of your cheek.

Keep doing that and I won’t be responsible for what happens after this.

As the meeting draws to a close, everyone rises to leave, and Shota gives you a barely perceptible nod toward the hallway. You follow at a careful distance until you reach his office, entering a good few minutes after he does so as not to arouse suspicion.

He backs you gently against the door as he locks it behind you, his gaze pinning you in place. His eyes are dark and stormy, with that half-focused look you’ve come to love so much. When he speaks, his voice is soft, a murmur meant only for you. “You’re going to get us caught, you know that?”

You smile up at him sweetly then tip-toe to give him a soft, lingering kiss. "You’re the one who can’t seem to keep things professional,” you coo, your fingers tracing along the collar of his shirt, teasing.

A muscle in his jaw twitches. “Is that so? Funny, I don’t remember you objecting."

“Of course not,” you confess breathlessly, head thrown back in pleasure as you tug at his hair. You can’t make out the sound of your own voice over the blood thumping in your ears. “Do you know how many times I’ve imagined us doing inappropriate things in your office?”

Your words seem to snap the last of his restraint.

A low growl escapes him, and before you know it, he’s gripping your hips and lifting you just enough to press the hardness of his length against you. You gasp. His mouth finds yours with a raw, pent-up hunger that has you clinging to his shoulders, heart racing wildly.

“And here I was, thinking I was the only one losing sleep over this,” he murmurs between kisses, tugging your bottom lip gently between his teeth.

He pulls you flush against him as his tongue explores your mouth, and you trail your hands down his chest and the ridges of his abdomen just as eagerly. You grind your hips down on his erection and he lets out a deep, guttural groan, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

“Fuck, baby,” he pants, his warm, rough hands slipping beneath the hem of your shirt. “You’re lucky we’re alone.” His tone is half-warning, half-promise, and you can feel his heartbeat racing beneath your hands.

"I know somewhere we wouldn't have to worry about being interrupted," you tell him breathlessly. “My place. Tonight. If you’re up for it.”

He lets out a quiet chuckle, thumb brushing over your lower lip. "I'll clear my schedule.”

[lisascorner]

NINJA BEVERAGE HCS YEAH YEAH YEAH YEAH

im doing all kinds of writing except the writing i actually have to do for school what has become of me

lloyd

green tea. need i say more

this boy lives off pokka green tea and got mad when the price went up and the volume of the classic bottle shrunk. but, occasionally, he will have a mocha.

but before he goes to sleep each night he'll pour himself a hot cup of milo. or hot chocolate milk.

jay

brewed latte with extra sugar. he can't take the bitterness of espresso, but he wants the caffeine for staying up late to do late-night projects.

otherwise, coke or hot chocolate. i don't think he'd drink milo though.

he is the same before and after merge.

kai

coke boy, because it's red. but i also feel like he'd be an iced lemon tea guy! (the pokka one.)

in all seriousness he's the type of guy to actively avoid drinking water and will drink anything else.

cole

this Rocker likes to drink water, weirdly enough. but ribena and root beer is definitely on this man's guilty pleasure.

he drinks milo with lloyd occasionally. he's a good bro.

zane

...

okay yes he needs oil, but he can drink soda. i think he would enjoy slurpees.

nya

her own element, duh!! but she likes bubble tea with 0% sugar and instead of boba it's konjac....

sora

fanta. all the flavours. she built the machines after she left imperium and sold them for a high price, but she built another one after lloyd took her in!!!! and i firmly believe in this theory.

she's TIRED of drinking water because that's all imperium ever supplies their citizens. however, she does like coffee occasionally!

arin

he loves loves loves chocolate milk. he's a chocolate milk guy for sure!!! unfortunately he is probably lactose intolerant, plus drinking it reminds him of the time his parents would give choccy milk to him every day before school starts, so he stopped drinking them after the merge. but he started drinking it again when lloyd took him in and then he stopped again after he left the team. wow okay sorry i didn't expect this to be sad

riyu

a fireball??? water??? probably??????

BONUS:

lord ras

pure rage. that's it thank you!

[luthordamnvers]

8 & 18 & 19 & 24 & 30

👀❤️

8. if you had to write a sequel to a fic, you’d write one for…

A sequel itself, I think I would love to explore medieval AU fic. I have no idea what about, but I loved that little world. Also, 23'sSupercorptober, also same thing. I could keep writing on that world, I'm just not sure what about 😂 ALSO ALSO, for mayhem fic @snowydragonscave and I had to actively stop ourselves because we could have kept writing and adding details, but we felt that we were running out of time.

18. if you keep them, share a deleted sentence or paragraph from a published fic

This was from mayhem's fic, I did include part of it (i think, it's a blur) but think I rewrote it. I don't tend to keep many deleted scenes. This was my first draft of the start of the fic, but it felt confusing and disjointed, so back to the chalkboard i went, lol. She loves a routine. She wakes up at 6:10 AM, takes a quick shower and hits the building’s gym. She stretches and uses the treadmill for 10 minutes, before hitting the rowing machine for 20 minutes, in 1-minute intervals training, and then she does some stretches to cool down. She returns to her own penthouse, to take a more relaxing shower, painstakingly apply makeup over her body and face, and dresses herself for the day. Sometimes, she even has a quick breakfast; most of the time, she drinks a cup of espresso, and runs towards the door. It works for her. Once upon a time, she would do some extra squats and deadlifts at the gym, to keep up with her fencing training, but that was when she was a too young college kid and didn’t have a company to run. Now she can dedicate no more than 35-minutes daily to her workout, to make it to the office before 8:00 AM.  She’s still getting used to her new routine, after years of avoiding LuthorCorp, now it’s been almost a year since she had to face the reality of taking over the company. In all honesty, no one was happy about it. Not the board, not Lex, definitively not her, but the Luthors have majority Lillian just put her name forward, for only God knows what reason, when Lex was arrested.  Everything just piled up and was what made her take the decision to move an entire company to the other side of the country. Because her brother went into a murderous spree, to kill one single being. Her first move as acting CEO was to move headquarters. The next one was to rename the company, separate it from the Luthor name, maybe it could survive whatever sentence Lex was about to get. The move has been in the works for almost a year, and Lena has been traveling to and fro the west-coast since the decision had been made and she assumed the charge of her family’s company.

19. the most interesting topic you’ve researched for a fic

I really liked the research about witchcraft, actually. it was very superficial, of course, but all the meaning of flowers and intention was really fun. I do really superficial research, tbh, especially when I realized that I was doing pretty deep research and never using it, or it was like A LINE in the fic, and that took so much time that I figured I just needed to check if I could get away with it 😂

24. how do you recharge when you’re not feeling creative?

In all honesty, part of my brain is always thinking about creating something, it's not something i can turn off, but, when i'm in no writing mode, I read fics, watch movies and tv. Go for a drive. Lowkey always watching youtube. Recently i've been trying to draw more, tho, i think that counts as a creative thing???

30. share a fic you’re especially proud of

Will forever be proud of my first one [D.E.B.S. AU]

Thank you for asking, darling 💜

[Ask Game]

[sidhewrites]

Chapter 11! We got hot plot! I am so keenly aware that this is a first draft and going to be edited so heavily once it's all on the page! One of the major notes I Have for myself consistently is to make Kaz more active in causing the plot to happen overall. Right now she seems to be a bit more of a pinball protag, so I'm going to have to do a lot of fixing in later drafts.

I also realize I'm seriously lacking tertiary/background characters? Kaz and Josie need friends lol. Now taking suggestions for other weird gay college kids that live in generic college town usa

Project Info

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

For the record, this is every bit as always as we both thought it would be. Josie and I sit at a very deliberate distance from each other on one of the brightly colored benches in the university’s student lounge. It’s a thoroughly modern building with glass walls and a wealth of amenities, but there aren’t many students to be found on a Friday afternoon, likely preferring to spend the start of their weekend having fun, or at least away from school. 

As a peace offering, I get us both cans of coffee from a vending machine, and hold one out for her as I flop down onto the bench across from her. 

“Do you drink anything other than coffee?” She asks, but takes the can anyway. Her fingers brush against mine, and we both freeze for a moment. 

I employ my usual method of smoothing out an awkward moment by saying something very smart and witty: “Sure. Sometimes I drink pure espresso like it’s a vodka shot.” 

For the record, I’ve only ever did that three times in my life, and every single time I told myself I’d never do it again. 

I push myself as far away from her on the small bench as possible while she sets up her laptop on the table in front of us, carefully avoiding looking at me. 

Half of me wants to call the whole thing off. I say I have to be somewhere else that I forgot about until just now, or just say fuck it and outright apologize for agreeing to meet in the first place. But the other, louder half of me is determined to be civil and polite and prove that we can get through a single half hour video like adults. 

I am keenly aware of the space my body takes up as she pulls up the Haunted Archivist’s website. My fingers grip the cold aluminum of the coffee can, my feet sweat in the socks I’ve worn all day and the work boots I wear everywhere. The sports jersey I’m wearing rubs against my skin, and I try to focus on that instead of the way Josie’s choker bobs with her throat when she swallows or the way her auburn hair falls over her shoulder. I don’t look at her stomach hanging over her waistband or think about how much I want to grab her, and how easily I could pull her towards me and lose myself in her. 

Before I know it, I’ve downed the whole can of coffee. 

“This was a mist—“ I say, right as Josie says, “Got it! Ready?”

She flushes for a second then, and leans back. “Oh, sorry. What was that?”

“This was a mistake,” I say again before I can help myself. 

A flash of fear and pain darkens her expression, so I act without thinking, and hold up the coffee. “This. I’m gonna regret it in about an hour.”

Relief floods Josie’s body and I see her almost sag with relief as she nods. “That’s for certain. Ready?”

She starts the video, and the Haunted Archivists begin with their usual affair. Shots of past videos flash across the screen as they introduce themselves and what they do, followed up with talking heads of Lourdes and Mick introducing this month’s subject. 

I glance over at Josie as they run through a list of noted ghosts in town, and she mumbles under her breath when she forgets a few that only a small group of locals know. 

Elitist, I think fondly. 

They start with the Barkeep, then the Kramer twins and the Librarian, running down the list until it’s time for their last and most exciting overnight investigation in the graveyard. 

Mr. Ngo appears on the screen, doing an interview in his office as he introduces the graveyard and its history.

“Yeah, boss!” I say, pointing at the screen. “If he’s not watching this right now, I’m going in tomorrow to show him.” It’s my day off, but I don’t even care. He looks great, even if he did ultimately forego the cowboy hat. 

They show my interview next, and I immediately want to crawl into the nearest hole as it plays. 

“Aw, you look great,” she says, which does nothing to help. 

It’s a mercy when they finally move on to the actual investigation of the graveyard, and we watch as they set up various tools and equipment to detect ghosts all over the graveyard. The entire event looks much more interesting on camera than it did in real life, and I wonder if [something about the magic of movie editing]. From my point of view, they had wandered about, spent a lot of time not talking, and wrote down a lot of notes. But in the video itself, [something else]. Even the ouija board session looks cool and dramatic in the video, and I’m half lost in the story, ridiculous pad it is.

And then Josie pipes up: "Wait. Rewind a bit?" Her face is pale as she presses the arrow keys back to the moment right before Renfield knocks over the ouija board, and presses play.

"Is anyone there?" Mick asks again. "Anyone want to talk to us?"

The planchette moves to YES.

"Who are you? Is this Lucille Blue?"

The planchette circles the board senselessly and moves back to YES.

They ask Lucille a few more questions before the voice over narrates, "It was at this time we heard yelling off in the distance. Fortunately, nobody was hurt. Unfortunately..." Renfield bursts through the scene, knocking over the board, with me hot on his heels.

Josie taps the space bar again. The video pauses, and she looks up at me with wide eyes.

"What?"

"Didn't you see the video?"

"Yeah. Millions of people just saw me embarrass myself on camera. What's your point?"

"They didn't say goodbye."

"What?"

"The Archivists. They didn't say goodbye before ending the session."

I snort, taken aback. "Well, they didn't exactly have a choice."

"That's bad. If they don't say goodbye, then the ghost is released into the world. It's not tied to the ouija board anymore."

I press my lips together, fighting hard not to laugh. She knows I don't believe in this stuff, but she still seems to expect me to react to this like it's a life-changing calamity. "Josie...

"No, Kaz, I'm serious. They opened a door into the afterlife by inviting anyone to the session, and then didn't close it properly."

"You realize how you sound right now, right? There's no door -- or a metaphysical door," I rush to add before Josie can interrupt. "They were moving the planchette on their own. You know that, don't you? It wouldn't be good content if they don't have something to show for it."

She shoots me a glare.

I feel my jaw tighten, and my brows raise in disbelief.

[They argue.]

"Enough. I don't want to hear it," she says, and stands. "I've got to do some research."

"I'm not letting you into the graveyard after closing," I call, and huff as Josie all but slams the door behind her. I don't mean to antagonize her like this, but we've had this argument a hundred times over. Josie believes in the supernatural as much as she believes in the weather app on her phone. I, meanwhile, have a bit more common sense, and know that a 30% chance of rain means nothing in the middle of summer when we don't see a single cloud for weeks on end. [Find a way to make this less clunky]

[Transition. Something happens. Josie corners Kaz at work. Josie is bringing up the idea of reaching out tot he HA, bringing them back, then...]

I don't even let her finish. "Absolutely not."

"But--"

"I know you're a fan, but this is so wildly inappropriate. I could lose my job over this, and Mr. Ngo would lose any chance of follow ups. Do you know how much they paid for film permits here?"

"Seriously? You're worried about money?"

"A lot, Jo."

"Come on--"

"That money is helping us pay for [something important.] We can't risk losing out on future [whatever]."

Josie shot me a look. "You're just saying no because I'm the one asking you."

"Josie." I mean, she's a little right. I don't want to admit it, especially because I would never agree to this kind of thing anyway unless it was directly from Mr. Ngo, but there's a special sort of vindication in being allowed to refuse Josie this thing that's so incredibly important to her, and is so incredibly out of the realm of realistic expectations.

[Arguing.]

I storm off, leaving Josie in the student union alone, and make a beeline for home. I don’t even think about the route I take until I’m halfway through the graveyard, fists clenched and half blind as the sun sinks further below the horizon.

I can’t help but notice a flower pot besides a grave. The flowers are wilted. I’ll have to replace them on my next shift.

Tag List

@adaughterofathena

@ambreeskyewriting

@carnelianflames

@feather-dancer

@halfbloodlycan

@nadunacreates

@serenanymph

@vigilantdesert

[wellsinvesting]

general information.

full name harry theodore wells

preffered name tad

age 33

date of birth august 5th

place of birth southampton new york

zodiac leo

gender cis male

pronouns he/him

nationality american

religion agnostic

orientation bisexual

personality.

positive traits energetic, active, capable, charismatic

negative traits self occupied, braggart, gossip,

likes karaoke, espressos, spirituality, animals

dislikes rudeness, bigotry, paying taxes, cheaters, red meat

hobbies surfing, traveling, yachting, fine dining, tennis, ultimate frisbee

moral alignment tbd.

headcanons.

tad's mom gave birth to him in a water birth at the family's beach home in the hamptons, right at the beginning of summer. this led to a long standing joke about tad yearning for the sea as spends every summer on the water.

tad is a level three reiki healer. he takes it very seriously.

doesn't eat red meat. he's pretty health conscious and tries to avoid processed food.

sometimes has his nails done because it makes him feel 'cunty'

his lucky underwear is a pair of hello kitty boxers

was a brown belt in akido before sada insisted he learn something more 'useful' with 'real world applicability' and began learning krav maga.

biography.

Tad and his siblings were second generation immigrants from the Philippines. Thanks to their parents and grandparents Tad, Becky, and Doug were damn well guaranteed an easy life. Grandpa had worked in corporate finance with a number of big name companies and dad had continued the work during his own lifetime. Their family name had become respectable within the circles they worked and there was clear intention for Tad and Doug to carry the family business on. Doug was several years older and had already been working in dad’s shadow by the time Tad was graduating college.

He still isn’t sure if it was greed or the need to prove himself to the family, but Tad made a very stupid choice that cost his family almost everything they’d worked for. A rival company had made Tad an offer--a damn good offer--and he made the mistake of thinking that just because he had a finance degree he knew anything about the world of money management. The reality was cutthroat, dangerous. When that much money was on the line.. People.. Companies.. Were willing to do just about anything to protect their investments.

Doug and dad were left dealing with the mess Tad had made and he was all but excommunicated from the family. He spent a few years doing nothing jobs and going nowhere before Sada finally wore him down and he accepted the offer to work for her. He figured he’d already lost the things that were most important to him, going to jail for white collar crime didn’t really scare him anymore.

The last thing he expected was for things to actually work out. He began making more money than he knew what to do with and his loyalty to Sada only deepened. She became the only family he had, some fucked up aunt who offered him blow as a reward for successful investments. Ria had been the jewel in his crown. He’d been in love with her from the moment they met and he was willing to spend all the money in the world to make her his.

Tad got stuck in the chaos of the winter supply runs and ended up on the far side of the city with a broken ankle. He was lucky enough to find a kind stranger who helped him survive the winter by taking him back to her farm. With his ankle now healed, Tad was finally able to make the journey back home and bring some interesting supplies thanks to the famer.

[bravevolunteer]

@unknownths asked: Michael hasn't noticed her yet on account of his... slightly distant but laser focused stare into the diner's complimentary coffee. The toddler has made her way over from her table in the corner of the dining area almost to his seat, mesmerized by the cartoon characters on the uniform that he has yet to change out of. "F'eddy," she announces loudly, matter-of-factly, not fazed when Michael just about jumps out of his skin. "Sorry---!" The waitress rushes over and scoops the child up in her arms, balancing her as best as she can on her hip, though she's definitely getting to be too big for that. She points now, babbling her own pronunciation of the characters' names. Charlie hushes her. "Ruby that's enough. Sorry, someone came in the other day with a bag from that place. She's been... obsessed since. Can I get you another coffee?" And please don't ask for a manager.

MICHAEL'S GAZE is glued to the contents of the mug for far too long, the temperature slowly lowering as he occasionally stirs it or takes a sip. He's slightly hunched over the counter, eyes glazed over, clearly stuck in his own head. It's an odd time, he hasn't slept in... fuck if he knows, and all attempts to scrub what he saw on his last shift from his mind fall flat. Next best option is drowning it in espresso ( it lets him avoid whatever his mind will conjure up for the next nightmare for a little while ) and listening to the bustle of the diner around him. Flickering lights, an active kitchen, normal music through a slightly busted speaker... it's better than Freddy's.

The sudden voice jolts him from his thoughts, jumping in his seat and nearly spilling the coffee as he whips around to find... a toddler, staring and pointing at his shitty, Fazbear Branded jacket. Michael barely even has time to process what just happened before the waitress who gave him his coffee swoops in and picks her up, shushing her and apologizing as he just kind of... stares. Blinking a couple times as his brain catches up, Michael realizes the kid must be her's. At least that makes sense, though he doesn't really... know how to go about this. He isn't mad, though ( it's honestly a welcome distraction ).

"Uh—" Glance at the mug, almost empty. "Yeah, sure. And it's fine, she just... surprised me," He exhales, glancing at the kid, Ruby, who seems to still be intrigued by his jacket, just a little subdued. "... Does she wanna take a look at it? I've got a million of these things." Michael is shrugging off his jacket before he gets an answer, turning it around so the graphic is visible.

[knmaskitten]

Espresso

Pairing: Hinata Shouyou/reader.

Summary: In which you encounter your old love, Hinata, one random day walking down the street. This takes a huge impact on you. You reminisce all of the good old and nostalgic days alongside Karasuno, but specially algonside Hinata.

warnings / tags: Afab/female reader. No use of y/n. Reencounter after breakup. Oikawa Tooru hits on you. A little bit of a physical description at the end, I avoid mentioning stuff like hair color or skin color so it shouldn’t be that much of an issue.Reader wants to be a pro volleyball player. Reader has a huge academic validation (it is kind of part of her personality). A lot of fluff. Hinata avoids his feelings ergo avoids reader. Huge confession at the end. I did not proof read this. You basically are Karasuno’s third manager.

notes: This little reader insert was written in one sitting so I vehemently apologize if I made any grammatical mistakes or punctuation. Also, not very important but still good to know, english is not my first language so read this with that in mind. I first posted this on AO3 so if you want to read my stuff first here it is.

wc: 5,348.

One afternoon, you were walking down the street when, all of a sudden, you saw Hinata Shouyou walking by. He looked exactly the same as he did when you were teenagers (perhaps almost the same; he had a lot more muscle now). He was all alone, shopping at a nearby coffee shop. You were startled; you hadn't seen him since high school, and now he was just standing there. He looked very focused while reading the menu, probably thinking of his order while he waited patiently in a very large line of clients—at least twenty—who looked very annoyed at the pace of the girl at the register.

It was a very well-known fact that you couldn't work under pressure; even your friends mocked you for it. "You are so easy to break!" your best friend liked to say. "You look so cute when you're a flustered mess!" and so on and so forth. Despite all of that, you played volleyball professionally, which meant being pressured all the time. You were a spiker, so that meant following the setter's leads, sometimes being a blocker, and saving the ball. You had to be versatile, all of this in a very short amount of time—fractions of seconds even. But this? This was a different kind of pressure; you had absolutely no idea what to do. And you had your grounds for stating this.

Four years ago, when you were in your first year of high school, when you were sixteen,. You joined the men's volleyball team at Karasuno. You knew this was probably going to take up a lot of your time, but you needed club activities for credits and, well, distraction. You were engulfed in your studies and your desire to be one of the top students at school. Your head professor encouraged you to take breaks and see life in another light, to study a little bit with more ease, and to practice a sport (you quite literally sucked at sports). She said balance was the key to a happy and fulfilling life (or so she said). So you ended up as a helper for the team—not quite a manager but also not a player—and specifically for Kiyoko and Yachi.

Naturally, you were nervous. People kind of gave you the ick; you weren't that much of an extrovert but also not a full introvert. At the end of class, you waited a little bit more just to avoid bumping into any of your classmates on the way home. You also liked to eat lunch alone at your desk. Peaceful and tidy. That’s how you liked it. So this is why it also did not make sense why you chose the volleyball team when you knew how messy and loud things could get. And you absolutely did not know how to handle the situation.

You already spoke with Kiyoko Shimizu, a very stoic girl, and Hitoka Yachi, kind of shy but very lovely. Both were managers of the team (well, Hitoka-san was just kind of a manager in training), and they knew them very well. They talked about the activities you will have to perform if you join the team. They were both very welcoming to you, so you felt a little bit pressured to accept, which, at the end, you ended up indeed accepting.

Standing in front of the school’s gym, you were frozen in place. Unable to actually open the gates and confront your fears, which, you thought, were just unreasonable, people were not going to murder you, humiliate you, or anything like that. It was simply an irrational fear that was tormenting your poor self. Practice had already started with the sound of the ball hitting the court and multiple men shouting stuff like “Nice serve!" “Nice receive!” “One more!” or, seldom, "Hinata, you idiot!”. It sounded like they were having a good time doing what they loved, and that made you feel a little bit more at ease. Volleyball was for them what acing a test was for you; these two very different poles had the same feeling in common. So, you took a very deep breath and opened the doors. Mom did not raise cowards.

“Hi, sorry to interrupt; I’m the new helper.” You spoke in a very low tone, almost faint but hearable. Almost instantly, as if you had a magnet, a guy who was about to hit the ball looked at you. He had his head shaved and looked spellbound the moment you walked in, so he didn’t calculate where the ball was heading and just hit it without noticing its direct trajectory towards you. Squeaking, you placed your hands in front of your face, receiving the ball with your arms. Wobbly, you fell to the ground, your knees hitting the hard wood floor. 

“Tanaka! you dumbass!”

“Oh my god, are you alright?”

“Im so so so so so so so so so sorry, oh gosh.”

You stood there, feeling queasy and blinking slowly, as if this wasn’t really happening. Noticing a lot of eyes on you, you forced yourself to focus on something, anything. Your first reaction was the hot feeling where the ball hit your arms; your veins were pumping blood swiftly, reminding you that you were indeed alive. And also, oh god, that feeling of adrenaline that hit you like a tempest—it felt so weirdly good.

“We might need to call an ambulance; she is not responding. Tanaka-senpai, you broke her.”

“I’m—I’m fine—” You decided to focus your eyes on the last voice you heard; it belonged to a ginger who looked like the bubbliest of them all. He was too short for him to be playing volleyball (you knew how much height mattered in this game) but it had a strange quality you couldn’t decipher either “You guys don’t need to call anything; I’m alright. Better than ever, hah.” laughing it off, you shrugged and stood up with the help of a white-haired dude who exuded gentleness.

“We are really sorry this happened; our teammates react poorly to...girls, in general.” The alluded reacted very hurt by this; they looked fiercely offended. Squinting your eyes, you looked at the guy who almost blew your teeth off (it actually wasn’t that bad, but you will always keep saying you almost died that day). He stopped looking apologetic and started looking a lot more like someone who was about to flirt with you, gesturing towards you with his hand. He spoke his next words with a tone similar to honey.

“I’m so sorry, you beautiful, beautiful girl. Darling, accept this apology I bestow upon you.” He took both of your hands in his, and when he was about to kiss the area where When the ball met your skin, Kiyoko slapped him at the nape of his neck. She looked fierce, severe, and even enraged.

“Guys, this is the new helper on the team. Please give her a warm welcome.” Her tone stayed the same throughout the whole sentence, except at the end, where she raised her tone just a bit: “And do not flirt with her because I will foresee a proper punishment for anyone who dares to do so.” 

“Well said, Kiyoko-san! There’s nothing else to see here; she’s fine; let’s pick up where we left off.” You knew he was the captain just by looking at him.

“Yes! Daichi-san!”

Karasuno’s volleyball team was quite literally full of eccentric people. You turned towards Hitoka and Kiyoko. You felt oddly safe around them; they behaved like sisters with you even though you were a mere student. As of right now, you were just a stranger to them, and they were warm with you; it was the kind of warmth you sought out on rainy days and stormy nights. It felt like home.

“I’m really sorry I made such a fuss; I just wanted to introduce myself.” You apologized as you walked closer to them. By making weird gestures with your hands, you tried to ease the tension that was forming right now.

“Do not worry, please. I’m very adamant when it comes to the girls here."  Kiyoko replied, moving her head up and down full of resolve. Hitoka did the same thing, but she looked a lot more expressive than her Senpai; she even messed her hair doing so. “By the way, you have good reflexes. That was a nice save.”

“Thank you,” you said while feeling flustered. “So who is everybody?”

“I’ll introduce you to them.”

And so she did; you met every single tenacious member of the team. And you worked alongside them as your duties required. They welcomed you with open arms and hearts, considering you part of the team, as if you were even a player. You must admit you did not expect this, not this kind of treatment, nor how they saw you as one of them. You got close to various members, especially Sugawara and Daichi; they behaved like parents with you. Sugawara looked after you a lot; he asked if you ate or how you did on your tests. Since you were a perfectionist when it came to grades, he usually congratulated you and gave you a warm hug. Daichi wasn’t that expressive, but he started seeking you out at lunch time so you could eat with them (even though you were just a first-year).

This shone through whenever Tanaka or Nishinoya tried to compliment you on your looks or on how good the uniform looked on you. Sugawara scolded them like a mother and Daichi yelled at them angrily. Both Tanaka-san and Noya-san were very captivated by you (or all of the managers of the team, for that matter), and they quickly gained confidence in you. You learned to laugh those comments off. As you started to realise it was just an innocent and playful game they had, they did treat you with a lot of respect and good manners at the end of the day. 

Asahi had a hard time warming up to you. He really intimidated you for the matter; he was almost seventeen centimeters higher than you, and he was so broad and big. You thought he had a personality that fit his physical appearance, but you were so wrong. You had to gulp down all of your fears and walk up to him, and with that, you started a friendly relationship. It took some time, but you managed to get him to ask you to hang out with him or correct his spikes. That felt amazing to you.

Tsukishima and Yamaguchi became very close to you; they treated you as their equal, and for Tsukishima, that was quite a lot to ask for. He often asked you questions about homework and even asked you to study with them, which you happily accepted. This was your area of expertise, so of course you would say yes. You could help and teach people all day if you could do so; it was one of your many passions.

As for Hinata and Kageyama, you were only close with the latter, as you were in the same class as him and even sat next to his desk. You usually offered to help him study since you knew he had a hard time when it came to academics, and you also felt that it was a little bit of a help to the team since they had to keep their grades up. You almost cried when Kageyama got a 70 on an English test, all because you both had spent the last three weeks studying very intensely. 

You managed to keep a good relationship with the team as the weeks went by, but you still did not know how to get close to Hinata. Everyone warmed up to you except the most extroverted of them all. You felt a little bit bad because of this, but you were able to overcome a lot of obstacles to get to where you are with the team. First of all, speaking with them was terrifying at the beginning because they all had such marked and strong personalities; everybody was also different and unique in their own ways. Secondly, they were very serious about volleyball, so you had to learn the sport very well to actually get close to them. This proved to be very good for you; something in your heart tugged whenever you saw or read about volleyball. Something started to bloom in you slowly but surely, all thanks to them. And finally, you had to open yourself up to them; you had to actually show them what you were made of—your fears, passions, and personality. And that definitely was not peaceful and tidy; on the contrary, it was messy and complicated, but it felt like being alive for the first time.

So, with all of that behind you, you still did not manage to understand why Hinata didn’t gravitate towards you or show interest in knowing you besides his usual "Hello, smartie!” or his wide, toothy smiles. You knew this was just shallow; it was something reserved for everybody; it wasn’t something you two shared together, only the two of you. You also did not understand why you always paid a lot more attention to Hinata than the rest of them. You held your breath every time he scored a point with one of his fast spikes or how high he jumped; you were always mesmerized when you saw him play. At the beginning, you judged him by his height, and he managed to prove you wrong. With his speed and jumps, he is able to fight in the skies alongside all of the tall guys. This fact alone had you on the clouds; you never saw someone fight this hard for something, not even yourself, so it lit something up within yourself. You couldn’t decipher what it was, but you felt the warmth there, tingling.

Hinata slowly filled your head with him. Whenever you went to practice, you couldn’t avoid looking his way or paying attention to what he said when he missed a point or whenever he drank water. You felt your hairs crisp up when he asked something of you—towel, water, what time it was, anything. It just didn’t matter what it was; he had you in a freaking chokehold.

Today was one of the days you had to clean up the gym. The team didn’t practice today, so it was your labour to tidy up. When you came in, you did not expect to see Hinata practicing. He looked a little bit annoyed with himself. Kageyama was nowhere to be seen; it looked like he decided to practice all by himself today. So naturally, a brilliant idea crossed your mind, and you couldn’t rationalize when the word came out of yourself.

“Hey Hinata! Do you want help?” You were wearing your PE class uniform so nothing was really stopping you (besides the fact that you did not know how to properly play volleyball outside of theory). He looked taken aback, almost surprised to see you there. Before he could say anything, you added, “I have time.”

“But you don’t play volleyball.”

“Teach me.”

“Huh!? but I’m not that skilled to do so.” He replied, frustrated.

“Teach me, Hinata-kun! I want to learn how to play. I want to be a great spiker!” You shouted, feeling a little bit overwhelmed. You felt your cheeks warm up as they got coloured with a bright pink color. Hinata observed you silently; he looked surprised by your little demonstration of feelings.

“Alright.”

And so you spent the next 4 hours practicing with him. Time flew by and you had to do your cleaning duties in a hurry and clumsily. Hinata showed you how to control the ball and spike. You practiced until you got at least a perfect spike, and at the end of the day, you were a perfectionist. This weirdly made your heart skip a beat; this felt so close and intimate that you were having trouble believing it happened. So, before you had to leave, you stopped Hiinata at the entrance. Something changed in you today—the feeling of the ball in your hand, the view of the court. Something clicked.

“I want to be a pro at volleyball.” You confesed. You saw how his eyes focused on you and how slowly a frown appeared in his face. Something burned in his eyes and in yours too. Passion flew in the night air. “Help me, Hinata-kun; I want to achieve my dream.”

“Let’s meet up after school on the days where we don’t have practice.” He replied sternly. He meant it; you knew just by looking at him. This was your opening, finally something that you both shared.

And so you did; you both met up every day when you didn’t have practice. You slowly started to get better at volleyball, and you also started to practice by yourself, including training with weights and cardio. With Hinata’s teachings, you could at least get a grasp on how things worked. And each and every day, as you both walked home together, you would chat about anything, slowly growing closer together. Until today,  when he stopped you. 

“I’m very glad we can be teammates on the court,” He shook his head and gave you the most sincere smile he could give you. “But I think its time you asked for the help of the others as well. You are getting extremely good, and I want you to push your limits.”

You would lie if you said it didn’t break your heart a little. You understood where it came from, but at the very same time, you despised every sentence of it and the fact that you got better at volleyball. But you were proud as well; there is a reason you hid your feelings.

“Yeah, you’re right.” That was all you said before waving with your hand and saying, “I’m in a hurry today; I’ll see you tomorrow at practice. Get home safely; goodbye, Hinata,” and with that, you ran. Very fast. Since you were training, you had the ability to run a few meters before you got tired. Little streams of tears ran down your cheeks. Everything was just going so well. What changed? Did you do something? You definitely feel awful right now.

And so, when you showed up to practice the next day, you beamed at everybody and declared that you wanted to practice with them. They refused at first, but with Hinata backing you up (this made your heart ache), you were able to convince them and start practicing with Karasuno as a spiker. Noya-san taught you how to receive and dive, and you learned in no time. Tsukishima helped you with your block, and everybody helped you with your serve. In no time, you were a worthy rival for the team. You had speed and good reflexes; Kageyama loved to be your setter. 

All of this had a very big downside: you grew apart with Hinata; it didn’t matter how good you got; without him, you felt empty, as if someone took the blankets out of your bed, as if someone gave you cold pizza. It was a lonely, empty feeling. You knew he started to avoid you; it all started with your gaze, then the amount of beaming smiles he gave you, then the amount of high-fives he started, and then the amount of compliments he gave you. He started to frown whenever you were around and started to avoid you. All of this did not make any sense to you. 

You decided to brush past every single interaction with Hinata and focus on the important thing: your job as a team helper and rising volleyball player.

For the first one, you had to start planning stuff alongside Kiyoko and Hitoka because the team was going to go against Aoba Johsai, against the fearable Oikawa Tooru. You have heard stories about him, and you heard from Kageyama that he learned thanks to him, so naturally you feel a very strong desire to meet the guy and analyze every move he has. And well, you’ve also heard that he is very handsome. 

And well, for your career, you started going to the women’s volleyball club (they made a very big exception for you because they were in strong need of a spiker) even when it was very late in the year. It was very nice how your itineraries match; your practice with the women’s team was just the day the guys didn’t have. Everything was going great. 

Today you had practice with the women’s team. You were wearing the uniform (it felt really cool) and joking with your teammates, given the chance. Today your practice was positioned on the same day as the guys, so as soon as it finished, you rushed off to the men’s gym to see the guys.

“Heya!” You saluted while entering.

“Your uniform!” Tanaka screamed; he looked head over heels at the way you looked. Noya-san approached you and got down on one knee.

“Noya-san, stand up! Stand up!” You warned.

Sugawara came close to you and looked at them very disapprovingly. He shushed them. “You always disrupt our practises,” he joked lightly.

“Tanaka’s and Noya’s fault.” You looked accusatory towards them. “Is the practise over?”

“Yeah, we were just stretching. You came to discuss tomorrow’s game?” Daichi replied to you.

“Yes, I was investigating the team, and I have information. I went to one of their matches a few days ago, and I have some notes to share.”

And so you commented on everything you had to, every little detail you were able to grasp. How they served and what they needed to reinforce. Everybody paid attention to you very closely, except Hinata. You ignored the feeling in the pit of your stomach—how acidic and wrong it felt. When you finished, everybody applauded your hard work on the topic of tomorrow’s game. Given the fact that you were as busy as ever, you still managed to be present. And you felt proud about that because you were juggling so much at the same time and doing it well. Everything was going great, and you never felt like this before.

With those feelings over your head, you went home to sleep and got ready for the game against Aoba Johsai. It was hard falling asleep; you couldn’t reconcile your sleep. Everything came crashing at you. You thought about the possibility of them losing, which haunted you. You thought about Hinata, how he preferred not to have you in his life, and how that hurt. You thought about your future—about your dreams, your hopes, and your fears—until you fell asleep.

When you woke up at six in the morning, you got ready in fifteen exact minutes. You were acting on a whim, all because of nerves. You even put on some makeup for the occasion. Today you decided to wear a black sport shirt and your jet black leggings, pairing them with the Karasuno jacket. For comfort, you picked your volleyball shoes.

 You were very confident in Karasuno and his teammates, but nevertheless, you still felt jittery. Your legs felt wobbly and weak, even though you were training to gain muscle on them. Today was the day you saw Oikawa on court. You longed to see Hinata play at his fullest and to see his super-fast spike attacks. You decided to study for a little bit before you went out, and it also helped calm your nerves.

When you left your house, it was still very early in the morning, but you went walking so it was going to take you some time to get there. Your mom kissed you on the forehead, saying how proud she was and how much the club has helped you, and you thanked her and ran off before you could start to bawl your eyes out.

Aoba Johsai was a private school, and it showed. The building was beautiful and their gym was big and wide. The court looked pristine and well-taken care of. You came early to inspect the enemy’s terrain. To your surprise, you encountered the volleyball team.

“Karasuno High School,” said a brown-haired guy. You recognized him as Oikawa.

“Oikawa Tooru.” You stated that you were looking serious.

“Don’t be so harsh on me; you scare me!” He pleaded. He looked really handsome, as everybody kept telling you. When you observed their match, you were not able to be this close to him. You must admit it, he deserves his rumors of having millions of fangirls.

“I’m one of the managers of Karasuno’s team. I came early.”

“You came to observe while we practised? or to meet me?” He smiled arrogantly.

“Actually both. I want you to teach me how to serve.” You said bluntly, “I’m on the women’s volleyball team, and I’ve been observing you; teach me, please.”

“Ah, you are quite the interesting manager.” He chuckled and frowned. “Alright, with one condition, you have to look at me when we go against your team. Look at me and learn.”

“Alright.”

You spent the next half hour playing with Oikawa; he was so tough, you could tell. He showed you his power serves and how he managed to always get them right. You knew this kind of precision and technique could only be the result of years and years of practise.

“Look, Miss Manager, you are a good volleyball player, but you lack confidence. That is the first thing you should consider when you put your feet on the court. ” He gave you genuine advice, to which you did not reply. You just gave him a glance and a huffed yes.

When the team arrived, you and Oikawa had already finished. You learned a lot from him, and you would lie if you said he wasn’t very skilled. You went straight to where Kiyoko and Hitoka were. You listened carefully how coach Ukai gave them instructions and words of encouragement. And as that happened, you three went to get a good place to sit and watch the match while cheering Karasuno up.

The match was very hard; you focused on how they all played, and you felt a tug at your heart whenever the blocked Hinata or  his spikes didn’t score. You cheered whenever they scored, blocked, or served successfully. You yelled encouraging words towards every member of the team, and you shouted even harder when it was Hinata’s turn. At this point, you didn’t care about your appearance, how you behaved, or how well you hid your feelings. You just needed to express yourself. And, as you promised, you saw every move Oikawa made—how he moved, his gestures and mannerisms, the way he clutched the ball. Everything. And you learned technique, and you also learned that you should definitely be practicing more because its the little details that make the whole game change.

When the match finished and they won, you felt full. Oikawa looked more fueled than ever, and the team looked as happy as one can be after beating such an enemy as Aoba Johsai. You, Kiyoko, and Hitoka hugged each other and chanted "Hurray.” Together. It was very close, though, so you still took notes on your little agenda. Some tactics that you made up in your mind while watching the game or little mistakes that cost us various points.

When you were leaving with the team, Oikawa stopped you. “I enjoyed teaching you, Miss Manager. If you ever want some help, call me.” He handed you a piece of paper. You were a little bit perplexed and taken aback. Was he hitting on you? For real? You couldn’t form a single thought at this. It was unforeseen and weird, so, when you were about to reply, an angry voice erupted from behind you.

“She doesn’t need your help, great king! Leave her alone!” And as Hinata was saying that, he took your wrist and pulled you out of there. You caught a glimpse of the confused faces of everyone while Hinata took you far, far from Aoba Johsai.

“Hinata. What’s going on?” You asked confusedly. He first ignores you, then marks territory when a guy asks you out. That makes zero sense. “Hinata, answer me.”

He stopped abruptly and turned around to look at you. His eyes were a little bit glassy and his cheeks flushed, and while he prepared to say his next sentence, you observed him closely, as close as you could, since you hadn’t seen him like this in weeks.

“Fine!” He shouted. “I like you! You confuse me a lot, and something inside me tells me to avoid you, but at the same time, I long for the time when we both practised together, just the two of us.” 

You inhaled some air to reply, but he was faster than you. “You really needed to be trained by other people and other playstyles; be fair with me. I’ve always wanted what was best for you. Whenever I am with you, my heart goes, Pam! Bam! Kaboom! Waaaaaam!” He really looked like he was hurting. “So sorry, sorry, but I couldn’t let that Great King get his way with you! Imagine—”

“Hinata.” You said.

“Imagine he did something to you; I would absolutely never forgive myself because—” He started rambling.

“Hinata!” You shouted.

“Huh?” He stopped talking and looked at you, more teary-eyed than ever.

“Can I kiss you?” You spat.

“Ah?! but—don’t you hate me? “ He asked.

“Yes or no.”

“Yes.”

And so you did. You crashed your lips with his in  a very messy but sweet kiss. Hinata’s lips tasted like a sweet and soft marshmallow; his kiss tasted like honey; and you felt as if this was what you needed for a long time. This was the root of your longing—this kiss and this moment with Hinata. You placed your hands on his sweaty hair and started caressing him in very careful circular motions. The kiss in reality didn’t last long, but for both of you, it lasted an eternity.

“Be my boyfriend.”

And after this incident, you and Hinata really did hit it off. You both were a good couple; you helped him with his exams, and he helped you with your jump (although you were already good at it). With the passing of months, you had to leave your position as manager to become a full-time volleyball player. That day, when the match against Aoba Johsai happened, you discovered that if you were not going to dedicate full time to volleyball, you better quit. Nevertheless, you still supported Karasuno; hell, you went to cheer up on your boyfriend every time he had a match.

You and Hinata lasted three years, then you both broke up to follow your careers in volleyball. You knew this was going to happen, but you both bid your farewell and went to different parts of the world to learn and practise volleyball. He was admitted to a great first-league volleyball team, and so were you.

Until today, four years later, when he stood in front of you. You still didn’t know what possessed you that day when you asked him for a kiss or what it was that was possessing you now, but you walked towards him. Just when the cashier asks for his order.

“I’ll have... a melon pan and...” He started saying:.

“And an espresso.” You completed.

He instantly turned around, and as if he saw a ghost, his eyes scanned you with surprise and fear. He didn’t really process what was happening; he only knew that he saw you. And you looked as pretty as he remembers, with your lovely hair that frames your face, your intense gaze, and your lips that looked like they needed him and only him. Meanwhile, the cashier looked perplexed.

“So the espresso goes or...?” She asked expectantly.

“Yeah, the espresso goes.” He replied, looking at you, “Actually, make those two, please.”

Thank you for reading <3

masterlist and more.

[broodynotte]

how about 47 through 49 of that oc meme ? (^":

OC questions! || @shimaniya​

47: Can your character draw? What do they like to draw? Do they doodle?

Bella enjoys drawing! Whether it looks good or not purely depends on the viewer, but she’s pretty decent. Has quite a few really nice pieces. However, she doesn’t draw people often. It’s mostly scenery she really enjoys doodling. Flowers, herbs, bumble bees, insects. Elemental symbols and different sigils of her own design. Sometimes her own interpretations of certain beasts of myth that you only hear of through description.

But every now and then when she’s in the park, or in a shop in town, she’ll see a very pretty girl and instantly feel the need to draw her. So among tons of drawings of fields and beasts, you’ll find portraits of random girls doing daily activities. 

49: Does your character like candy? Do they get sugar rushes? What are they like when they get a rush?

Bella has a huge sweet tooth lmao. I guess that’s kind of expected when your grandmothers make a world entirely dedicated to the theme of Halloween. If you’re from this family, you’re more than likely to end up with a love for sweets and treats. But! Yes. She always keeps like, a huge crystal bowl of candy in her room and is instant to proclaim to the household that she’s run out when it’s almost on empty. “Has anyone been taking candy from my bowl without asking??”

&& she does get sugar rushes and she actually is quite bashful about them because she never notices them, but other people sure do. She’s highly energetic and all over the place doing fifty things at once, talking too fast and getting very impatient when no one answers her quickly enough and just being like, “oh, nevermind”.

That only happens when she has a lot of candy, though. And she does binge on candy when she’s studying, so you’ll usually see her foot tappin’ and nails clickin’ on her books. She just can’t sit still lmao. She’s rocking back and forth and, by her magical nature, is radiating this very infectious energy that is giving everyone in the room the jitters if they’re sitting still - especially for a long duration of time. YOU GOTTA MOVE, GOTTA DO SOMETHING. GOTTA GO GOTTA GO GOTTA GO.

honestly, it makes me laugh. bella gets a sugar high and thus make everyone around her get a high without doing ANYTHING if they’re exposed to her for too long kdsfgkskfdg. WITCHES AND THEIR ENERGY.

[watchmegetobsessed]

BLIND EYE

A/N: i've had this idea stuck in my head for a while and im kinda satisfied with how it turned out! hope you guys will like it too!

WORD COUNT: 10k

WARNING: sexual content, lots of misscommunication, its an emotional rollercoaster

SUMMARY: Harry thought everything was going well in his marriage. Right until one day his wife left with no explanation and not he is stuck in the dark, waiting to find out how he can fight for what matters the most to him.

MASTERLIST | SUPPORT ME!

 “Will this bloody rain ever stop?” Harry grumbles under his nose as they finally reach the front door of the townhouse that’s covered from the pouring rain. His hands are buried deep in his jacket’s pockets as he impatiently waits for Mitch to open the door so they can finally escape the monsoon that’s been nonstop pouring for the past three days. Mitch chuckles softly as he turns the key in the lock.

“Aren’t you supposed to be used to the rain? You spent way too much time away from here.”

“Just because I’m British it doesn’t mean I have to like this shitty weather,” he scoffs, following his friend into the home Mitch and Sarah are renting for the upcoming weeks. Harry and the band are now located in London to record as much new material as possible before they need to get on the road again soon. 

“If you say so,” Mitch huffs out a small laugh as he kicks his wet boots off his feet, Harry doing the same with his trainers.

“Sarah’s not home?” he questions, hanging his jacket up. Mitch grows cautious at his question, though he made sure his wife would be out by the time they get here. It’s not that Sarah is trying to avoid Harry. It’s impossible, since they work together, but she has made plans with someone who is actually actively working on not running into the singer. 

“Uh, no. She is out with James,” he says, picking up a toy on his way to the living room, dropping it into the basket next to the couch. “I’ll put my phone on the charger, can you make us coffee? You know how the machine works, right?”

“Yeah, sure,” Harry nods and as Mitch heads upstairs to the bedroom, he walks into the kitchen, moving around like it’s his home. 

For a bit, the espresso machine’s noise cancels out everything else, Harry stands by it, staring out into the pouring rain through the sliding door that leads out to the small, lush green backyard. The townhouse is well-kept, Mitch and Sarah have rented it out several times when they had to spend more than just a few days in London and Harry thinks it suits the little family perfectly. 

Looking around in the kitchen he finds little reminders of the baby they welcomed not long ago, the bottles on the drying rack, the portable highchair they usually bring on tour as well and toys left scattered here and there. James has been a true blessing and Harry’s chest swells with pride every time he sees the little lad, knowing that he brought his parents together by recruiting them into the same band. 

When the machine stops working, Harry hears muffled voices coming from upstairs. Voices, as in not just Mitch’s.

He grabs his black coffee and curiously walks over to the bottom of the stairs, only to hear Mitch talking to his wife somewhere upstairs. So Sarah is home.

“Mitch?” he calls out, taking a small sip of his coffee. He hears footsteps and his friend appears on the stairs a few moments later, rushing down to join him, but he looks tense this time. “What’s up? Did I hear Sarah?”

“Yeah, she had to come back for something, but she’ll be leaving any minute. Come on, let’s settle in the kitchen.” Mitch gently grabs Harry’s arm and pulls him away from the stairs, but he resists, yanking his hold off of himself.

“What’s happening? I can’t see Sarah?” He chuckles with a puzzled look. 

“No, no, it’s just–”

And then he hears it. 

Harry would recognize her voice from a million others, it’s burnt into his mind and memories, and though it’s been a source of happiness and joy for long years in his life, now it makes his stomach drop and his throat goes dry.

“She’s here?” Harry frantically asks his friend.

“H, don’t. She doesn’t–”

Harry doesn’t let him finish, he rushes up the stairs without a second thought, looking for her. The door of the master bedroom is open, Sarah is standing there with James in her arms and when she spots him, her eyes widen.

“Harry–”

“I want to see her,” he pleads, slowly approaching the drummer, who is now walking towards him. She places a hand to his chest to stop him and he comes to a halt, though he is constantly trying to look over her shoulder, hoping to get a glimpse of the person in the bedroom.

“It’s not a good idea.”

“Sarah, I haven’t seen her in a month. I need to… Please!” he begs as panic is spreading through his veins from the thought of missing the chance of stealing a glimpse of her. It’s been the longest he had to spend apart from her and given the circumstances of how they parted the last time they saw each other, he is desperate to win some time with her.

“But she doesn’t–”

“It’s fine,” comes a voice from the bedroom and a moment later she steps out into the hallway and Harry’s vision blurs out everything around her.

One month felt like an eternity. After being joined by the hips for years, Harry lost contact with the person who means the most to him: his wife.

Sarah looks back at her friend, who just nods to reassure her she can leave them alone, though she glances back one last time before going down the stairs and giving them some privacy.

Harry feels like it’s the first time he is seeing her all over again. She is still just as gorgeous as he remembers, wearing a simple pair of jeans with a red knitted sweater. She is barely wearing any makeup, so he notices the circles under her eyes and his heart breaks all over again. Has she been having trouble sleeping? Was she recently sick? Is she not taking care of her? He has so many questions, but he knows he can’t just spill it all on her.

“Hey,” he breathes out instead, taking a hesitant step towards her, though they are still several feet apart. He is fighting the urge to reach out and touch her, caress her cheek, pull her into his arms and kiss her…

“Hi. Sorry, we weren’t supposed to be here, but James was a little cold so we came back for an extra jacket for him,” she explains, nervously crossing her arms over her chest and Harry feels like it’s her way of keeping him away and locked out of her private space. It hurts, seeing her act so cold towards him and knowing that he can do absolutely nothing about it.

“Don’t apologize for running into me. I’m glad to see you,” he softly says, taking another step forward, but this time she backs one too, hinting that she wants him to stay right where he is.

Harry clenches his jaw and bites his tongue, knowing that commenting on her cold act would just worsen his situation and it’s bad enough already. He fists his hands, but then forces himself to loosen the grip, not wanting to look like a threat in any way.

“How… How are you?” he asks, ignoring the millions of questions he wants to ask her.

“I’m fine,” she nods, but her voice is flat, lacks the brightness he is used to and it concerns him. “How are you?” she asks, more likely only out of politeness.

“I’m good. Just… working, you know.”

“Yeah, the usual,” she nods with a weak smile. 

There’s a few moments of awkward silence, something that never really happened between the two of them, not even when they were just getting to know each other back in the day. 

“Alright, I’ll just go–” she moves to walk past Harry, but he stops her, placing a hand on her arm, the touch taking both of them by surprise. 

“Wait, Y/N,” he pleads and her eyes look down at his hand on her. He moves it right away, hoping he didn’t overstep the boundaries that have been quite blurry lately. “I just… I don’t understand,” he admits, exhaling sharply.

“Harry…” she sighs. “I told you that I need ti–”

“Time, I get it. And I respect that. But I want to know what’s happening. You left me in the dark and I’m just…” he breathes out, so lost and desperate to find answers. “I want to know what’s happening. I can wait and give you time and space, but I need to at least know what I’m waiting for. What I can expect.”

She closes her eyes, a tortured frown plastered across her face as she bites into her bottom lip to stop her from crying. The past month has been tough for her as well, not just for Harry.

“I-I don’t… I don’t know what to say,” she shakes her head.

“Tell me a reason, Y/N. There has to be a reason behind this, right?” he demands, but she just shakes her head again.

“I can’t do this now. I’m sorry,” she blurts out before running past him and down the stairs. He immediately regrets for pushing her and though he goes after her, she is fast and out of the house before he could catch up with her and when he reaches the end of the stairs he is met with Sarah.

“Don’t go after her, okay?” she pleads with a gentle hand on his chest. Harry wants to ignore her and just chase after Y/N, but deep down he knows he should stay back.

“Sarah, I can’t fucking do this. She wouldn’t say a word to me,” he breaks down, his throat closing up from the wave of emotions that are washing over him.

“I know, but she needs time. She will come around, just be patient.”

“I would be patient if only I knew what I’m waiting for! Don’t you think I deserve to know why she suddenly wanted to be separated from me? She is my wife, Sarah.”

He is a mess, has been since one day he came home and found Y/N’s suitcase gone with some of her stuff, a note on the fridge.

“I need some time to think things through. I’m staying at my brother’s.”

That’s it, nothing more. When he frantically called her, she could barely get a few words out, just told him that she needs time and she wants to be separated for a while. She didn’t say why, she didn’t say how long and Harry could barely get him to accept it, but he wanted her back, so he knew he would have to do what she asked.

It’s been one month and Harry barely heard from Y/N. They exchanged a few occasional texts about technical things, but nothing more. Harry has been in the dark ever since and he is reaching the end of his limit.

“I know and I’m sorry,” Sarah softly says as she takes James from Mitch. “She’ll tell you when she’s ready.”

Harry’s eyes snap at her.

“So you know why she’s doing it?” he asks with wide eyes. Sarah opens her mouth and closes right away as she realizes how she just gave herself away. “Sarah, you need to tell me.”

“I can’t, I’m sorry.”

“Please, I’m begging you.”

“H, stop,” Mitch places a warning hand to his shoulder as Sarah takes her bag and heads towards the door.

“I’m so sorry, Harry,” she sighs before walking out.

Harry stares at the door for long moments, as if he was waiting for Y/N to come back, but it remains closed. When he turns around to face Mitch, he looks like just the shadow of his old self. He is not himself without his better half and that’s Y/N.

“It’s gonna be alright. You trust Y/N, right?” Mitch asks, as he gently ushers Harry back into the kitchen.

“With my whole life,” he answers without missing a beat.

“Then trust her now too.”

Harry can’t say a word to that. His mind is racing, memories with Y/N and anything that could possibly drive her away from him occupy his mind, but he can’t bring up anything. He thought things were going great, they even talked about trying for a baby soon. She took a 180 out of nowhere and she is like an enigma now, when Harry thought he knew his wife better than anyone.

He keeps telling himself that he needs to keep his faith and believe that she’ll come back. But at times when she can barely speak a few words with him he can’t help but think that his marriage is falling apart right in front of his eyes and he can’t do a single thing about it.

The days pass by painfully slowly and Harry finds himself sitting on an emotional rollercoaster. Some days he can barely keep himself from calling her or showing up at her brother’s place to talk to her. Some days he fully accepts that he needs to wait it out and she’ll return to him eventually. And the day between the two might be the worse, when he can’t decide how he is feeling or what he wants to do.

He only hears about her from Mitch and Sarah, though they only throw crumbles of information about her. Harry hates that they are so good friends to her as well, because now it’s not in his favor. Though Sarah keeps it from him most of the time when she goes to see Y/N, Harry is not stupid. He knows they meet up regularly and he’s never been more jealous of anyone.

Harry plans out a birthday dinner for Anne and sends the details to Y/N as well. After all, she is still his wife and he knows how close Y/N and Anne are. His mother would have been disappointed if he didn’t even invite her.

He doesn’t get an answer though. Harry is tempted to ask her whether he should be expecting her on the morning of the dinner, but he talks himself down at last.

He invited all of his mother’s friends, his bandmates and anyone that matters in his mother’s life. It’s a bit of a surprise, because Gemma brings her to the restaurant, but she doesn’t know who’s gonna be there, so when she sees all the guests she is shocked and touched.

“Thank you so much!” she hugs Harry, tight and warm before kissing him on the cheek.

“Of course, mum,” he hums with a small smile.

He catches her looking around, as if she was searching for someone and his stomach drops when he realizes that she is probably looking for Y/N. She doesn’t comment on the lack of her presence when she doesn’t see her, but Harry can see the disappointment in her eyes.

Anne is still making her rounds of greeting everyone when Harry goes to the bar and checks up on the first round of drinks. The bartender is already finishing up the last few cocktails when Harry sees a familiar figure walking into the restaurant and his stomach drops before he even looks at her.

Y/N looks around hesitantly before she spots the group in the back, only after that does she see Harry standing by the bar and she stops in her tracks.

Harry is frozen, he wasn’t expecting her to come, not after she left him on read, but here she is, wrapped in her fuzzy coat and a black dress underneath. She shoots him a tight-lipped smile before approaching Anne who jumps into her arms when she sees her. He watches his mum hug his wife and a few months ago, this would be a lovely scene, but now it just pains him, knowing he doesn’t have the privilege to do the same.

He can’t hear what they talk about and he fights the urge to lurk closer as he returns to the table and takes his seat next to his sister.

“You’re not gonna make a scene, right?” Gemma leans over to him.

“Why would I?”

“I don’t know, you’re staring at her like a maniac.”

“Oh, piss off!” he rolls his eyes at his sister. “I haven’t seen her in weeks, of course I’m gonna stare,” he mumbles, just when the waiter places his cocktail in front of him. He grabs the drink in an instant and chugs down half of it at once. “I’m watching my own wife like a stalker. Pathetic,” he whispers, more to himself than to Gemma, but she catches his words clearly. Reaching over he gives his hand a squeeze.

“It’s gonna be alright.”

“Are you a traitor too and you know why she is doing it?” Harry scoffs.

“She didn’t tell me. But I know you both and I know that she loves you,” Gemma says.

“So then what do you think is happening? If she loves me, why can’t she tell me—“ Harry cuts him off when he realizes that he is talking a bit too loud. He clears his throat, making it sure no one was listening, but everyone seems too busy to pay attention to the siblings. “She is not talking to me, so I must have done something, but if she doesn’t tell me, I can’t make it right,” he continues, keeping his voice down.

“Maybe… you can’t make it right.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” he frowns. “If I did something so terrible, I would know about that, don’t you think?”

“Then maybe it’s not something you did,” she shrugs. “She asked for time, just give her that.”

“I’m fucking done with everyone telling me the same thing,” he growls and stands from the table and steps out to the back area that’s reserved for smoking, feeling several stares on his back as he exits.

He knows he shouldn’t have left like that, but he was losing his temper and he truly didn’t want to cause a scene, not on his mother’s birthday. If he smoked, he would be lighting a cigarette vigorously right now, but he is just staring up at the dark sky as he is waiting for his anger to die down. He hears the door open close and when he looks behind him, he sees Anne approaching him.

“Hey baby, everything alright?” she asks and as she reaches him she brushes a few curls out of his forehead.

“M’sorry, just needed some air.”

Anne nods, knowing well what he meant by that. She hates to see him like this, so broken and lost, but she can’t help him this time. Not in this fight.

“I think it’s a first step that she came. She knew you’d be here, but she still came. Why don’t you come back and show her that you appreciate her presence. That you’re happy she’s here.”

“I am happy that she’s here, but it’s still hard to be around her,” he exhales tiredly.

“I know, baby,” she nods. “But you have to be strong. I know you can do it. She needs you.”

“Does she? She is shutting me out, mum,” he scoffs.

“She needs you to support her by giving her time and space. I know it’s hard to do it, but she told you what she needs.”

Harry sighs and nods.

“Let’s go back,” he mumbles. Anne smiles up at him and kisses his cheek before the two of them return to the table.

Harry tries his best not to stare at Y/N for the rest of the dinner. She sits on the opposite end of the long table between two of his cousins. She seems less bubbly and lively than usual, but that’s all Harry can notice from the handful of stolen glances he allows himself throughout the evening. He’s heard the same thing so many times from different people that he just needs to give her what she asked for, but hearing it from his mother it finally sinks in. His patience that’s been shortening with every day spent apart suddenly becomes never ending and he realizes he’ll just have to wait for as long as she needs him to.

When the guests are starting to leave one by one, Harry can’t help but keep an eye on Y/N. When he sees her getting ready to leave he decides it’s time to get moving as well. He approaches her, making sure he doesn’t get too close so he is not scaring her away.

“Hey,” he softly says and she looks up with doe eyes.

“Hi,” she breathes out as she grabs her coat from the rack behind her.

“Let me help,” he offers and she hesitates before letting him take the coat and help it onto her.

“Thanks. And… for inviting me as well. I’m sorry I didn’t answer, I just—“

“You don’t have to explain yourself. I’m just glad you came. My mum too,” he adds with a tiny chuckle. “Are you heading home?”

“Yeah, I have to be up early tomorrow. It’s great that I can just walk home from here.”

Harry chews on his bottom lip, trying to decide whether to ask her what he’s been planning all evening and at last he just shoots his shot.

“Can I walk you home?”

Her lips part as she stares back at him and Harry knows she is about to reject him, but he speaks up first.

“We don’t have to talk. Just let me make sure you get home safe. Please, Y/N. I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

She clenches her jaw and stares back at him for what feels like forever and Harry is already bracing himself to get rejected, but then she nods.

“Okay. But I really don’t want to talk.”

“No talking. Not even a word,” he agrees eagerly, feeling like on top of the world. “Let me just pay the bill.”

He practically runs to settle the check, paying for everyone’s dinner and drinks. He keeps looking back to check if she’s still there and hasn’t left without him. She’s talking to Gemma, patiently waiting for him.

He grabs his coat too and then returns to her as fast as possible.

“It was nice seeing you, Gem,” she smiles. Gemma’s eyes move from her to Harry, a curious, questioning look, but she doesn’t comment on why Y/N’s leaving with him.

“You too. Take care,” Gemma smiles before returning to the remaining few guests.

They say goodbye to Anne as well, Harry tells his mum to stay for as long as she wants with her girlfriends, he paid for a few more drinks in advance. She thanks him everything and Harry doesn’t miss the smile on her lips when she sees him leave with Y/N.

It’s tempting to break his promise, but Harry keeps his mouth shut as they walk next to each other. Y/N’s brother’s apartment is just a few blocks away from the restaurant. It could have been a mere coincidence, but Harry would be lying if he said he didn’t think about how she might be more likely to come if she didn’t have to travel too far.

He is nervously fidgeting in his pockets as they are walking in silence. The walk is about fifteen minutes and he feels like a clock is ticking above his head, counting down the time he gets to spend physically close to her. When he spots the building that’s their destination, he is trying his best to push down his panic at the thought of not seeing her again for weeks. They’re almost there when he breaks his promise.

“You looked beautiful tonight, by the way.”

He awaits his punishment for speaking, expecting her to tell him off or just speed walk into the building, but her actual reaction is a total shocker.

She laughs, shaking her head.

“I knew you wouldn’t make it,” she sighs, but doesn’t sound upset.

“You know me too well,” he chuckles, but his heart drops when he realizes that they arrived. Taking a deep breath he just continues to talk. “I’m sorry for the scene last time. I was just not expecting to see you and I panicked.”

“It’s okay. I didn’t handle it too well either, so… I’m sorry too.”

Harry waits a few seconds, hoping that she might tell him more, but he is out of luck again. Tonight won’t be the one where she finally explains it all to him and he needs to accept it.

“I’ll give you the time and space you asked for under one condition,” he says. She inhales shakily.

“What’s the condition?”

“Promise me you’ll talk to me when you’re ready. I need to know that I will get my answers. It doesn’t matter when, whenever you want to.”

She curls her lips into her mouth as she looks to the side, folding her arms on her chest. When she looks back at him he holds his breath until she finally speaks up.

“I promise.”

Harry feels like he is breathing for the first time ever since she left. It’s a short relief, but he will probably think about this feeling for the next week.

“Okay,” he breathes out. “I’ll be waiting, Y/N. For as long as you need me to.” Chewing on her bottom lip she just nods. “Alright, I’ll go now. Thank you again, for coming tonight.”

“Bye, Harry,” she quietly says, walking up the stairs to the door.

“Bye, Y/N.”

Trouble in paradise?

Harry Styles tied the knot with Y/N Y/L/N just a little over a year ago. The couple had been going strong for five years when the singer popped the question and the intimate wedding was held exactly a year later. They’ve been praised as everyone’s favorite celebrity it couple, but their marriage might not be as strong as it appears from the outside.

A source close to Styles said the ex 1D member and his wife have been separated since the end of august, but there’s no talk of divorce yet. It’s unknown why the lovers decided to spend time apart, but fans have noticed that Y/N hasn’t been spotted anywhere near the singer lately. The couple is known to keep their private life hidden from the public, but they’d been spotted strolling around, running errands every once in a while. However, the last time they were seen together was back in July on their trip to LA.

While there hasn’t been any confirmation about the alleged separation, speculations have been thriving about the possible reasons behind the issues. Some even go as far as accusing either the singer or Y/N with cheating.

Thunderclouds are gathering over London when Harry is heading home from the studio. It’s been a long day, but they got a lot done and they might be able to finish with recording earlier than they planned so everyone can have some time off.

As he walks into the empty house he gets rid of his mask and kicks his trainers off, padding his way into the kitchen to get a plate for his dinner he picked up on his way home. He used to eat at the kitchen counter, because Y/N liked to bake or cook so she spent a lot of time in the modern kitchen that was formed entirely to her taste. He loved sitting on a stool and watch her work, they talked about their day and then Harry asked to help, but eventually, she would just tell him to leave, because he could never keep his hands away from her.

Now the kitchen reminds him of her way too much so he avoids spending time there. He pours the pasta to a plate, grabs himself a fork and takes his dinner to the living room, hoping to find something to watch on TV so the house is not entirely silent. He has barely dug into the food when his phone starts ringing on the coffee table. For a second he thinks about ignoring it, but then he catches a glimpse of the caller ID.

Y/N’s smiling picture is displayed on the screen and he barely drops the plate as he snatches the phone and answers the call.

“Y/N, hi!” he breathes out, his heart hammering in his chest. There’s a sniffle on the other end of the call and he switches into alerted mode in an instant. “Y/N? What’s wrong?”

“Harry, can you… Can you please come over?”

He is already up from the couch, the pasta abandoned on the coffee table as he’s running to get his keys and put his shoes back on.

“What happened, talk to me! I’m on my way, just talk to me, alright?”

“Mason is out of town a-and I’m alone and the lights went out,” she explains and Harry doesn’t even need more. He knows she hates the dark and scared to even touch the electrical fuse, she always fears she would get electrocuted. The power used to go out all the time in their previous home and it was always Harry who had to check the fuse while she stood behind him, scared as if he was dealing with a bomb.

“Okay, do you have candles? A torch?” he asks, jumping on one leg as he pulls his trainers back on.

“J-Just my phone.” A thunder is heard from the other end of the call and she exhales shakily.

“Alright, put me on speaker, turn on the light on your phone and sit down on the couch by the window. The lights are on outside on the street?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, then it’s not entirely dark. Great, just hold on and I’ll be there soon.”

They stay in call while Harry jumps into his car and speeds over to her brother’s place that’s your temporary home now. Halfway there the sky opens and rain starts pouring down. Arriving at Mason’s place he jumps out of the car and soaks to the bone in an instant as he runs up to the front door. Y/N opens the door right away and lets him into the dark house.

“I’m sorry f-for calling you, I just didn’t know—“ she starts apologizing immediately, but he just shakes his head, ridding himself of the wet jacket.

“Y/N, it’s okay. I’m glad you called me,” he smiles softly, even though she probably can’t see it in the dark. When he’s kicked his shoes off he runs a hand through his wet curls before turning on the light on his own phone. “Alright, where’s the fuse box?”

“Here, let me show you,” she says and holding her own phone she leads him to a little nook underneath the stairs. It holds a few brooms and cardboard boxes and the fuse box is on the wall across from the door. “Please be careful,” she says as Harry leans closer to take a look at it, holding his light next to his face.

She watches him fumble with the switches, turning back on several ones before the lights finally come back on in the house, relief washing over Y/N.

“There. It’s all good now.” Harry closes the door of the nook and turns off the light on his phone before facing Y/N again. Now he has the chance to look at her, she’s wearing a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt that was once his, but she stole it from him a long time ago. It makes his heart flutter, knowing that she is still wearing his clothes.

“Thank you,” she breathes out relieved, but then her expression changes. “I’m sorry, I feel so helpless,” she says with a wobbling bottom lip and Harry acts without even thinking.

Stepping closer he takes her face in his hands as he shakes his head at her words.

“You’re not helpless, Y/N. A lot of people are scared of electricity, it’s a dangerous thing.”

“It’s not just about the fuse box,” she whimpers, tears rolling down her face, but he wipes them off right away. “I-I don’t… I hate it…”

“Come on, let’s sit down. It’s okay.”

He pulls her into the living room and they settle on the couch, Harry has wrapped his arms around her and she’s buried her face in his chest. He feels selfish because part of him is enjoying holding her like this, it’s the most physical touch they’ve had in a long time, but then he remembers how shaken up she is and his joy quickly gets pushed into the back of his head.

“It’s okay, baby. Just take a deep breath,” he gently soothes her, running his hand up and down her back and arm until her breathing slows down and she is not fisting his shirt anymore. “Tell me, what got you so upset, hm?”

She remains silent and Harry patiently waits for her to speak up.

“Do you think I’m helpless on my own?” she asks in a weak, quiet voice without lifting her head up from his chest.

“Of course not. Why would you think that of yourself?”

“Because… I can’t even switch the lights back on by myself and I’m an adult.”

“That doesn’t make you helpless. Everyone has things like this, I promise.”

“What’s yours?” she asks, finally lifting her head and looking him in the eyes. Harry hums as he thinks about what he should bring up.

“I don’t use matches, because I’m always afraid the fire might get to my fingers too fast and burn me.”

“Really? You never told that to me,” she says with raised eyebrows and he just shrugs his shoulders.

“Because it’s not that important. Like I said, everyone has fears like this, it’s okay.”

He dares to brush her hair behind her ear and run his fingertips down the side of her face. He can’t believe there was a time when he took these tiny touches for granted, when he could touch her whenever he wanted to without overanalyzing what could go wrong.

She looks him in the eyes and holds his gaze for long moments. Harry is continuously expecting her to move away, to take the privilege of holding her away, but it never comes. He feels like he is the closest to her he has been since she left.

Placing a hand to his thigh she pushes herself up, her nose almost brushing against his and he stops breathing for a moment, thinking it was just coincidence. She’s still looking at him, one hand on his chest, the other one on his thigh while his arms are circled around her frame.

And then she kisses him.

They freeze for a second, both of them caught by surprise by the action, but then time keeps moving and Harry doesn’t waste a second of it as he opens up his lips and kisses her back fiercely, as if he was trying to make up for every missed kiss from the past months.

She moves up, never breaking the kiss, devouring her husband after the starving. She moves around until she is finally straddling his lap and he loses his control, his hands finding her ass, grabbing it hard and making her grind against him. She moans into his mouth and he swears he could come just by the sounds she is making. Her heavy breathing, the soft whimpers, he missed her so much, it’s a miracle he could hold out for this long without her.

He can feel how needy she is, how much she is seeking relief, but his conscious is still there in the back of his mind, telling him to be careful and he knows that if they had sex now, that might trigger her and she would end up pushing him away even more. They can’t take this step until there are so many unsaid things between them, but he wants to please her still.

Holding onto her hips he guides her until her core is pressed against his thigh and he urges her to grind against it.

She moans loudly at the sensation, her head falling back and he takes the opportunity to kiss down the column of her neck, tasting her like she is his last meal. She starts moving on her own and Harry lets her use him however she pleases, all he wants is to satisfy her. His hard cock is bulging in his pants, but he is ignoring his own desires, this moment is about her.

“Feels good, baby? Hmm?” he murmurs into her ear as she keeps grinding against his thigh.

“Yes,” she answers breathlessly, curling her arms around his neck, pressing herself against him tight.

“Use me, I’m all yours,” he growls, feeling satisfied already just by watching her.

The time spent apart seems to have one perk, Y/N’s orgasm comes fast and hard after months of drought, she comes gasping for air, clawing at Harry’s chest and shoulder, her face pressed against his, lips mushed together as he steals a few more sloppy kisses.

There’s a few minutes of bliss, she’s like jelly in his arms, his heart slowly getting back into its normal rhythm. He prays to stay in this moment for as long as possible, it’s the most he has gotten with his wife in months and he doesn’t want it to end.

But the cloud of passion slowly clears out of her head and she realizes what just happened. He can almost see the switch in her as she pushes away from him and climbs off of his lap, moving to the far end of the couch.

“Y/N, don’t shut me—“

“You should leave,” she cuts him off dryly, staring ahead of her.

“Let’s just talk, I can’t—“

“Harry, leave!” she raises her voice, jumping up from the couch, rubbing her face with her hands. “I need to be alone.”

“Don’t shut me out, Y/N. It’s not the end of the world, we’re okay, let’s just talk, please!”

“No,” she shakes her head vigorously. “I-I need to be alone. That’s what I want, I need to figure it out,” she says, but it sounds like she was talking to herself rather than to Harry.

“Figure what out? Just talk to me!” Harry begs her, standing up from the couch, but as soon as he takes a step towards her, she backs away, keeping the distance between them.

“Not now, please not now!” she whispers, a tortured frown on her face.

“If not now, when? I’m trying to be patient, but we just jumped at each other five minutes ago and now you can’t even look at me! I really am trying, but fuck!” he growls, running his hand through his hair that’s got messed up by her finger in the heated moments. “Y/N, we’re married! And you wouldn’t even talk to me anymore! How long are we going to do this?”

“I don’t know,” she whispers, shutting her eyes tight.

Harry takes a few deep breaths, calming himself down and regaining composure before he speaks up again, this time with a lot more control over his voice.

“I’ll go now. But I want answers soon, Y/N. Do you understand me?” She nods.

Harry sigh, rubbing his chin as he walks out of the living room to put his shoes on and leave while Y/N keeps standing in the exact same spot. When he’s got his trainers and jacket on again, he is almost out of the house when he turns back.

“We’re married, I vowed to fight with you. But I can’t do that if I don’t know what I’m supposed to be fighting. I still love you and I would do anything for you, Y/N. Let me be your partner or… Or have the guts to leave me. If you want to divorce just say it. Anything is better than being in the dark.”

And with that, he walks out into the storm, leaving Y/N alone, just like she wanted.

It’s no surprise that Harry doesn’t sleep that night. He doesn’t even go near the bedroom, because he knows it would make him lose his mind. Sleeping there on his own has been hard enough these past months, but after last night… he knew he couldn’t take it.

He paces the floor, fills up dozens of pages in his diary vigorously, leaving notes he can’t even make sense out of minutes later. He turns into a hot mess and when he thinks about the last things he told her, he almost throws up.

Divorce.

He’s been ignoring this word like crazy since Y/N has left, because he simply couldn’t accept it was an option for them. She was and still is the love of his life, there was no chance for him to let them end up with ending their marriage.

But the way she’s been pushing him away actively probably broke something in him after having her so close and then losing her just seconds later. The words left his mouth before he even thought them through and he regretted them the moment he stepped out into the rain. Almost turned around to go back and beg her to forget what he said, but he just left.

By the time the sun comes up Harry feels like he has lost all of his sanity and he knows the only thing that would bring him even just the tiniest bit of peace is if he tells her that he will fight for their marriage and won’t just accept defeat that easily.

It’s barely past seven in the morning when he is throwing on a hoodie he found on the floor of the bedroom and he’s frantically looking for his keys that he angrily threw somewhere upon arriving last night, but his search is interrupted by hearing the front door unlocking. He sprints out into the hallway and almost trips in his own feet when he sees that Y/N just walked in with her own keys.

“Uh, I’m sorry, I thought about ringing the bell, but… it felt weird,” she explains, holding up her keys that still has that pink, fluffy keychain Harry bought her years ago.

“No, of course. It’s your home too,” he nods, still taken aback by her presence. “What—Uh, what can I… Are you…”

“I came to talk,” she says, dropping the keys to the side table and then nervously fidgeting with the sleeves of her jumper.

“Great! Amazing, I was… I was actually about to go over to you as well. Come on in, let’s… I’ll make us tea,” he stutters, heading into the kitchen with Y/N following right behind.

He puts on the kettle and she looks around before settling on one of the stools, watching him move around, grabbing her favorite mug and the kind of tea she loves the most.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, when he hands her the warm drink and takes the stool next to hers. Harry decides to just blurt out everything he’s been piling up since the last time they met, starting off with what he said before leaving.

“I don’t want to get a divorce, Y/N. I’m sorry for what I said, I was just… mad and couldn’t think straight. I hope you don’t want it either, whatever we are going through, I hope we can work on it first before we call it quits.”

He is talking fast and he’s nervously fidgeting with his nails and she sees that they are completely bare. Reaching out she takes one of his hands and takes a better look at them.

“Your nails are not painted,” she observes.

“Because you’re the one who paints them. I don’t want anyone else to do it for me,” he softly says and she seems stunned by his words. Letting go of his hand she clears her throat and drops her own hands into her lap, staring down at them.

“I don’t want to get a divorce,” she then says and Harry feels like he can finally breathe for the first time in months. “But… I need changes.”

“Okay, what kind of changes?” he asks, ready to hear her out and do anything just to have her back. She exhales shakily and he can tell how heavy whatever it is that’s weighing down on her.

“I don’t… I don’t know,” she admits, her eyes tearing up.

“Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay, we can figure it all out.” He slips off his stool and stepping closer he takes her face in his hands, his touch gentle and soft. “Tell me what you know.”

She nods, wetting her lips before taking a deep breath and speaking up again.

“I realized that… I don’t know who I am.” She is talking slow, thinking her words over carefully. “I’ve been Harry Styles’ girlfriend and then wife for so long, I slowly… started to lose myself.”

Sniffing she rubs her eyes before continuing.

“I have been struggling with this for a while, but I couldn’t figure out what exactly this feeling was, I just knew that something was off. We were on the move all the time, traveling the world and don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful for everything I got to experience with you. But… It’s all I’ve been doing and… I had plans.”

“Plans?” Harry asks.

“Like, before we met, I wanted to go to college. I wanted to learn and get a degree, but then I met you and we became serious so fast that I felt like I had to follow you to make it work. And… I got stuck in it and put everything else on hold. Now it’s been over seven years and I’ll be thirty soon and didn’t do anything that I wanted before. But then I thought about it… and I realized that I’m not even sure I want them anymore.”

Harry can feel a whirlwind of emotions raging inside him, listening to her, but he keeps his mouth shut and lets her tell everything at once before he speaks.

“I started to question everything. I had to realize that I have no idea what I want, I’ve been just going with the flow for years and I couldn’t even tell anymore who I was. I was the mysterious girl Harry Styles was dating and then I was known as your girlfriend and then your wife… I wasn’t my own person. I was always just Harry Styles’ someone.”

She takes a deep breath, wiping away a tear that escaped her eye before she carries on.

“Don’t get me wrong, I love being with you, I love you, more than anything. But I started to feel like I was just a… carry-on luggage, someone added to you and not an individual above all. Then you brought up trying for a baby and I think it triggered me. I was afraid that I would just become the mother of your child and lose the last pieces of myself, so I did the first thing that came to my mind. I ran.”

She looks up at him and sees how broken he is over her words, finally hearing what you’ve been struggling with all this time.

“Why didn’t you tell me, Y/N? Why didn’t you talk to me about all of these?” he asks in a whisper.

“Because I felt ashamed,” she sighs. “I’m living this amazing life, I travel the world with you, anyone would be lucky to live a life like ours and I’m here…” Her voice dies down and a sob escapes her lips. Harry moves out of instinct, cradling her in his arms as she buries her face into his chest. “I’m here whining about it. I hate myself for this,” she cries into his hoodie.

“It’s okay, baby,” he murmurs softly, holding her tight in his embrace.

“I’m so sorry, Harry. I don’t know what’s happening to me,” she sobs uncontrollably, fisting his hoodie, holding onto him for dear life.

“I know. It’s alright. Come on, let’s lie down, I bet you didn’t sleep much either, hm? Let’s just get you to bed, you’re barely holding yourself up.”

He softly helps her off the stool and the two of them head up to the bedroom he avoided all night long, but returning with her in his arms feels more right than anything ever before. He sits her to the edge of the mattress and then helps her get comfortable before walking around the bed and taking his usual side. She moves over to him in an instant, her whole body gravitating towards his warmth and he welcomes her in his embrace again gladly, holding her wrapped tight in his arms, right where he thinks she belongs.

“Do you think I’m crazy?” she croaks out, her head lying on his chest that’s rising and falling in a soothing rhythm.

“No. Not at all. I just wish you talked to me instead of fleeing.”

“I thought I had to think things through away from you,” she admits.

“Why? Are you scared to talk to me?” Harry asks, his heart breaking at the thought of his own wife not trusting him enough to tell him what’s been bothering her.

“I’m not scared. I just… I honestly don’t know. I was afraid I would just talk myself out of it and dig myself deeper into this hole… I was afraid that I would want to please you so badly, I would agree to anything.”

“Like having a baby,” Harry adds, mostly disappointed in himself that he didn’t notice a thing of what was happening right in front of his nose.

He should have thought about her, she’s been bending her own life around his since the very beginning, always the one to work her schedule to fit his and he never even questioned it. He’s been a selfish bastard. He remembers her telling him about wanting to go to college when they first met, but then she didn’t mention it again and he just assumed she changed her mind. He assumed way too many things. That traveling around the world is all she wanted, that she was fine with the way she’s been perceived by the public, that she was fine with living the life he chose but she was just pushed into. So many things that he just turned a blind eye to, only because he loved having her with him all the time.

He feels like he failed as a husband, a partner, a lover.

“I do want to have a baby with you, Harry,” she speaks up, pulling him out of his self-deprecating thoughts. “But I don’t think I could be a good mother when I’m so lost about myself.” Her words turn into another sob as she starts crying again and Harry tightens his hold around her.

“It’s okay. We’ll figure it out. You need to rest, we can talk more when you wake up,” he breathes out, placing a soft kiss to the crown of her head. She doesn’t protest or tries to talk more, and only minutes later Harry notices her body relaxing, her breathing evening.

She fell asleep.

Though Harry could use some sleep himself too, he can’t get his eyes to even close. He lies awake for god knows how long until he carefully gets out of bed, tucks her in and heads downstairs to let Y/N get some rest while he is raking his mind for an excuse why he let all of this happen knowing well he won’t find any.

He has never felt more ashamed in his life and it’s been like several slaps across his face, listening to everything Y/N just shared with him. He let his wife suffer alone and didn’t notice a thing for so long, while he happily lived his rockstar life and dragged her along without second guessing.

Hours pass by and she is still asleep when Harry decides to call Sarah. He sits by the kitchen counter, leaning onto the countertop as he holds the phone to his ear with a permanent frown on his face.

“Hey, what’s up?” she answers the phone and he immediately hears James’ playful babbling in the background.

“So you have a minute to talk?” he asks, not wanting to interrupt on precious family time.

“Of course, give me a sec.” She tells something to probably Mitch before moving to a different room where she can talk comfortably. “Alright, I’m listening.”

“I fucked up, Sarah, and I didn’t even notice a thing.”

Sarah stays silent on the other end of the call before speaking up.

“She told you.”

“Yeah. We had… Some things happened last night and in the heat of the moment I told her to have the guts to tell me if she wants a divorce. I didn’t mean it, so I was getting ready to go over and talk to her in the morning when she showed up here and told me everything. Now I feel like the biggest idiot in the world and I have no idea how to make it right.”

“Do you want my honest advice and opinion?”

“Of course.”

“Okay. Don’t make it about yourself. Yes, you made mistakes, she did too by not speaking up, but this is about her. What you just said, I only heard you talk about yourself. Focus on how you can help her finding herself and getting comfortable in her own life again instead of putting yourself into the spotlight.”

And just like that, it’s another slap across his face again. He knows Sarah is right and that she just gave him a pill that’s probably the hardest to swallow. He can’t turn this on him, he needs to put all his energy into helping Y/N find her peace again.

“You’re right,” he whispers, closing his eyes.

“I know it’s hard. She is going through a crisis where she is questioning all of her decisions, even the ones she made about you. But it’s normal and you’ll just have to support her through it, let her figure it all out without bringing yourself into the equation. You’ve been the center of her life for almost a decade, you have to accept that might change a little, but that doesn’t mean she won’t love or need you anymore.”

“Fuck, Sarah, when did you become a therapist?” he chuckles sadly, her words weighing on his chest heavily. “Did you go through something like this too?”

“Kind of. It’s hard to keep in touch with yourself when so much is happening around you. I had my own doubts about Mitch and our life too, but here I am, happily married with a baby. You’ll get through it too, you love each other and that’s all that matters.”

“Thank you, Sarah.”

They talk a little more before her mom duties call her. Harry takes some time to reflect on everything he’s learned and tries his best to get himself into the right mindset to start this long process he is facing.

When Y/N wakes up he is right next to her, sitting against the headboard, scrolling on his phone. When he sees her sleepy face, he puts the phone aside and lies down on his side to face her.

“You didn’t sleep?” she asks groggily, rubbing her eyes.

“No. I had a lot to think about.”

She opens her mouth, but then closes, scooting closer to him.

“I’m so sorry, H. I didn’t react the right way and should have talked to you instead of running away.”

“Don’t apologize. We… we both made mistakes. We should talk about how we could move forward, yeah?”

She nods.

“First of all… Do you think you’re ready to come home? I really… I miss you, Y/N.”

“I miss you too and I want to come home. I thought I would be able to think clearer if I’m away from you, but it’s been hell.”

“Alright,” he nods relieved. “We can get your stuff today and move it all back.”

“That would be amazing,” she smiles weakly.

“I talked to Jeff while you were asleep. I can’t cancel the upcoming tour, but we talked about a longer break afterwards.”

“How long?”

“However much time we need, baby.”

“I don’t want to keep you away from your career.”

“You are my priority, Y/N. You spend years of your life dedicated to me. If I have to take time off from my career to make sure you’re okay… I won’t hesitate for a moment.”

“B-But I still don’t know what I should do…”

“It’s okay. We will figure it out and then I’ll make sure we can do whatever we have to do.”

She is touched by the way Harry is treating her. She was afraid she did irreversible damage to their relationship by leaving, but here he is, being so patient and accepting with her even after she shut him out so violently.

Moving closer she kisses him to show her gratitude, they wrap around each other, feeling contented that they are finally reunited. It’s all they both have been yearning for and this is where they belong.

“I love you,” she whispers against his lips.

“I love you too,” he hums back. “I want to make you happy Y/N. That’s all I want, let me make you happy.”

“I’m happy when I’m with you. I just need to be happy with myself too.”

“Let me help you with that. You’re my everything, baby. Let me take care of you the way you always take care of me. I will always love you and nothing can change that.”

She just quietly nods, swallowing back a few of her tears before pressing her lips against his again and again and again, making up for all the time they lost.

Harry Styles is making a comeback!

The thirty years old singer is finally back in the business after spending two years away from the spotlight. When Styles announced his break from work in 2022 fans were terrified it’s going to be another never ending hiatus that ended One Direction back in the days. The singer wrote a heartfelt note to his dedicated fans that was posted on his Instagram, which has been silent ever since, talking about taking time to focus on his private life, family and friends. The announcement came right after he finished touring his third studio album and rumors were spreading about his marriage before he hit the road, talking about alleged cheating and a possible divorce from his longtime lover, Y/N Y/L/N.

However, the couple debunked those theories when Y/L/N was caught joining Styles on the first part of his tour. A source close to them confirmed that she returned to London earlier than her husband to enroll into King’s College London and start her bachelor studies.

The couple was caught several times during the singer’s hiatus strolling around London alone or with friends, seemingly making the best out of their time off duty. Styles has not made any official appearances since his last show and word has been traveling around the internet that even when he comes back, he will be slowing things down, making more time for his family.

At midnight last Monday a countdown showed up on his official website, followed by his first ever post on his Instagram since his break. It has not been confirmed, whether it’ll be a new album or just a single, but it’s been enough for fans to wake up from hibernation and pull out their colorful boas from their closet. The countdown is expected to hit zero at four pm on Friday. Stay tuned to find out more about the latest news about Britain’s number one man!

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Yandere Villain DekuWifeAU | 4

"Hi Ms. Midoriya are you still able to meet at the cafe."

"Yes I can sorry i'm just running a little-ack! Sorry just running a little late because I've had an unexpected visitor in my house."

The detective chuckled behind his hand as he heard the swooshing of your broom and the croaks of a frog through the phone.

"Take your time Miss I'll be here."

Shinso relaxed in his seat sipping on his fifth espresso for the day. It wasn't his typical scene, staying awake when the sun was up but when such an important witness to the case couldn't be reached without raising alarm it was just better. Comfort over compromise. His motto, one that he chanted when the curse of boredom sought to stink up a perfectly good stakeout.

He'd spoken with the woman in question few times before as she seemed to be the center of a lot of villain activity, coming out unscathed. Then the way her husband was just didn't rub him right. He spoke with the suspect, a strangely fit for such a square. Apparently he's quirkless and a big fan of heroes; he religiously follows along with the merchandise and TV series of the heroes. What he noted as especially weird, was the insane amount of cameras in the house. Small ones, in very intimate spaces. He took the liberty of taking them down and disabling them. (Y/n) wasn't aware and It didn't seem like Izuku knew about them either. When he came home he was surprised at the detective but coninued to carry on casually completing his tasks. Hardly moving strangely at all for the camera's convenience. Either way his assessment on the Midoriya's is that they were involved in some capacity with the villains, possibly familial? He really didn't know but good for him both Mr. and Mrs. Midoriya had a habit for rambling and hopefully he'd catch something new.

-------------- Shoto was not happy. His inside view of the his family was completely severed. Thanks to that wretched detective! He especially needed to know what was happening in there so he would know how to play his cards right. He was sure Izuku knew about them or maybe he didn't. He honestly didn't know. Something that distinguished the two as villains was that he could never tell if Izuku was working a persona or really just as two-faced as he acted. Deku would've identified the cameras and would have exposed Shoto immediately but Izuku on the other hand was probably too tired from of his 'stressful job' and too occupied wih fawning over his wife. Right now it didn't matter, from what he got before the cameras self destructed, that hypnotic-detective was the culprit. Recently he'd been a thorn in their association's side: chasing away clients and policing routes. He was someone they had to crush but that was easier said than done when this detective was tipping actual underground heroes to investigate. Actual connections to real threats didn't make him just an average detective. He wouldn't have cared if Deku hadn't made such a point to avoid him and he hated when Deku didn't just crush threats immediately. 'Speaking of crushing threats immediately' he figured maybe sending Pyrodast's little team on their own might be a good idea. ---------

"Welcome home, Honey!" Peck.

Izuku returned the gesture to his wife, reaching for you as you walked back to your task of cleaning the living room. He was so nervous, this was going to be so hard. But if he wanted it both ways he'll have to make some headway with you. For Shoto's sake.

"Hey Love, can I ask you a question?"

"Oh yeah, sure."

"What-what do you think of Shoto, that coworker that gave you the manga?"

You immediately snapped to attention. As if you didn't know who Shoto was. He was the work husband that had been bold enough to come to your house and challenge you. On top of that he had the audacity to try and buy you off with an entire set of discontinued series of manga. Jokes on him all it did was wisen me up to his richboy's tactics.

"What I think about him?"

"Yes."

"I think he's a very nice man. What do you think of him?"

Oh no. That was oddly passive aggressive.

"Uhm...Well I l-like him."

"Oh you do, huh?" You turned to smile at him but the rag you were tearing in your hands said that it wasn't for a good reason.

"Uhm yea-" "Bet you're itching to go out to a fancy hero event all by yourselves, huh?!"

Izuku was super confused but it sounded like you knew too much but at the same time knew nothing at all.

"Not exactly. But baby can I ask what exactly you're talking about?"

"I-I didn't want to tell you about it but-but me and Todoroki-kun are rivals fighting for your love!"

"What?"

You continued on animatedly telling him all about this dramatic battle that wasn't even actually happening. He loves you, deeply, but you can sometimes equate people with your manga character archetypes.

"Oh darling, you're far too precious."

"OH! I'll have to reschedule with that detective. That frog really made a mess of things."

Izuku chuckles and facepalms.

1st attempt to widen the relationship-failed

Bonus: "Let's execute plan 55, I know I can get the info we need. I'm sure of it." "Fine but if you end up getting decked in the face, don't look at me."

[pascalpanic]

Caffeine Rush: Chapter Seven / Decaf

W/C: 4k

Warnings: language, dirty thoughts, all of the dirty thoughts because Javi is a horndog, male masturbation... general spice. pining that could make a pine cone tremble.

A/N: welcome to pining central, enjoy your stay :) (ps when Steve says “Javier Peña” I need you to read that in the voice of Anthony Mackie going “SEBASTIAN STAN”)

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter || Masterlist

ordinary coffee that has had most of its caffeine removed from it before the beans are roasted.

You are a goddamn test on Javier’s self control. He feels like those biblical stories of men fighting back against temptation to prove themselves to God, except the only thing he has to prove is to himself. To you.

He’s always been enraptured by you, captivated by your smile and laugh but since you went ice skating, he hasn’t been able to get your body out of his mind. The way you fell asleep on him last night, nuzzled in like it was the safest place on earth. He could feel your breasts press into his skin, the warmth of your thigh hiked across his abdomen. If the past week has been some caffeine-induced fever dream, it’s becoming real now. You, a figment of his imagination before, maybe, are all flesh and blood and God, is he desperate for it.

Javier hangs around your apartment when you’re gone at work. He doesn’t have much else to do, considering you’re gone and he knows hardly anything about the city. He watches the daytime television on your couch, usually meanders to the coffee shop for a drink, spends some time there, and returns to the apartment.

He feels like he’s couch-surfing, like he did for a summer in his college years. He feels guilty occupying the space in your home, especially without payment. As he walks to the bathroom, he takes a long glance into your bedroom. The queen-sized bed is mussed, unmade before you left for work. The fitted sheet is pooled in the middle beneath where you sleep, the various blankets tossed about. It looks like the coziest damn thing he’s ever seen, especially after a couple of nights on a couch.

Javier almost thinks about giving in, waiting for you to ask him to sleep in your bed tonight then jumping at the chance. Maybe he will, if he’s tired enough. Maybe he won’t, but maybe he will. He can think of nothing better than the endless whir of the radiator as your perpetually-cold body nuzzles against him, brushes your nose against his bare chest.

It’s been a long time since Javi has fucked anyone, and he’s starting to feel it. He’s a little antsy, and the image of your body, your ass as you ice skate past him, haunts him like a bad dream- or rather some illicit fantasy he knows he shouldn’t be having.

Would you want him yet? You’ve told him you love him, but that was an accident. When he kisses you, you kiss back harder. Hell, you initiated the first kiss. You seem like you’ve been all-in on this relationship, taking things at a rushed pace that Javier certainly doesn’t mind. He spends a lot of the day contemplating that, standing on the tiny balcony of your apartment and smoking a couple of cigarettes.

At this point, he needs a distraction or he’s going to have to take matters into his own hands, quite literally. What better to kill the horny buzz making his head spin than to call Murphy?

The phone is in your bedroom, on the nightstand. Javier dares to sit on the edge of your bed, and actually moans aloud at the plush comfort, the way his ass sinks into it. Goddamn, he’ll have to get one of these. He wants nothing more than to lay back and fall into the bed, wait for you to get home and pound you into the comfortable mattress. But he doesn’t. He stays strong and picks up the phone, dialing the new Murphy residence in Miami.

After a couple of rings, a familiar voice answers. “Murphy’s.”

“Hey, bastard,” Javier chuckles, and he can hear the blonde man’s laughter from across the receiver.

“Javier Peña,” Steve drawls, dragging out the name. “Good to hear your voice, man. You finally come out of a ten-day celebratory drunkenness?”

“Don’t talk to me about binges,” Javier teases, but he smiles a little. He’s missed the man. He’s glad neither of them got in any trouble over the entire Los Pepes situation- God, that feels like ages ago now. It’s hard to believe he’s only been in D.C. what, eleven days? If Steve’s math is right, yeah. “No. I’m in D.C. still, if you can believe it. Just… bored.”

“Oh really?” the man scoffs, leaning against his kitchen counter in Miami with Olivia on his hip. “And why’s that? What are you still doin’ up there anyway? Thought you were goin’ to visit the old man.”

Javier shakes his head. “Plans changed. There’s, uh… there’s a girl.”

Steve lets out a wolf whistle, laughing. “And how much does she charge a night?”

“Not one of those. She works at a coffee shop around here,” he informs him. “She’s… she’s really something. Nothing I ever thought I’d be into. She’s gorgeous, man, and so energetic all the damn time. Seems like she has an IV of coffee from her shop,” he chuckles, looking off into space. He takes a pause. Steve doesn’t speak. “I wanna be with her Steve. I don’t… I don’t know if I can go back.”

He’s silent a little longer. “This is some kind of practical joke, right?” Steve says after a beat, barely holding back a laugh. Never has Javier been so sincere, so real and honest and open. And more specifically, he’s never been like this over a girl. Almost… mushy. Soft. “Tell me more,” he says, hoping the joke will give up.

Javier talks about you, describing every little detail with a grin on his face. He tells Steve about Tie Guy and ice skating and your piece of shit car, how you can spin in circles on the ice and how you remind him of a busy little bee, fluttering about the coffee shop.

Steve is genuinely rendered speechless; a hard thing to do. He blinks down at Olivia then straight ahead at the refrigerator, covered in photos and magnets and drawings. He can’t imagine Javier ever wanting something like this, like what he and Connie have, but he sure sounds like it. “That’s… something. Good for you, Javi,” Steve chuckles, resigning to sincerity. “I’m happy for you.”

Javier grumbles back. “Don’t get too happy. I have to go back to Calí in three weeks. She doesn’t want me to leave… I don’t know what to do, Murph. I can’t bring her with, you know that, but I can’t just leave her here. And I sure as hell can’t quit.”

“You could quit.”

“I’m not going to, how’s that?” Javier huffs and crosses his arms, annoyed by Steve and his goddamn wording loopholes. “I just… fuck. I’m gonna go think about it before she gets back.”

“She comin’ to your hotel? You sure you aren’t paying per night?” He smirks.

Javier’s quiet and Steve isn’t sure what it means until he talks. “I’m, uh, staying at her place. She insisted.”

Steve whistles again. “Damn. You’re whipped, Peña. Well, I’ll let you go. Call again soon. I miss ya, bud,” he tells Javier in a moment of earnesty then hangs the phone back on the receiver, bringing Olivia to her nursery to change her diaper.

Javi sighs and falls backwards on the bed, admiring the way the mattress holds his body compared to the couch. Yeah, he’ll definitely need to sleep in here tonight or he’s going to crack his spine.

The issue will be you. He could handle it on the couch; it was like a soft, adolescent form of love, innocent and warm. Of course, it could still be the same in your bed. But would it? Is there not a different set of implications that come with the two of you sharing a bed?

Snuggling with you on the couch was nice. Wonderful, perfect even. Javier loves falling asleep with you in his arms. But in your bed, arms curled around him, maybe even being his little spoon… that perfect body pressed flush to his own, your soft ass against his groin, your breathing pushing back into his chest… that would be an entirely different thing. And he wants it, he really does, but he isn’t sure he’ll be able to control himself.

He slept like shit the last night, to be honest. You on top of him prevented him from moving, and Javier is an active sleeper. His neck was at an odd angle and his back twisted. His body feels like it did after that fight with Tie Guy. He can’t- wouldn’t- invade your privacy of your bed without you home to give him the go ahead, but he’s so damn tired. Not even the coffee helps.

So Javier indulges in one of life’s little pleasures he rarely gets to experience: a nap. Curled up on his side on the couch, blankets pulled snug around his fetal-positioned body, Javier drifts off to the sound of the noon news on the television.

That’s how you find him when you come home. He’s peacefully asleep, his lips parted and mustache moving with his exhales. Well, he’s clearly alive. That’s good.

You’re not sure how long he’s been asleep, so you leave him, making yourself something to eat in the kitchen. You avoid the living room as you get settled in, changing out of your espresso-stained clothing and into something more comfortable.

When you’re all comfy, makeup removed and a warm sweater on, you sit at the other end of the couch. Javier’s curled into a ball, his feet just inches away from your legs. You hope when he moves, he’ll feel you there and wake. If not, oh well. He deserves the rest.

It’s gray and cloudy outside, and you snuggle into the corner of the couch while reading your worn copy of The Great Gatsby. It’s the one you’ve been re-reading recently, what you were reading that first day Javi wandered into your coffee shop and subsequently your life.

Javi wakes not long later, maybe half an hour, to the sound of your book crinkling. The paperback’s spine crunches with wear, and his eyes flutter open to see you tucked against a pillow. God, you look like an angel, the light from the cloudy day filtering in and illuminating you from the back. Your face is calm and peaceful, focused as your eyes trace the words of F. Scott Fitzgerald. “Hi,” Javier mumbles groggily.

Your expression turns to a smile and you set down the book. “Hey.” You take his legs and drape them across your lap, tracing your fingers across them. “How’d you sleep?”

He groans. “Okay. Neck hurts.”

“That wouldn’t be an issue if you’d just sleep with me,” you sing-song to him, stroking his legs through the comfortable pants he wears. “My bed is super cozy.”

God, does Javier know it. It felt like your love itself when he laid down and the warmth of it swallowed him, practically whole. “Maybe I’ll give in,” he sighs, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. “How was work? Sorry I didn’t visit.”

“Boring as always,” you chuckle. “What did you do today?”

Javi frowns as he thinks about it, his brain fogged with sleep. “Not much. Called Murphy, talked a while. He’s doing good.”

“Good,” you nod and smile. “When will I get to meet this elusive Steve?” You ask, softly kneading at his legs through the blanket and frowning as you realize he’s wearing… jeans. “Wait, pause. Are you seriously wearing jeans?” you ask him and laugh, lifting the blanket to confirm what you already suspected.

He frowns defensively, crossing his arms. “Maybe.”

“Why the fuck would you take a nap in jeans, Javi?” You laugh.

Javier looks away, frowning. The stubbornness shows. “I don’t own many comfortable clothes besides what I wear to work, if you haven’t noticed,” he retorts, but you can’t help but giggle. “Plus I thought I’d only be here to get fired.”

You smile at him lovingly and cup his face. “You sweet, stupid workaholic. Let’s go shopping later, get you some cozy stuff.”

Javier warms against your touch but maintains a pout. “I like jeans.”

Rolling your eyes, you huff out a laugh. “Would a pair of sweatpants be detrimental to your wardrobe, Javier?”

“Stop using big words,” he groans. “I’m barely awake.”

-

The large mall is annoying to Javier, full to the brim with last-minute (or maybe prepared, he never holiday-purchases) shoppers. He holds your hand, shooting feisty glares at anyone that dares to bump against his or, god forbid, your side. “Relax,” you tease and squeeze his free hand. The other carries a bag containing two hoodies, three t-shirts, and two pairs of sweatpants. “You’re not on a mission, and you certainly don’t have the knuckles to pitch another fight.”

He looks at his hands and scowls. You’re right. They’re no longer black and blue but faded yellows and greens, a spare bit of purple over the bones. The fight wasn’t that long ago, really, even though it feels like an eternity.

You drag Javier into a favorite shop of yours. He follows you around like a lost puppy while you search through clothes. He even hands you one or two tops he thinks you’d look nice in. You kiss him on the cheek and he dares to smile for a moment before returning to his stone-faced annoyance at such a packed area.

The dressing rooms are nicer, much more spaced out and offering places to rest. Javier sits in a chair across from your little cubby as you try things on. Every time you find something, you come out and model it for him. He comments, always positively, gives a little applause and smiles at the twirl you give in the big trifold mirror.

There’s one pair of leggings that hug your ass tight. Javier nearly salivates at them. “I like those,” he comments. “They look comfortable.” The same follows with a pair of jeans, even more flattering. He crosses his legs and nods, giving you similar comments.

Then come the dresses and tops. They’re all low-cut, not the wintery clothing Javier’s always seen you in. They show off your cleavage, and one scarlet colored blouse with a low neckline and fluffy sleeves makes Javier’s eyes simultaneously light up and darken. “How’s this one?” You ask, tugging at the sleeves.

“How much is it?” He asks, leaning back and looking at you through lidded eyes.

“Uh…” you tell him the cost and look back up at him, expecting a comment. “Why?”

“I’m buying that for you myself,” he smirks up at you, eyeing you up and down in a way that makes your skin feel intensely hot. The sight is stunning to him, and your flustered smile makes the smirk a little more devilish.

Javier does end up buying you the shirt, and you purchase a few other things you liked. But that scarlet shirt is stuck on Javier’s mind in replay: the subtle valley between your tits, how they filled out the shirt just perfectly and tugged at the cloth covering them, the way they look painfully soft to the touch, especially through that soft fabric. He wonders if you were wearing a bra under it. Then he has to stop himself.

You eat dinner late, chatting mindlessly over everything and nothing. Javier has no work to speak of now, so he tells you tall tales of the hunt for Escobar, some exaggerated and some underplayed. He mainly listens to you, asks about your past and your future, your family and your job. He could never tire of your voice, the soothing lull that warms him from the inside out, just like your skin flushed in that goddamn red top.

He drives the both of you home, humming softly to the songs on the radio. He’s beginning to recognize more and more of the top-40 hits on a certain preset station, songs he’d never listen to on his own. He glances over at you, gazing out of the window, and feels his body warm again- not just in his heart, but his stomach and lower too. He dares to steal a glance down, at the soft swell of your tits in that sweater. God, he wants to get you naked.

But he doesn’t. He doesn’t know what you want and he’s too afraid to ask, too afraid to shatter this blissful phase of adoration without the sexual attraction. He wonders if you feel it too, if your clothes suddenly feel too restricting and too warm when you run a hand down his bare back.

The nightly routine ensues: you shower. Javier changes, this time into a new hoodie but leaves his legs bare, wearing only boxers on the bottom. He waits on the couch, and when you exit the bathroom, he takes his turn. He returns and sits next to you on the couch.

Tonight, when you ask him to share your bed with you, he doesn’t say no. In fact, he doesn’t say much of anything, just yawns softly and stands, taking your hand.

It’s a sacred space, your bed. Javier knows it. He rarely fucks women in his; whether it’s for his own privacy or fear they’ll fall asleep there, he can’t say. But your bed is such an intimate expression of you, and he can see it. He can see the divot in the mattress where you sleep, the way you arrange the pillows just right for your own head. It is a queen size, but it’s single-occupancy: until now, that is, and Javier feels honored you’re willing to share this holiness with him.

He gets into the bed on the other side of you, the warm blankets enveloping him, and he nearly lets out a moan at the comfort. Compared to the hotel bed and the couch, this is sleeping on a literal cloud from the heavens. He lies still, waiting to see what you do first. Not wanting to overstep anything.

His prayers are answered when you snuggle into his side. You rest your head on his chest, kissing his sternum through the soft material of the hoodie. A hand rests on the other side of your face, and your legs both encircle one of his. Javier smiles, wrapping an arm around you. He presses a kiss into your hair and murmurs a goodnight, letting his head fall back. He has no time to worry about this situation before he falls asleep.

He falls asleep almost immediately, which makes you chuckle through your half-conscious state. He seems to always radiate heat, Javier. Your layers of blankets upon blankets suddenly feel unnecessary when a heat source the strength of the summer sun fills your bed. His chest is strong and firm beneath you. The rise and fall of his chest is like a boat rocking on the ocean, putting you at ease and allowing you to rest.

-

Fuck. He knew this was a bad idea. Why did he do this?

The clock reads 1:48 and Javier is wide awake, staring at your popcorn-stucco-whatever the fuck it is ceiling. He wasn’t able to process this before sleep overtook him, before his consciousness was wiped and with it, his inhibitions.

Your body is pressed to his so perfectly. You sleep without a bra, and Javier can feel his arm being slightly sandwiched between your breasts, the way they press further into it every time you inhale. Your thighs are warm with sleep, and he can feel your core pressed against his hip, even while you sleep and even through the layers of clothing.

Javier feels like the embodiment of slime. You’re asleep and all he can think about is how fucking hot your body is, how much he wants to press you into this mattress and wake you with an orgasm. He wants to palm your tits and make your nipples harden through that flimsy shirt, to slide his fingers beneath your pajama bottoms and-

He can’t take it. He feels so wrong, the smell of you surrounding him and choking him like a thick perfume, even in its subtlety. He does not deserve to sleep next to you, innocently, like someone you love, when all he can think about is his own carnal desires.

Pushing back the covers, Javier gets out of bed before any more blood can flow to his slowly hardening dick. This is all wrong. He should not be doing this, thinking these things without knowing you feel the same.

But the guilt is as strong as his arousal. He watches you for a moment, torn between his options, before meandering through the darkened bedroom and finding his way into the bathroom. He turns on the bright lights and forces himself to stare at the bulbs, to make his pupils shrink from their blown state of sleep mixed with desperation. He’s fully awake now.

He needs to get the hardened length down. He can’t do this, can’t allow himself this suffering while you sleep in the next room.

The sink. Cold water. He gasps silently at the splash of the ice-cold water against his face, dampening the edges of his hoodie. It doesn’t work enough. Again. Nothing. He feels like a teenager, unable to control himself. The cold water is a good idea, though.

Javier strips down, trying to avoid the urge to take himself in hand and fix this here and now. Turning the water as cold as it can go, Javier turns on the shower and steps in.

Agony is the best term he has. It makes him want to squeal like a fucking pig as he shudders from the cold. It doesn’t work to force his erection down, but what use is it when it’s not something physical but mental stimulating him? The cold shock didn’t do shit. Javier’s still achingly hard. He turns the water warmer and sighs as it gradually turns to a tolerable temperature, one that he can relax under and allow himself to let out a deep sigh.

He has no other options, unless he wants to wait it out. Leaning against the wall, Javier strokes himself, biting his lip and hoping the water pressure will cancel any soft moans he can’t avoid. It doesn’t take long when he’s this aroused, when he knows exactly what the fantasy in his head would feel like.

Javier is panting and sweating, from the effort and the growing heat of the water. He feels disgusting but it feels so good, and he can’t help imagining you doing this to him, you spreading your legs and feeding the fire between his own.

It only takes a few minutes. He gasps as he cums, with a force he’s never brought forth with his own hand. He bites his lip so hard he’s sure he might cut it off, not allowing the desperate sounds to reach a level you could hear. When he’s done, he groans and cracks his neck. “Oh, little bee,” he whispers, agonized as he lets the water wash the evidence of his sins down the drain.

When he’s done, Javier walks into your bedroom, silently, in the dark. His previous boxers were stained with a patch of his precum; he can’t put those back on. He drops the towel and puts on different boxers.

After he’s changed, he looks at your bed longingly for a moment. The soft sheets, soft mattress, the soft body between them. But in Javier’s head, he’s forsaken his right to the warmth, the comfort.

When you wake in the morning, hours after you thought you heard the shower running, you find Javier is not in your bed. There isn’t even a warm spot where he lay, just your body shifted further from your normal sleeping position. When you wander out to make your morning coffee, you find him. He spent the night on the couch again.

-

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[zayneternal]

《 Halloween in June 》

summary ↠ It’s been 6 months since you and Taehyung have made it official, and it’s been nothing but sarcastic roast sessions and the occasional binge of Criminal Minds on Netflix, but for the last of those glorious months, a rather strange arrival has made himself known to the closing baristas at your place of work. Which brings you to the newly normalized routine of your closing shifts: the weird guy (who wears demon horns?) is seen stalking the outside of the shop again, Taehyung specifically asks you not to work the shift alone, and you do exactly what you always do...work the shift alone. 

genre ↠ angsty angst ooO

member ↠ kim taehyung

warnings ↠  physical violence | stalking

word count ↠ 5.1k

moodboard credit to @jiminspjm

~

"Don’t close by yourself tonight,Y/N. I mean it.”

The words of your boyfriend, Taehyung, sternly imparted by soft lips against your temple while you’d prepared to leave for work earlier today, are still ringing painfully around between your ears as you directly disobey him. You watch the new barista, whom you’ve just excused from the gruesomely slow shift, gather her belongings, clock out, and disappear into the caramelized evening with a resounding jangle of the door chimes.

Arching away the guilty prickles that slowly inch up your spine at the knowledge of what you’ve just done, you sigh inwardly, pursing your lips as you traipse back behind the bar to finish up the last of the menial cleaning tasks. Taehyung is fully aware of your nasty habit to send home the newer baristas a little early on particularly slow nights like this one which is exactly why he’s been blowing up your phone since you arrived, making calls every hour that you’ve been declining in the name of “busyness”, but really, you know that hearing his voice will only make you feel worse about sending Jess home when he specifically told you not to. If it weren’t so furiously endearing and didn’t make you feel a kind of protected that you’d never let him know you felt, you might think Taehyung was being a little more overbearing than he is. 

Despite Taehyung’s wishes, there’s really no point to having two people on the clock when there have only been three customers in the last hour--one of which being the regular that resides in the back corner working on the next great American novel that he’s had half finished for about two years now. You and Jess, even with her distracted habits and scatterbrained nature, got miles ahead on the closing list, leaving you very little to do besides counting the money drawer, cleaning out the espresso ports, and locking up at the end of the night.

You regret these bulleted thoughts when a sharp buzz begins smarting against the glass at the top of the pastry case, your phone screen lighting up to reveal a candid frame of Taehyung’s squinted smile, his name shining like a beacon across the top. Even after half a year of that picture present in your phone, the reminder that the man whose image it bears is the one calling you still sends your nerves blazing--a fact you’ve had to endure Taehyung teasing you about on numerous occasions (though he would admit to the same). 

Gripping your phone in your palm to cease the outright noise, you clench your jaw in preparation, letting your thumb hover over the green phone icon so long you have to rush to press down before the call times out.

“Hello?” you breathe into the receiver, the muffled sound of a Seinfeld rerun playing on the mounted TV above the coffee bar.

“Y/N! Hey,” Taehyung’s rasped resonance hurries back, slightly airy as if he’d been holding his breath before you answered. “How are things going? Is everything good there? I haven’t been able to get a hold of you all night.”

You sigh again, running a hand through the haphazardness of your hair as you lean against the pastry case, holding the phone closer to your ear. “I know, I’m sorry. Me and Jess were swamped trying to get ahead on the cleaning while we had time.” There is only a small bit of solace you find knowing it’s more of an omission than a lie. 

“Swamped?” he repeats, voice almost unreadable. “Huh, well that’s nice. Every shift I worked last week totaled maybe 10 customers.” 

You bite the inside of your cheek, shifting your weight. “Yeah, business isn’t the same in the summer,” you sigh, deftly avoiding the truth of your customer count. 

“Quite the bummer,” Taehyung speaks in that way he does when he’s waiting for a laugh. One you can’t help but give if for no other reason than how stupid it was. 

“Lame,” you chuckle, finding the feeling of the smile tugging against your lips rejuvenating. 

“How’s Jess doing?” Taehyung’s next question sends your grin running back to its hiding place with its tail between its legs. You’d have to tread carefully.

“She’s...” you begin, trying your hardest to sound casual. “Ya know, good.” 

Nailed it.

“Good? Hasn’t run the espresso machine without the espresso yet? Dropped any open milk jugs?” 

You’re trying to read his tone, but he sounds naive to your “omissions” so far. “Nope, no messes, broken machinery, or third degree burns to speak of yet.”

He huffs idly. “It’s only a matter of time. I’ll make sure to warn her about the christening the espresso machine likes to give newcomers when I work with her next week.”

You manage to quirk a grin as you settle into the conversation. “I’m sure she’d be grateful to hear that from you.” It was no secret that Jess had a certain affinity for Tae and his boyish charm, always dropping soapy dishes and fumbling with change when he would walk into the shop. It was somewhat endearing. 

“Hmm,” he hums idly before saying something that shoots an arrow into your stomach. “Why don’t you just give her the phone for a sec, and I’ll tell her now? No time like the present.” 

Your muscles tense and eyes close, slowly recognizing the familiar color to his voice. He also dons it when he’s asking if you ate the leftovers that no one else but you and he have access to. 

“How’d you know?” you breathe, defeated, lifting a hand to your face.  

“You didn’t brag about how much more tip money you’re bringing home with all this ‘business’ you have,” he responds casually, and you can’t tell if you’re in trouble yet or not. “You never miss a chance to be the breadwinner.” 

You chuckle lightly, cautiously, breath tense for the moments that follow. “I thought you might be...ya know, mad if I told you I was closing alone.” 

“Again,” he corrects. “Closing alone again.”

“Again...” you amend, feeling like a child on the other side of a pointed finger. You might’ve been upset, annoyed, that Taehyung is parenting you if you hadn’t been the instigator, knowing exactly how to avoid his gentle wrath and still choosing to step in its way. 

You hear an exasperated sigh seep through the phone, and you can almost see him, eyes closed, locks shaking back and forth, nose bridge pinched between his pointer and thumb. “Y/N,” he breathes. “Are you actively trying to make my hair fall out? Cause it sure feels that way. You can’t see, but I’m holding a few shiny, very luxuriously conditioned locks in my hand right now. They should not be in my hand right now.” 

You know he’s scolding you, but his personality washes through the receiver and makes you smile--something you try to hide in your tone lest he turn into more of your father. “I promise your balding is the farthest thing from a priority, Tae.” 

“Then why, why, do you insist on blatantly ignoring me every single time?” In the background of the call, you hear the soft click of a door being shut. The jangle of keys.   

“Taehyung, please tell me you are not leaving the apartment right now.” You say instead of answering him, your own eyes closing. 

“My hair is falling out, and you’re upset that I’m coming to see you? Your priorities really are out of whack.” 

You sigh and laugh in tandem, your neck almost hurting as it tries to decide which side to commit to. Annoyed or humored. “Of course I’m not upset that you’re coming to see me. I just wish it wasn’t because you think I can’t handle myself by myself.” You begin idly tracing the frame of the register next to you, twisting the key in the cash drawer back and forth. 

Another creak as Taehyung pushes through the front door of your apartment building, the sounds of passing cars whooshing through the background as he begins the trek further downtown. “Y/N, I promise I believe you are fully capable of handling yourself. It’s just with everything that’s been happening there lately...that maniac...” He trails off, breath tight. “Just humor me. I’m protective.”

You breathe slowly before answering with half a mind to roll your eyes at the fact that you almost did want to humor him. The maverick inside you fights lazily with your secret desire to be sheltered. Instead of giving in outright, you glance at the clock and make your escape for the time being with a curt, “I’ve gotta lock up. See you soon.” 

You end the call and replace your phone on the counter, moving to inform the great American author in the back that it was closing time. He gathers his things quickly, looking slightly deflated at whatever progress he had or hadn’t made during his time here, and disappears into the blackening night. With an empty store and slight prickle of annoyance rumbling in your stomach, you flip the locks closed on the front door, swiftly turn up the chairs onto the tables, and clean the final espresso port before clocking out. 

Taehyung still isn’t here, but you aren’t surprised. Your apartment is a twenty minute walk from the shop and you’ve spent all of ten finishing up the quick close. 

You gather your things in your arms and stand by the front window, taking only a moment to decide that you will meet Taehyung halfway home instead of sitting like a duck in the dark and empty space, knowing that your maverick is winning the fight now and you want to leave if for no other reason than to show Taehyung you really could handle yourself by yourself. 

You take a step, backing away from the window with pursed lips. It isn’t even the length of an inhale after you turn your back, however, before a loud and raucous slam resounds throughout the shop. You freeze mid-step, shoulders tensing immediately and eyes wide as you slowly shift your gaze behind you, already knowing what you will find when it arrives. 

There he is. 

Party City devil horns pointed high. Halloween makeup smudged and unnerving across his wild face. Palms planted flat and tense against the thick glass of the window. 

No one knows where he came from or why, only that a few weeks ago he made a claim on main street. A demon in human form hellbent on terrorizing the small businesses littering the downtown area in the dead of night. Somehow he was in perfect sync with the closing schedules, choosing the nights when you least expected him to appear without a warning to make himself very known and frighten the living fuck out of the witnesses. 

He hasn’t hurt anyone...yet...mostly because everyone so far has been smart enough to stay out of his way. Make it home before he showed up, if you were lucky, or stay in a pair or group which he tended to keep his distance from for whatever reason. Everyone so far except for you. Of course. 

Realizing you are still frozen and freaked, you turn your eyes to the basement door that you had been heading for in the first place--a less conspicuous way to exit and the way you had been hoping to take to avoid him altogether. He hasn’t shown up at all the last few closes you’ve done alone, and most of his appearances--besides the first time almost a month ago--you’ve only heard about from coworkers. Maybe that’s why the healthy dose of fear you are supposed to have was nowhere to be found tonight. 

It sure as hell is here now. Too little too late. 

All of a second has passed since you glanced away, but with a swift look back, your eyes come up empty of all things frightening which somehow frightens you all the more. Your breath quickens. Your saliva dries, sticking as you attempt to swallow without success.

“Ok, Y/N,” you self soothe, the weak sound you hear squeak from you not in the least bit convincing. “No need to freak out. You’re gonna be just fine. Composure. Composure.” 

You swallow thickly once more and stand up straight. Maybe he’s gone? Maybe your presence is of no interest to him tonight? You try to assure yourself of these things as you slide to the basement door, glancing over your shoulder every other beat because of course you aren’t convinced. Is the basement the safest way? What if he’s waiting down there? What if that’s what he wants you think so you’ll walk right out the front door instead? Is it better to just stay put? Can he get inside?

Deciding it’s less likely he knows about the back exit and feeling too frazzled to stay, you hurry on. The sweat lacing your palm as it clamps around the brass door handle is thick, sliding somewhat as you turn and tug it open, closing it just as swiftly behind you. In the dimly light stairwell, you feel only slightly consoled.

It’s with haste now that you descend the rickety old wood and stumble across the dank room towards the hidden alley door, grappling with the key in your purse all the while in preparation for your speedy retreat. Taehyung has to be close -- and then a spike of fear because Taehyung is outside with him. 

The basement door is opened and then closed, ushering you outside within the same moment, and as you shove the key into the lock, you fumble with your phone in your free hand, your nerves making it doubly hard to unlock it and redial your most recent contact. 

“Hey, I’m almost there,” he answers immediately, sounding annoyingly clueless to the danger he so adamantly warned against. You feel almost hypocritical as you interrupt his, “Just another minute or-”

“Tae, turn around, please,” you hiss intensely, your eyes wild around you as you creep down the narrow alleyway, not sure if you should feel protected or trapped yet.

“Turn around? But I’m almost--” He pauses, confused. “Y/N what’s going on? Did you leave? Please tell me you’re still inside.” 

“I-I-” you stutter, questioning if you want to explain your reasoning in this current moment. You are almost to the end of the ally and then it would be brightly lit streets and witnesses. Almost there.

“I’ll defend myself later,” you urge, realizing you are whispering. “Just turn around, please. I’ll meet you at the apartment.” You shake your head at yourself, upset for a random moment that you are so affected just by the sight of this human apparition. He hasn’t hurt anyone, you remind yourself. 

And then suddenly you are on the ground, your phone scattering a few feet away from you. The muffled electronic questions of Taehyung are thin and blurry in the background. You realize your vision is swimming and lift a hand to your forehead where it comes away red and sticky, shining in your fuzzy view. The asphalt had hit you hard. Confusion quickly gives way to concern and then terror as you roll to your side, head pounding. The first clear thing that enters your vision is the double point of a pair of horns leering over you. 

You think you scream, but can’t be sure. The sound melts into the night, as if it never happened, leaving you even more petrified than you thought possible. Voiceless.

You feel so helpless, bleary and bleeding, underneath the shadow of this terror, his face illuminated in the most horrifying of ways as the moonlight stripes over his dark and dreary makeup, lighting up half of his sickeningly joyed smile with flashes of silver fire. 

Another silent scream.

He’s standing over your lower half, nothing in his hands to indicate he’d been the one to cause your stumble. Maybe one clumsy moment of fear has fated you to this. No one to blame but yourself. 

He leans down, and your heart stops for a moment making breathing impossible. You try to discern if the liquid you feel on your cheek is a stream of thick tears or the blood from your forehead streaking down. Neither bring you any form of comfort or distraction from the hell spawn closing in on you. He speaks no words with the part of his sinister smile, just a ravenous snarl followed by a hyena-like chortle that tells you, “I’m having fun. Are you?”

You feel yourself attempt to move away from him, your palms scratching desperately against the black pavement beneath you, cutting and clawing your skin with a welcome pain that tries to convince you you have a chance. Only you don’t and he is on top of you again, this time reaching out, his grin deepening as his ink stained hands spread around your forearm, tugging hard.

You yelp, audibly this time, gathering just enough breath to plead, “No,” as the grimy feeling of his fingers spreads along your arm like poison. This only seems to please him further as he grips harder, pain igniting beneath his touch. 

And in that moment, a moment that feels like eternity in slow motion, you want nothing more than to apologize to Taehyung. To tell him he was right and you’re sorry and you miss him and need him and want to be protected and will tell your maverick to move out for good if it means this second of pure terror will end. You close your eyes, certain now that the liquid on your cheeks is both blood and tears. Please let it end. 

And it does.

The pain blooming along your arm subsides. The searing presence of him overtop of you is removed. You can breathe. You can move. You grasp at your chest, sucking in air like you’ve never drank a breath in your life. It’s only after multiple deep gulps of oxygen that the blurry noise in the background races to the forefront, clear and alarming.

“You fucking bastard! You sick fuck, don’t touch her!” Taehyung’s voice echos sharp and furious in your ears, and your eyes fly open to drink in the scene. He’s grappling with the demon, rolling him over as the devil fights with the growls and snarls of a wild animal, biting and gnashing his fangless teeth at Taehyung’s face before his hands are pinned on either side of him. The control only lasts a moment, though, as Tae’s anger gets the best of him and he releases one of his hands to throw a few heavy fisted punches against his target’s jaw. 

The horned man’s head thrashes to the side with the force of the impact, and you know you should feel assuaged somewhat by the karma being dealt, but the way the man laughs through the pain puts your nerves on ice. You scrabble away in a moment of clarity and urgency towards your discarded phone, a slim crack racing along the screen. You fumble once more to unlock the device.

“911, what’s your emergency?” A calm voice questions in response to your dial, the juxtaposition almost enraging against the scene you’re helplessly witnessing. 

“My boyfriend!” you cry. “He’s--the other man jumped me and--please help, I don’t know how long he can keep him down!” 

“Please slow down, ma’am,” the voice urges, only a fraction more concerned than before. You have to remind yourself that it’s their job to stay calm when the other end of their line is anything but. “Where are you now?”

“Alley!” you answer desperately. “The alley behind the shops on main street! Please hurry!”

In front of you, where your eyes are still glued, Taehyung is flung to the side with a zealous convulsion from the demon beneath him. He smacks into the brick wall next to their writhing tussle with an oof before the man is clambering onto him like a beast, his face bruised and bloodied by Taehyung’s fists. Vengeful.

A shriek rips through you and the phone drops to the ground just as the 911 operator is mollifying, “Help is on the--”

“Taehyung!” you wrack, your head empty of anything but the sight of him bracing futilely against the claws the man is using to slash across Taehyung’s forearms and face. He is trying with everything in him to buck the devil from his chest, but he has him pinned good and shows no signs of relenting, practically foaming at the mouth with unfettered hate. And that face...the evil. The rage. 

You don’t think. You don’t question your next move. You’re suddenly casting yourself from where you’d been crumpled on the asphalt, a shout that could’ve come from anyone but you tearing through your throat as you launch across the space between you and your attacker. Your hands feel the tattered fabric of the demon’s jacket before your brain catches up to you, nails digging into the flesh beneath it and you yank. 

A confused grunt escapes who is now your victim as he topples backwards and away from Taehyung. “Get OFF!” you seethe, furious, terrified, and aflame with adrenaline as you tug with the strength of ten of you and slam the unaware man into the pavement. You give him no moment of respite before you’re the one in control, pinning his arms down with the weight of your knees and laying into him with all you’ve got. Your nails are just as effective as his were against Tae, if not more-so. Blood is slick in the gashes you leave against his cheeks, neck, collarbones, blazing red against his ruined makeup. The facade of the maniac is crumbling beneath you.

You see the wild anger give way to what resembles fear as he slowly realizes the mistake he has made. At least he’s sane enough for that.

Deep moans of anguish and pleading are flowing from him now, still no words, but you don’t need them to know you’re inflicting pain. Well deserved. 

“Y/N! Y/N that’s enough!” Taehyung’s voice seeps into your red rage fueled tunnel, a light at the end that you’re not ready to reach. You feel the weight of his arms wrap themselves around your midsection, pulling with a force you can’t combat before you’re unfastened from the devil. He remains grounded. He doesn’t move to run or escape, instead rolling over with another moan as he covers his bleeding face with his hands. One of his horns has detached beside him. In the near distance, you register the sound of sirens. 

“You got him, Y/N, you got him,” Tae hushes into your ear, still holding you tight against him. It’s not until he speaks that you realize you are still struggling to free yourself and return to your karmic retribution. “Relax, Y/N, we’re ok. You got him.”

It’s then that you hear yourself crying, your cheeks now completely doused in the sweat and tears of the passed moment. You’re shaking against Tae’s chest, and as he finally sets your feet back on the ground, you crumple in his arms, all the adrenaline rushing out of you quicker than you can adjust to. He catches you deftly, holding you upright as he turns you into him, hiding your face in the joint of his neck and shoulder as he sways back and forth, ushering a calming pattern against your back. 

“The cops are here, Y/N,” he whispers, alerting you to the red and blue lights swimming a few yards away and the sound of car doors popping open. Questions shout their way down the alley towards you, but you don’t hear anything but noise. You breathe Taehyung’s scent in for all it’s worth. 

“He’s right here, officer!” Tae speaks for you both, calling towards the coming aid. The sound of clattering footsteps rushes past you, and you hear the echoed moans of the man become more desperate as he’s lifted off the ground and cuffed with a comforting click before the horrid sound disappears away down the alley and into the back of a car. It’s not until that car has pulled away and sped off, your nightmare with it, that Taehyung gently pulls back, his hands coming to cup your trembling jaw. He lowers himself to look into your eyes with intense concern, searching you. The red and blue lights of the remaining cop car flash methodically behind him, and you can feel the lingering presence of another officer nearby, waiting to question you, you’re certain.

“You okay?” Tae softens. His thumb brushes your cheek.

“I will be,” you assure him with some semblance of a smile. “You?” With a sense of normalcy returning to you, you bring your own hand to ghost against the scratch marks left in the perfect skin of his face. Taehyung tries not to flinch against the sting. You’re only pacified knowing you did much worse. “Look what he did to you...”

He mirrors your soft smile of reassurance. “I’ll be okay. It beats going bald.”

You’re surprised that you laugh, given the circumstances, but you’re grateful for it. The sound feels like a weight rolling away. You lift your hand further to tousle his very thick and secure locks. Taehyung sighs against your fingers. “Can we go home now?”

____________

“Ow.”

“Oh, sorry,” you smile apologetically as you dab the cotton ball softer against Taehyung’s skin. His eyes are closed, palms resting against your thighs as you both sit criss-cross-apple-sauce on the floor of your apartment bathroom. You’ve been tending to each other’s wounds for the past half hour after arriving home, but with every pat pat pat of rubbing alcohol and Neosporin across marred skin, you’re hit with a wash of guilt that began bubbling in your stomach the moment that cop car drove away.

You clear your throat and the lump in it. “Um, Tae...thanks again for dealing with the police afterwards.” You’ve thanked him five times already, but you can’t seem to satiate the guilty conscience living it up in your gut. “I don’t think I would’ve spoken coherently if I’d tried.”

He doesn’t call you out on the fifth repeat. He just sighs softly and smiles against your gentle cotton touch. “You don’t have to thank me, baby. I’m just glad you’re ok. Seeing you in that alley when I got there...” He trails and his smile tenses before he shakes it off, not wanting to add anymore weight to the night. “Well...it could’ve been a lot worse.” His hand tightens around the flesh of your thigh.

Your careful trail across his face slows to a stop. Taehyung opens his eyes to question you only to find your gaze fixed over a spot on the floor, eyes clouded.

“Y/N...” he whispers, reaching for your face.

“I’m sorry,” you rush, pushing his hand away. He stares at you, confused, hand frozen in midair. “I’m so sorry, this is all my fault.” The lump in your throat won’t be swallowed away this time.

“Y/N, don’t--”

“No, Taehyung, it is,” You urge, your voice tightening as the prickle of heat ignites behind your eyes. “Tell me I’m wrong.” The warmth wells the more you try to contain it behind the brazen tone of your voice. “If I had just fucking listened to you, we wouldn’t be sitting here on the floor wiping blood off of each other’s faces. If I wasn’t so goddamn stubborn, I wouldn’t have had to cut into a lunatic in a middle of an alleyway. Tell me that’s not my fault, Taehyung.” There is no hope of hiding the tears now as they bubble and boil over and down your cheeks, stinging all over again. You’ve had enough crying for a lifetime tonight. “You can’t. You can’t tell me it’s not my fault because every time I look at your face--” You clasp his jaw between shaking hands. “--I know it is.” 

You bite your trembling lower lip and let go of him, pressing the heel of your palms against your burning eyes. You want to hide, disappear, get swallowed up in this moment, almost ashamed to be sitting in front of him so freely. You want him to at least get mad at you. You deserve something. 

Instead of any of that, though, you feel the warm and soothing trace of Taehyung’s fingers bloom around your wrists, peeling them away with gentle force until your rash red face, swollen with cuts and tears and splotches, is revealed to him. He takes both of your hands into one of his, his free palm coming to wipe away the waterfall streaming across your skin, and you can do nothing but squeeze the warmth of him like any second it’s going to disappear. Maybe that’s exactly what you deserve after what you caused tonight. The thought of it shreds you.

“Y/N,” he calls, and you meet his eyes for the first time, a fresh flow of waterworks exploding when you see the utterly pure sincerity he wears in his gaze. “Listen to me very carefully.” He leans forward, tugging you along until your foreheads rest gently together, his hand trailing to the back of your neck where he holds you secure. It’s still not close enough. 

“Was a single decision tonight made with any intention of purposefully putting someone in danger?” 

The question gives you pause. You weren’t expecting it. “...No.”

“Then nothing--not a single thing--that happened to either of us was anyone’s fault. Do you hear me? You did nothing wrong.” His voice is like honey in your ears, his soft conviction so mesmerizing, you want to believe him. “Even had I known what would happen...I would’ve done it all over again for you. Never question that.”

You cry softly as you stare at him, utterly speechless as to how you deserved someone so full of kindness and goodwill. You don’t know if you’ll ever figure that one out.

He tips his head forward and attaches his lips to yours in a slow kiss, the feeling of it sending a wave of total calm and reassurance through you. When he pulls away, he pulls you with him until you are cradled against his chest, his legs walled around your form as you rock back and forth on the bathroom floor, surrounded by discarded cotton and open tubes of Neosporin.

“I love you,” you hear yourself whisper against him.

A content sigh from above you precedes lingering lips atop your head. “I love you,” he agrees. “More than you know.”

Through the fading sting of tears and freshly healing wounds, you really do believe him. And no amount of worry-fueled balding or strong-willed stubbornness will change that.

___________

ok, before you say, “devil horned man? really?” which many of you MAY HAVE already done I PROMISE YOU this plot was inspired by very true events at a very real job i had a while back, LEGIT someone like this exists, and i just ran with what I was given, ok thank yew.

[hyper-fxation]

Café Mourning (Reid/Reader)

Summary: Reader is a barista who has been missing their favorite customer for the past three months. One rainy day, he walks in like nothing happened. A/N: 
Hi there! Welcome to my first official fic! This imagine was written for @imagining-in-the-margins​ ‘s Discord fic swap (which was a blast, might I add). To my lovely @ctrlalt-del​, this one’s for you! I hope you enjoy!

P.S: My requests/inbox are open! Feel free to send me any ideas; smut, fluff, angst, you name it!

Couple: Spencer Reid/GenderNeutral!Reader 
 Category: 
Fluff Word Count: 1.3K

——————

The early Saturday shifts were calm, yet slightly pitiful. All they consisted of was dusting between the same few crevices about twenty-seven times, or at least until there wasn’t a single espresso grain in sight. And as if the leisurely cleaning wasn’t tiring enough, the rain pattered heavily against the building, causing everything to feel twice as dreary. Not much activity was happening at the little coffee shop on the corner, especially not at the ass crack of dawn. I’d almost given up on seeing anyone before the sun would rise when the first ring of the doorbell chimed.

“I’ll be right with you!” I watched the final beads of coffee drip into the cup before making a quick effort to tend to the customer. After all, people tended to be ruder than usual at this hour. At least, before they got their coffee.

“I’m sorry for the wait… What can I get for y-“

The ceramic slipped from my fingers as I gasped, sucking in breath as I awaited the dreaded crash by my feet. There stood the man, drenched by the morning showers. His hair hung in loose, soggy curls. He wore a soft yet longing smile across his face. That smile belonging to Spencer.

“Hey.” His eyes were wide, surprised by the sudden accident.

“Good morning! Oh my god, you’re soaked! Do you not have an umbrella?” Careful not to slip on the spilled drink, I frantically searched for any sort of towel to help his current issue, never mind the coffee.

“No, I forgot it this morning.” His eyes followed as I ducked underneath the counter, slowly peeling his now twice as heavy blazer from his shoulders.

“Spencer! You’re going to catch a cold!” I settled for a roll of paper towels, tossing them over the counter.

He stared at the towels for longer than I had expected him to before adverting his gaze back towards myself.

“Why are you staring at me like I’m the crazy one?” I couldn’t describe the way he had looked at me then. Longing, dazed, I wasn’t sure. But it had certainly set my heart into a thumping frenzy.

“Did you…call me Spencer?”

As a matter of fact, I had. A slip of the tongue, if anything. The man had never told me his name. Nor had I asked.

“Oh,” I spoke, eyes widening in alarm. “Yeah. I did. I’m sorry!”

I attempted to recall the memory of when I had first heard his name. A friend, co-worker, someone who he had arrived at the shop with months ago. She had called him Spence, to which I had assumed was a nickname for Spencer.

“One of your co-workers called you Spence so I just figured…”

“No, it’s fine!” He smiled then, noticing my panic and placing his jacket over the back of a chair. “I just didn’t realize you know my name. I definitely didn’t expect you to remember it.” His voice softened, trailing off as he slowly peeled a few towels from the roll.

His words took me by surprise; of course, I would have remembered! Spencer’s early morning presence was what kept me excited for another shift. I was always greeted with a cheerful “good morning”, a soft smile and an occasional compliment regarding my hair or outfit for the day. I wasn’t sure how I would have forgotten those soft hazel eyes followed by his small, button nose that would scrunch out of habit. I found myself drifting into my own thoughts, leaving us both in awkward silence.

“Why would I forget?” I shifted a few cups on the counter, waiting for his eyes to meet my own once again.

He placed the damp towels into the trash beside the door before running his palms over his shirt, realizing that it was still soaked before shaking his hands slightly in attempt to dry them.

“I…I just haven’t been by in a while.”

“Yeah, three months, right?” I shook my head, allowing myself to laugh at my own stupid thoughts. “A-At first I thought you’d finally gotten tired of me and were just avoiding my shift.”

He almost gasped, taken aback by my statement. “Oh, God no! No, I haven’t had a decent cup of coffee since the last time I saw you.”

A playful smile overtook my face as I offered, “Do you want to fix that?”

He seemed to relax, breathing out a sigh that I hadn’t realized he was holding in and tucking his damp hair behind his ears.

“Definitely, although I’m a little worried I’m developing a Pavlovian response to seeing you.”

I giggled as I fixed a new cup underneath the espresso machine. “The training experiment with dogs? Am I the dog or the bell?”

“You’re definitely not the dog.” He laughed as I finished his cup, placing it on the other side of the counter.

Handing him a few napkins to hold underneath the steaming drink, I studied his current appearance. “And you’re very puppy like. It suits you.”

He gave a small nod before moving to sit. I watched for a couple of seconds before turning my attention back to my obnoxious cleaning.

The shop was quiet for about two minutes, other than my audible, uncomfortable grunts as I separated the shards of glass from the coffee puddle. I allowed a few rags to soak up the mess as I sighed, placing my hands on my hips. Spencer had been watching, gulping down a rather large sip before speaking softly. “I missed you.”

Talk about the world’s heaviest eye contact as we both attempted to decide if those words were meant to be spoken before I decided to respond.

“Really?”

He seemed hesitant to answer before giving a slow nod, averting his eyes to the liquid in his cup. My heart most definitely swelled, rocking back on my heels as I watched Spencer fidget in his seat.

“…Do you want to hear something embarrassing?” I suddenly announced.

“Embarrassing for you or embarrassing for me? Because that will determine my answer.”

I gave a soft smile before responding. “For me.”

“Then continue…” He smirked behind his mug, taking a large gulp.

“So, I just remade that drink for you.”

It took him a few seconds to fully comprehend what I had said, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I made that drink for you earlier, which…” I gestured to the soaking paper on the floor by my feet. “Is the drink I dropped on the floor. But even if I hadn’t dropped it, I would have remade the drink because I was worried that you’d think I was weird for having it made already.” I felt my face flush as his eyebrows raised in question.  

“How did you know I was going to come in?” He placed his cup down on a napkin, twisting it by the handle as he watched it slide. “Well, I didn’t. For three months every morning I… made one anyway. Just in case.” I stumbled upon my words, flustered as my little coffee shop crush was becoming a bit more obvious the more I spoke. “Is that weird? I’m sorr-“

I was then cut off by an aggressive screech of chair legs against the hardwood floor. Spencer sped behind the counter, stepping over the mess that had yet to be properly taken care of before pulling my body into the warmest hug I had experienced in a quite some time. Despite his attire being damp, I placed my head against his shoulder with a deep sigh.

“What’s this for?” I finally spoke as he took a step back to meet my eyes.

“I never expected anyone to have waited for me.” His words were laced with genuine sadness, his eyes sparkling with appreciation.

I shook my head with a playful smile, patting his chest softly. “You underestimate me, Spencer.”

“You? Of course not! Your barista skills, well…”

[perseusjackson-jasongrace]

the story of us

this was requested by @fantasylover16. I genuinely had so much fun with this thank you! I hope you enjoy. Also I said nb jack frost rights and I meant it.

masterlist; my links

This is a story about two people.

One died three hundred years ago and has been alive since then. They have white hair, whiter than the stars, than burning light, than heaven itself. They have blue eyes that remind you of cracked ice in melting winter. They have ivory skin, some say like porcelain, it's more like liquid opal.

The other is twenty two years old. He has black hair, like jet fuel, and midnight. He has green eyes that hold oceans lost to time, that hold memories. He has brown skin that reminds you of cool forest floors and water glistened rock.

This is a story about who they are.

"Percy!" His roommate shouts from the kitchen. "Get your butt down here and tell me if the blue skirt goes better with these glasses!"

He laughs as he pulls a sweater over his heads and grabs his phone, slipping it into his back pocket. He feels the press of his pen as he pats himself down to make sure he has everything and when he is satisfied he bolts down the passage and stops short of the kitchen where Hazel Levesque is parading in front of their grand mirror on the opposing wall. She is decked out in black platform ankle boots, white fishnets that draw out the colour of her skin, slightly dark than his, a bright blue skater skirt and a soft pastel blue crew-neck not unlike his own.

"You Hazel Levesque," He grins bright and unrestrained, "Are a vision."

"Yes," She mutters still swopping between two pairs of clear-framed glasses and scrunching her nose, "But is it enough to bring my crush to their knees?"

"If Reyna doesn't bow down to you I think we can assume she's in desperate need of glasses."

"Well then maybe I should take both pairs and offer her one." She muses, pulling at her afro distractedly.

He snorts, turning to the counter and grabbing a bowl and whatever cereal he can reach first.

"Well," Hazel turns to him, he can see the smile she's trying so hard to hide, "Shall we be off then?"

He blinks at her, blinks again, points an unsure finger at his chest.

"Oh you don't expect me to brave Reyna on my own do you? Besides we're matching today it'd be quite ridiculous if we went out separately."

"But—" He looks to his bowl, as barren as the desert, "But my cereal?"

"I'll buy you breakfast on the way!" She waves the concern off, grabbing his hand and pulling them both out the door.

Despite their height difference, she makes it look far less like he's letting her pull him and far more like she has the strength to straight up carry him across the country.

"Hazel," He giggles, "Slow down."

"I can't Percy," She shakes her head vigorously, practically running through the park next to their building and into the bustling streets beyond. "If I don't do this now I'll lose all my courage and spend eternity in self-damned misery." Her brown eyes, turning honeyed as they catch the sun through the round glasses framing her face, flash bright and bold.

He stops them, pulling her in for a hug, unable to stop the laughter shaking his body." You have never been a coward Hazel Levesque. No matter the day, time or outfit you have always been brave enough to stand up and do what's needed. And telling Reyna you have a crush on her is just another battle you absolutely can win." He pulls them apart, setting a steady green gaze on her excited one. "Now let's get some coffee, and a mint tea for you because you're hyper enough as it is, and then we'll go find the love of your life and I can finally show you the google-doc I have for your wedding."

She strangles his ribs in another hug and then takes a deep breath as she steps away. "What would I do without you Percy Jackson?"

"Let's never find out," He smiles, slinging an arm over her shoulder and directing them towards the Chaos House.

As per its namesake, walking into the café is like being lost in a crowd of sleep-deprived, adhd kids all connected to caffeine IVs. In short: it's chaos. Its their favourite place on earth.

Being hit with a wall of noise after the quiet of awakening nature feels like being sucker punched directly in your ear canal. Percy cannot help but grin as he takes in the racing patrons and the sound of coffee beans being ground and the smell of cinnamon and honey and endless activity.

They immediately spot a group of their friends and bolt for the booth they're all squished into.

"Reyna isn't here." Hazels voice is pitched with panic, "Oh gods what if she's sick today? What if she fell in a ditch on her jog this morning?" She stops right in the middle of the café, brown eyes wide. "What if she knew I was trying to do this and decided to stay home today to avoid seeing me?"

He grabs her arms already shaking his head. "My darling, I need you to take a deep breath. You are spiraling."

Wildness is still tracing her expression but he feels her shoulders rise and fall as she gulps air.

"Okay," He says gently, "Now we're gonna go to our table, have a good time with our friends and if and when Reyna shows up you're going to tell her how you feel and I'll meet you back at home so you can let me know when the wedding is."

She smacks his shoulder gently, nervous giggles escaping her. "Alright fine. I hate when you get reasonable. It's very disconcerting."

"Good thing it's rare," His lips twitch, and they finally start towards their friends.

A loud chorus of hellos and how are you’s ring around his head as they get nearer and he feels right at home amongst it all.

"What's up losers?" He flops down next to Jason, pressing a shoulder into the blondes side in a hug.

Annabeth sits next to the blonde, squished between him and Piper, a leg over Jason's thigh and her hand intertwined with Piper's. Frank is on the opposite side, a casual arm slung over Leo's shoulder. Hazel squeezes in besides Leo and sighs dramatically.

"What's wrong Levesque?" Piper frowns, reaching over to clasp the girl's hand.

"She's feeling put out because she had something very important to do today and her plans are being delayed because a certain someone isn't here."

And just as their friends start reassuring and ribbing her in equal parts Percy's phone rings. With a frown he pulls it from his pocket, as he gets up and waves to say he'll be back in a minute.

"Hello, this is Percy Jackson."

He's not paying attention to his surroundings as he listens to the person on the line so when his shoulder slams into somebody he almost topples to the ground. When he turns around to say sorry there is nobody there; his frown only deepens but then the voice on the phone is pulling his attention and he makes his way outside.

This is story about they meet.

The conversation is a whirl of information about his upcoming course and what his supervisor needs from him. By the time he ends the call and tucks the phone back in his pocket his whole body feels like it's taken on the sky all over again. He has the urge to check if another grey streak has graced his hair. Instead he leans against the wall, ignoring the way his clothes catch against its roughness. He can feel the cold seeping through the cracks in the brick and into the threads of his sweatshirt.

He looks down, pulling his arms over his chest in an attempt to keep the warmth in but as he takes his arms away from the wall he sees the frost outline of his fingers. A clear, already melting handprint marking the brick like a graffiti tag. He steps back, away from the wall, to find his whole body outlined. It reminds him eerily of the chalk markings they do at murder investigations. He's not entirely sure this isn't prophetic.

The frost, little beads of ice skittered in shape, is melting at a rapid rate but the colour catches Percy's eye. It's not the usual dulled, muddy ice that coats his windows in the morning and sits atop the grass each night. It is blue, bright and pure, and looks... happy?

He's definitely going insane. The lack of coffee is getting to his brain and he has officially going mad. He should go inside and get warm and sit with his friends and have 3 espresso shots in a row.

But the phone call is still rattling his nerves and he can't bare to face the café without all his wits about him. So he studies the melted frost outline, curiosity moving him forward to trace it with his fingers. He doesn't expect to feel cold like winter mornings and snowball fights and sleigh rides coursing through his bloodstream. It's shocks him right into a new state of being. It reminds him of a poem his mother used to say at the beginning of each winter. The poem was long enough that he was always asleep by the end of the last verse but he recalls the first part clearly now

Jack Frost was in the garden;

I saw him there at dawn;

He was dancing round the bushes

And prancing on the lawn.

He had a cloak of silver,

A hat all shimm'ring white,

A wand of glittering star-dust,

And shoes of sunbeam light.

The thought is so ridiculous Percy has to laugh. It bursts out of him unexpectedly but once he starts he cannot stop. It feels like the world has turned on its side but he's still walking upright. Everything is slightly dizzying but strangely amusing from this angle. He laughs harder, ribs aching, cheeks stiff, and eyes bright. He's sure people are staring at him like he's mad but he cannot stop. Until he stumbles over the pavement and is falling to the inevitable crunch of his facial bones.

It happens almost in slow motion. He sees the ground coming towards him, bubbling up like it's going to swallow him whole. He stared it down, refusing to close his eyes, as if challenging it to hurt him, to take him as he goes. But then hands, freezing cold even through his layers of clothing, wrap around his waist and he is being hauled up in a rush of wind and dizzying speed. He bumps into a hard chest and feels as if he's stepped into a freezer.

"Hey," A voice low and playful crackles through him, "You okay?"

He turns around slowly, and is not at all prepared for the site he is greeted with. There is so much all at once, startling and glowing and fracturing. His eyes catch an warm icy gaze, blizzard white hair, pale skin, cold-kissed lips, hands running with blue veins and silver rings.

"You okay?" The stranger repeats, looking at him with concern.

He honestly doesn't know if he has the ability to talk. His mouth opens, his throat bobs, but words are lost cargo.

"Can you hear me?" The stranger asks, accompanying the question with sign language.

Percy responds automatically, raising a fist and moving it back and forth; his head accompanies the action but still no words come out.

They smile at him, and start signing another question. He doesn't bother to stop them, tell them they aren't deaf, he can hear, he just can't talk. He's speechless.

Are you okay? They sign.

He nods, and the words stuck in his throat finally tumble out. "Yes, yes," It is croaky with overwhelming emotion, "Thank you for catching me. I’m sorry I uh—" He doesn't have any respectable excuse for being mute for the entire first half of their interaction. He is just completely struck by everything the stranger is.

"Ah so you can hear me," The stranger laughs. He decides the sound is what makes stars. "Well I'm glad you're okay. I'm Jack."

Percy snorts. This cannot be real. Ice, him thinking about Jack Frost, and suddenly his saviour's name is jack? What has the universe been doing with its time to plan this?

“I'm Percy," He stares at them curiously studying the snowflakes that seem to cling to their floppy white hair despite the snow season being weeks away, and the blue eyes that hurtle him to the Abraham lake in Canada. A holiday his family had taken a mere year ago and one of the most beautiful places he's ever seen.

His demigod senses are peeking out their window, as curious as he is. The action puts him on high alert. His instincts are usually only alerted when he's in danger or............. in love.

"What are you?" He cannot stop the question. His mouth has a self-controlled function and no way to override it.

Jack raises their brow, "What are you, Percy?" His name sounds like luxury rolling off the stranger's tongue.

But the question throws him off guard and before he has time to drool over them again he is pulling his pen out and twirling it between his fingers anxiously. "Are you here to kill me?"

That barks a laugh from Jack, who looks so entirely amused he can't help but wonder if he can frame the moment to keep with him forever; a brow quirked, a slight dimple on their right cheek as their smile grows, and bunched freckles as their nose scrunches slightly.

"Get a lot of assassination attempts do you?"

“You have no idea," He feels his eyes roll in annoyance, an automatic reaction after all these years.

"No Percy," Jack says softly. It brushes across his skin like cool paint and snowy pine leaves. "I am here because the moon told me to be."

"The moon?" He sputters, "What do you mean the moon?"

"I mean exactly that. I talk to the moon and it answers."

He can feel his legs grow weak. "The moon— the moon— the....... moon," He mutters, staring at Jack.

They are silent as he attempts to compartmentalize his thoughts. "You know what?" He finally speaks, "That's not the weirdest thing I've ever heard. The children of Demeter talk to grain so this isn't that far out of reach."

Jack just looks at him with a patient, gentle smile on their face.

"So what are you? A child of Selene?"

"I am not a demigod." They shake their head. "I was chosen by the moon three hundred years ago. I am the spirit of winter."

The silence stretches between them like taffy. He isn't sure he's heard this right.

"You're—" He cannot even bring himself to say it.

"Yes, I'm Jack Frost."

Percy's legs give our from under him. Jack is not quick enough to catch him but he lands on a pillow of snow right before he bruises his knees. "You're Jack Frost?"

"Yes. And you are Percy Jackson."

"How—how do you know?"

"I've been alive for a very long time. I know a lot of people."

He just hums, trying to wrap his head sound another layer of myth and fable that makes up the fabric of the world.

"Why are you here?" He finally gutters out. "I mean I know the moon told you to come but why?"

"I uh have a theory but I need to ask something of you in order to know if I'm right."

He frowns, staring up at the stranger. No not stranger. Can you even call someone who's been around for centuries a stranger? What are they a stranger to? They have seen and heard and learnt and loved more than he ever has or ever will. It's more like he is the stranger. "What do you need me to do?"

"I just need you to summon water for me."

A thousand questions sit like caught snowflakes on his tongue but he let's them melt instead of spilling them into the world. Instead he gets up and concentrates on all the water sources surrounding them.

A reservoir one hundred miles away, fire hydrants near bursting with unused pressure, a small pond in a small park about five miles south, and of course the ocean in front of them, no more than fifty miles within reach.

"How much do you need?"

"Give me fifty liters."

He closes his eyes and imagines the pond, the water rippling within it. He imagines holding it in his palm as he would a basketball ball. When he feels a cool sensation wash over his skin he opens his eyes once more and sees a swirling blob of water surrounding his hand, dancing to the beat of his pulse.

"Is this enough?"

"Plenty," They smile and then their hands are reaching out and as if the water knows they're calling to it, it bounces over in little bubbles. As it touches their fingers a ray of light bursts from the contact and it turns to ice. Jack sucks in a breath, watching in amazement as the water freezes and hits the ground in a flurry of snow.

"What?" Percy cannot hold in his curiosity any longer. "What is it?"

"The moon was right." They look at him, eyes sparkling with something more than awe or curiosity.

"About?" He prompts.

"We're soulmates."

This is a story about their destinies.

"We're what?" Percy whispers. He has never gotten loud when he was surprised or angry or sad. He has always been soft.

"I usually need my staff to solidify water but if I use elements touched by my soulmate I can do it without aid."

"This is ridiculous!" He sputters. There is absolutely no way this is real. Seriously? Soulmates? He would laugh if he wasn't so outraged.

"You don't believe in soulmates?"

"It doesn't matter what I believe in!" He growls, "This whole ordeal is completely insane."

"What would it take to convince you Percy Jackson?" Jack just smiles, it is shining with happiness like it hadn't before.

"I have no idea because I have never heard of or encountered a soulmate." He hisses.

"Do you know why you can see me?"

He shakes his head, thoughts swirling faster than the hurricanes his further looses.

"Because you believe in me."

"I thought you had control over who sees you and who doesn't?" He raises a brow.

"Only with children. I can choose to show myself whether they believe or not. I have the ability since enough of them do believe." They say. "But adults are different. If they don't believe I cannot make myself appear to them. I am simply a ghost of their childhood past."

"I don't understand." Percy cannot wrap his mind around this. "How do you know you can only make ice out of whatever water I touch?"

Jack looks around for a brief moment before catching sight of something behind them. In a split second they are there and then they're back.

"Watch," He pours the water from the bottom he'd nabbed over his hand. It falls to the floor as liquid as it had started out.

"That doesn't prove anything, how do I know you're not just making sure you don't turn it to ice?"

"I cannot touch anything without freezing it, especially water." They worry at their bottom lip with their teeth, thoughts flying across their face. "It's like your friend Leo." They nod their head towards the café where Percy can still see his friends snuggled into the booth. "He doesn't necessarily turn everything he touches to ashes but he will always leave a warm imprint no matter how or what he has touched."

"How do you know that?" He gapes.

"Immortality gives you a lot of time to know the world." They shrug. "Now do you believe me?"

"I don't know." He answers truthfully. "I mean if we are soulmates..." He tries to form the question into some semblance of sense and order. "Does that mean I'm tied to you? That we have to like I don't know get married and spend eternity together?"

"No," Jack says gently, "No you can deny this bond if that is how you feel. It does not mean anything except that the universe put our souls in the same constellation. We are free to pick and choose who we love."

“And how will it work if we do decide to get together?” He frowns, “I will age but you will always stay the same.”

They look at him, head tilted, ice eyes bright. “But you know that’s not true.”

Everything in him barrels forward like a tidal wave. It cannot be. No-one knows. Not even his mother. “What isn’t true?” He will play this carefully, like the strings of a harp. He will not let his life crash through the ground.

“Why are you hiding it?”

“I’m not hiding anything.” He is adamant in his stance. He will not bow.

“You are denying the life you chose.” Jack considers him. “Why?”

“I’m not denying anything.” He huffs, “I’m just taking it slow.”

A snort bursts of them, arrogant and amused. “You are taking becoming a God slow?”

“I want to live with my friends before they figure it out!” He cries, all the fear and terror and worry burning through him.

Jack moves closer, presses a cold hand to his shoulder. “It is okay to be scared and angry and worried but do not forget that you are worthy of the title and you should wear it like a crown, not a burden.”

“There is always some burden in this much power.” He is bitter. He is right.

“Come,” Jack pulls them together, “Go meet your friends.” The hug is so cold but comforts him to the bone. “And when you are ready to make a decision, just whisper my name and i will answer, no matter where i am, or how far apart we are.”

He studies the person before him, beautiful and strange in an inviting sort of way, like no matter how much he learns about them he'll always want to know more. "Well you are very pretty."

They laugh, and the sound lights up the ocean inside him. "Thank you."

“Live Percy Jackson.” Jack Frost whispers.

And then Percy is standing outside a café, an icy wind dancing between his fingertips, and the impression of a freezing hug still clinging to his clothes. He realizes he feels happy. He feels safe.

This is a story about their love.

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

[image id: a poem by John P Smeeton titled "Jack Frost in the Garden" the poem reads:

Jack Frost was in the garden;// I saw him there at dawn;// He was dancing round the bushes// And prancing on the lawn.// He had a cloak of silver,// A hat all shimm'ring white,// A wand of glittering star-dust,// And shoes of sunbeam light.

Jack Frost was in the garden,// When I went out to play// He nipped my toes and fingers// And quickly ran away.// I chased him round the wood-shed,// But, oh! I'm sad to say// That though I chased him everywhere// He simply wouldn't stay.

Jack Frost was in the garden:// But now I'd like to know// Where I can find him hiding;// I've hunted high and low —// I've lost his cloak of silver,// His hat all shimm'ring white,// His wand of glittering star-dust,// His shoes of sunbeam light"

the background is a light blue and white marble. end id]

Tags: @fantasylover16 @queen-of-demons-and-hell @nishlicious-01​ @leyontheway @caffeinated-croissant

[atxlxs]

Beyond The Veil: Chapter 1

Society as a whole has the same collective belief. If you can’t see, hear or touch it, it doesn’t exist.

Funny how by that logic, Eras shouldn’t be alive.

Not that they were alive, by average standards at least. Even with quirks they're kind of an outlier. Muska had made it a point to joke about that fact ever since they realized it over breakfast a few years ago. Not that either of them ate breakfast. It was more of just a shared space to feel the dread of wakefulness and drink their coffee. Early morning just didn’t agree with the thought of food, or whatever metallic smoothie Eras decided to blend that day.

Now they're getting off topic.

Anyways, society as a whole doesn’t actually know about the world behind the veil. A convenient name for the sheet drawn over the existence of those that were beyond what defines as ‘human’. Muska and Eras were prime examples of people from “beyond the veil”.

Muska was a witch. Not the stereotypical black hat broom witch. That's just offensive. No, she’s the altar having, spell making, wary of the fae witch that knows everything and anything a witch should know. Eras always felt bad but she really just didn’t know a lot of what witches actually do besides the obvious that she sees every day. She does, however, make a point to note any shiny rocks or glass bottles that seem interesting. She may not understand what Muska does but she will make damn sure that she at least helps out when she can. Also, Muska- despite her prowess- was a former regular human. Thus she appeared like one. She has a quirk and everything, but she gave up on being completely human to become something slightly different. Those ‘beyond the veil’ are shaped by what they see afterall.

Eras is an entirely different species.

Black hair that's cut just above the shoulders would reveal pristine snow white hair underneath if jostled or blown by the wind. Arguably, since the dawn of quirks, that was the most normal thing about her. To keep that normality when she needs to visit society, two sets of sharp and longer than normal canines are just a mutation. Cat-like slits in black eyes that will glow a vibrant and toxic green during certain circumstances become a sign of quirk activation despite not having a quirk or quirk factor. Certain special abilities of course get played off the same way. That was how people like them decided to fit in with the normals of society. Life becoming safer under the disguise of being the same.

Muska had asked, after they revealed their actual self during the early years of their friendship, what life was like before the quirk wars. Eras had responded with a simple sentence that they packed all their feelings into and delivered with a deadpan.

“Like getting dropped off in hell to become Satan's personal whore, only to discover that he not only has a foot fetish, but also enjoys weird shit like my little pony.”

Safe to say the cackles that followed, when Eras passed a phone with my little pony on it to Scout after explaining that it was a pre-quirk show for children, were expected.

It was a familiar start to their morning, Eras waking from a ‘sleeping’ state and using the rope to come down to the ground from their ceiling wide hammock and Muska groaned loud enough to be heard through her door as the sun probably hit her face from the window.

Tibbles, Muska’s familiar, was sitting poised on the kitchen table. Right underneath the cabinet that carried the cat food and treats. Reaching up, Eras grabbed down the food and pulled over Tibbles fancy food plate that was bought because “he deserves the best”.

After quickly dishing out the familiars breakfast, Eras was thanked with an allowed head scratch and Tibbles went on to ignore the world in favor of food. Eras would always lament about not being able to hear Tibbles talk like Muska.

Walking over to the stove, gas powered thank you very much (electric stoves are a lie to all that is holy like cooking and making espressos), Eras pulled out the moka pot and coffee beans. Grinding the coffee into a fine espresso powder, she set it up to boil the water and brew the coffee.

Despite receiving no nutritional value from everything not blood related, coffee is one of the few things she continues to enjoy. She likes the taste. Pouring the now brewed coffee over ice in one cup and nothing in the other, Eras set up the two coffees to their designated people's expectations.

Halfway through the process, her keen ears (slightly pointed like a half elfs) picked up the telltale sign of a door being pushed open and the soft footsteps of fuzzy socks on wood making their way to the kitchen.

“Coffee’s almost done, want anything to eat in the next hour or 2?” Eras asked, not looking up from the task at hand.

“Crepe” was the only word from her best friend and roommate.

A snort escaped at her dead to the world tone as Eras finished up the coffees. Placing the iced mocha in front of Muska, Eras went back into the kitchen and started to grab the ingredients out for crepes. How the vampire who doesn’t eat human food became the chef was beyond understanding at this point.

The morning was a quiet affair as usual. Neither feeling the need to speak besides a quick question or too about specifics wanted in the crepe. Placing said food in front of her friend, Eras sat in the chair opposing Muska around the round table that was settled in a place surrounded by windows on two sides, vines and moss growing up the sides of the actual house gave accents to the view as Eras stared out at the forest that surrounded them.

The pine and moss covered forest was a peaceful background as they sat in companionable silence. Both with coffees and one with actual food. A phone rested in Muska’s left hand as she ate, probably scrolling some social platform or website.

Eras sighed in contentment, an unneeded action since she doesn’t need to fucking breathe at all but its the point behind it that matters. This was until her best friend, the light of her undead life, the pizza to her hut, decided to speak and say some cursed shit.

“I want to take the UA exam to join the hero course.”

Eras took another sip of her coffee, avoiding the inevitable for a short moment, before they returned their gaze to their friend. Who was still causally reading their phone. As if they didn’t say something ‘life’ changing.

“Why?” Eras finally asked, and really, just why?

“I want to get control over my quirk since I haven’t really used it despite having it for 2 centuries now and well, Recovery Girl is at UA.”

Well, Eras thought, that makes a little more sense. Sighing again, this time in resignation, Eras nodded.

“Sure, I’ll set up an identity and pay for it. The exam is in around 4 months so you’ll have to work out what kind of abilities you're gonna show off and I’ll update your quirk registry with it.”

“Energy manipulation, just tag me under that hotline.” Muska said, a small smirk appearing on their face as they turned to look up. Eras just sighed heavily once more for the dramatics.

“I won’t be joining with you know.” Eras said, slightly shifting with nervousness that she rarely displayed. She hasn’t been comfortable with the thought of a highschool, any kind of school that was physical, since she had to hide everything that made her, well, her. She despised the thought of schools and she had several degrees. 5 PhD’s and a handful of masters and bachelors. She didn’t need school.

A look of understanding invaded her friend's mischievous gaze as she nodded.

“I didn’t expect you too.”

And that was that.

@baguettehead

[mermaidcashton]

i hate to admit it

author: claire (@mermaidcashton) ship: michael clifford/reader prompt/AU: this is a gift for the wonderful @h0tsos who wanted soft, subby Michael in an enemies to lovers capacity (and i snuck some coffee shop!au in there as well, and some weebness because, well, it’s Steff and Michael) wordcount: 4k+ warnings: swearing, alcohol mentions, explicit sexual content a/n: • written for @maluminspace & @h0tsos ‘s 5sos fic writers collab (which was a gift exchange this time around) • i do not give permission for this (or any of my writing) to be reposted, by anyone, on this or any other website. please don’t do it! • title from ‘this means war’ by mariana’s trench • ‘my hero academia’ is a manga/anime series. there are references to it and a few of the characters in this but you don’t need to know anything about it to understand what’s going on.

i hate to admit it *** “So, they’re like...superheroes?” 

Luke sipped on his glass of rosé, nodding like he understood whilst making a face that showed he absolutely did not.

“Yeah, dude, pretty much!” Michael nodded along with your co-worker with so much enthusiasm he looked like one of those dogs people put on their dashboards. Except less cute. Wait, no - not cute. Definitely not cute at all. Good save, you. Couldn’t have your own internal monologue thinking you felt anything for the moron you were forced to work with 3 times a week was anything more than an annoyance you had to endure. With a butt that wouldn’t quit. Dammit, self! 

Michael took advantage of Luke showing an interest in his (and yours) favourite anime, and began bombarding him with half baked theories, predictable favourite scenes and shitty character analysis. He nearly knocked his own hat off as he flailed his hands around in an attempt at explaining the dynamics of a battle from the second season. Luke smiled politely. 

You snorted into your drink as you drained the last of it; you were definitely going to need another. If Michael started fanboying over Deku again, you were going to scream.

As you placed the empty bottle onto the wood of the coffee table, you took another glance around the apartment you were in. You’d never been up here before, despite spending a minimum of 20 hours a week in the coffee shop downstairs. But after this evening’s staff meeting tackling such issues as ‘who forgot that milk needs to be kept in the fridge overnight’ (Luke), ‘who is putting too much whipped cream on hot chocolates’ (Michael), and ‘who wrote ‘THIS COFFEE IS HOT, BUT U R HOTTER ❤ ) on a customers caramel macchiato’ (Luke again), Ashton had invited you all upstairs for a ‘employee chill’. You had been surprised a week or so into your employment when you had found out that the manager was also the owner who lived in the apartment above Screamin’ Beans; he was only in his mid twenties, but the more you’d experienced his drive and determination, the more your surprise had dwindled. Ashton really was a great guy, with one big flaw; Michael. They had been best friends for years, hence him moving into the apartment when he came back into town and the job Ashton had given him; which in your humble opinion was the equivalent of setting a monkey loose on the milk frother.   

Michael had sealed his fate with you the same day he’d started work. He arrived 10 minutes late (from upstairs), sleepy eyed and shy smiled. His fluffy blonde hair was spilling out of his beanie, and he kept biting his very pink lip bottom with sharp little teeth. The way he pronounced your name was adorable. You’d burned your hand on the espresso machine. Strike one. Things unravelled quickly after that. He was ‘too shy’ to take orders and work the register so you were stuck there all day talking to goddamn customers about why it wasn’t a good idea to have 3 pumps of every syrup while he hid behind silver machinery and dirtied way more jugs than you deemed necessary. Strike two. And then he’d dropped a latté into that ladies bag - sorry, very expensive bag. Michael had let out a ‘uuuhhh’ sound like a malfunctioning robot without moving for so long that the furious customer had stopped trying to yell at him and focused her rage on you instead. When he had eventually come to whatever passed for his senses, Michael had power walked into the employee bathroom and didn’t return until Calum arrived to join the shift and assured him the woman had left, twenty minute later. You were beyond strikes. You’d been so sure you could talk Ashton into scheduling you together as little as possible. There was no reason to put you down to work nearly every shift together, especially shifts where only two staff were on! Except, apparently there was because he kept fucking doing it. Every time you pressed Ashton on it, he’d say something about how he needed Michael ‘trained by the best’, or ‘matching availabilities’, or he thought their ‘energies combined well; auras are meshing, y’know?’ The one might have been on you for catching him as he was returning from his Vibe Check Yoga class at the studio down the street. 

He’d also emphasised that Michael needed more friends now he was back in the city, and you two had loads in common! You both liked pop punk! You’d rolled your eyes. And Italian food! A ‘tch noise. And anime! Okay, you’d bite. 

The next time you’d gone into work, you’d engaged Michael in a conversation about ‘Tokyo Ghoul’ and recommended ‘Demon Slayer’; things started to pick up. You didn’t fantasise about locking Michael in the walk-in fridge the whole shift. And then…

“You watch ‘My Hero Academia’, right?” “Uh, yeah! I love it.” “Me too! I just ordered a Todoroki tee yesterday. And another Deku one, of course; gotta rep my main man!” “Oh..cool! He’s your favourite?” Of course Michael was a basic bitch. But hey, that’s fine. Deku was fine. He was the main character, after all. And he’s a little less whiny in the recent manga issues, you guess. And the way Michael’s face was right now - open, comfortable, lit up like the 4th of July? That was good, too. His eyes were so green.  “Yeah! Who’s your favourite character?” “Well, I would die for a bunch of ‘em, but I’m a Bakugou girl at heart.” You laid a palm flat on your chest, choosing to ignore the feel of your heart beating faster than it had been five minutes ago beneath it.  Michael wrinkled his nose. “Bakugou? But he’s like...he’s so mean! And angry!”

Oh no. You’d had this conversation before. You locked eyes with Michael, hoping he could see the warning in your eyes. Don’t do it, ho.

“Like, he’d probably make a better villain than hero!”

“You okay, boo?” Calum slid into the space on the couch beside you, holding out a fresh beer for you to take. “You look deep in thought.”

You hummed and accepted the bottle from him, letting go of your train of thought as you caught sight of Luke trying to prove he could get his overly long leg behind his head. Michael and Ashley F. were both actively trying to avoid getting kicked in the face with a sparkly boot, whilst Ashton was just monitoring the situation very intently; you’re not entirely sure when he last blinked. 

You snorted again as Luke’s foot slotted into place in a position you were 85% sure he would not be able to get out of again without assistance, possibly from the emergency services.

“I’m fine. Gotta be one of us capable of thinking here, y’know.” You teased, looking sidelong at Calum. He laughed, rubbing a hand over his freshly shaved hair; he’d always been as easy to get along with as he was obnoxiously handsome. “Hey! You’re lucky I know you’re talking about the human pretzel over there! And I guess, your boyf-” Big brown eyes glittered at you over the hand you’d slapped over his mouth. “-fwendth.” Narrowing your own eyes at your friend, you hissed. “Shut up! I would rather die.” Calum waggled his eyebrows incessantly at you until you relented and dropped your hand. “You knew who I was talking about, though.” Ugh. Smug was not a good look on Calum. “You know, smug is not a good lo-oh fuck, is that the time?” The clock behind Calum’s head showed 8:58; your auction ended at 9:00. You fumbled into your bag for your phone, unlocking it and flicking straight to the app you needed. Phew - still the top bid. “Whatcha doin’?” Calum hooked his chin over your shoulder, blowing your hair out of his face before settling down. 

“Bidded on a really cool, limited edition figure. One of my all time favourite anime characters. The auction is about to end.” You explained,  making sure Calum could hear you other the cacophony of sounds associated with Luke trying to get his other leg behind his head. You both watched the seconds tick down, your username sitting securely by the words ‘Winning Bid’. At two seconds to nine, the page refreshed, then refreshed again; it was over.

‘Winning Bid: BIGRED69’ “Uh...what happened? That’s not you, right?” Calum asked, tilting his head to look at your face, and the rage it contained. BIGRED69. He’d done it again. 

“Uh oh, Y/N - what’s wrong?” Ashton’s voice pulled you out of your internal screaming, and you looked up at him. 

“She’s losing her weeb shit at a heavy eBay loss” Calum answered for you, nodding solemnly as he pulled away from you, giving you room to bonk him with a cushion. “Oh! That’s too bad, but that’s another thing you and Mikey have in common!” Ashton beamed. “Mikey!” Oh no. Oh no, no.

“Yeah?” Michael sloped over, getting his black boot caught on the corner of the leopard print rug as he did. Ashton caught him with an ease you suspected (knew) came from practice. “Why don’t you take Y/N to see your anime dolls? She collects them, too!” Ashton looked so pleased with himself and his suggestion for further ‘bonding’ for you and Michael, and Michael looked like he’d been force fed raw lemon at the phrase ‘anime dolls’, so you let it go on your own behalf. Except now Michael was waiting expectantly for you to follow him to his room and Calum was shoving you off of the couch to get you moving. Fuck your life. You sighed as you got up and started walking. “Fine, let’s go; you can show me your Todoroki body pillow and then we can get on with our lives.” Michael let out a small hiss like an angry kitten, his cheeks colouring a pretty pink. He spared a glance at everyone left in your wake. “I, um, don’t have a body pillow, you guys.” “Suuuuure!” You rolled your eyes, waiting for Michael to enter his bedroom so you could follow. The blonde flicked the light on and moved slightly further in so you could pass him, before shutting the door with a small ‘click’. You decided not to comment on this action, looking around at the posters on the walls and figurines on the shelves instead. You were undecided on whether or not you were going to comment on how cool a lot of Michael’s shit was. A ‘Full Metal Alchemist’ poster over his bed, a full shelf of Funko Pops from movies you loved, framed prints of album artwork by Waterparks and The Maine. Fuck. You were really aware of Michael staring at you with an almost hopeful (?) look on his face as you let your eyes travel around his room before he could show you his ‘anime dolls’. Fuck. Your stomach felt fluttery, and you thought you might have a serious problem here, before you caught sight of a very different problem on Michael’s desk. 

A rare Kirishima Eijirou statue - box signed by the voice actor - you’d been outbid on last month. By BIGRED69. What were the chances a different one was sitting by Michael’s laptop?

“So,” You said, trying to keep your voice neutral and non-murderous. “Where do you get your collectibles from?” “Forbidden Planet, Tokyo Toys, eBay…” Michael rattled off, until you interrupted him. “Where did you get that one? Looks rare - it must have been difficult!” 

“Oh! eBay! It was, but I have an app for it, so…” Michael grinned, looking pleased with himself. An app? “An automatic bidding app? You sniped me?! That’s cheating!” You squeaked; you could not believe this. It was unbelievable.

Michael blinked at you, head empty. “BIGRED69?!” You managed to make the world’s stupidest screen name sound like a terrible accusation. Which it was.

Comprehension dawned on his stupid, beautiful face all at once. “Oh my God! That was you that I’ve been fighting for this stuff? No way! But you didn’t know it was me?”

“Why the hell would I know it was you!” You threw your hands up, and Michael just stared dopily back at you.

“‘Bigred69?! Obviously I assumed you were 12!” Michael let out a squawk of protest, before folding his arms defensively across his chest.

“Clifford!” “What?” Michael’s tone became more insistent. “My last name! Clifford!” You pulled an exaggerated ‘so?!’ face, throwing your hand in the air again. 

Michael had the unmitigated gall to huff, like you were the biggest idiot in the room; like he wasn’t always the biggest idiot in every room, all rooms, ever, in the history of rooms. “Clifford the Big Red Dog!” He said, insistence heavy in the words.

You often swore you could almost hear the old internet dial up tone trilling inside Michael’s brain when customers at the coffee shop asked him such difficult questions as “What dairy alternative milks do you carry?”, “Where is the bathroom?”, and even once - you swear - “What’s your name?”. In Michael’s defence, that last one had been asked in more flirtatious-than-not tone by a brunette who clearly had some kind of vision problem (he’d been dressed more horrendously than usual that day beneath his uniform apron; was that a utility vest?!), but had fluttered her eyelashes at your idiot colleague so hard, for so long, you’d been concerned she’d be leaving without what little vision she’d arrived with. But still. Idiot. Michael, not you. And yet, now it was you with your brain puttering through the information you had with the shrill electronic sound of the 90’s in your head. “Clifford the- are you for fucking real?” This could not be real life.

“It’s totally clever!” Michael asserted, continuing in earnest once you scoffed in reply. “No, listen! Because of Clifford, and also, I had red hair when I made it, and 69 is funny - it is! - and, well-” His face flushed slightly before he puffed his chest out a little, apparently deciding to commit to his defence of his screen name. “I’m big, so it works on like, loads of levels!” 

This could not be happening to you. You were decidedly not standing in the bedroom of a coworker you simultaneously couldn’t stand and also couldn’t stop thinking about kissing as you restocked the counter fridges in the evenings, as he explained that his auction site handle was a combination of a previous dye job, an insinuation about his dick and a massive fucking dog. You could not let Michael have the upper hand here, but you were floundering. So you fell into more familiar, more pathetic territory. 

“If you were called something like ‘deku-loving-loser’, then, sure - I would have known it was you!” “Who’s 12 now?!” “Uh, still you!” Okay, so this wasn’t your finest moment, but you were in it now. And you’d really wanted the Kaminari figure tonight. Michael didn’t even like him that much!

“The point is, you totally sniped me! And you get stuff about basic canon wrong! And your understanding of the characters is one dimensional! And, and...your hat is stupid!” Well, shit. In your defence, Michael’s hat was stupid. You could feel how hot your face was, and Michael’s eyes looking right at it was only making it worse. You couldn’t read his expression at all; he looked like he was searching for something, and you didn’t know what it was, or if he’d find it. You could only assume he had when he took the most decisive steps you’d ever seen him take, reaching you in two huge steps and cupping your face with both hands. Michael kissed in a way he didn’t do anything else; he felt sure and certain as he pressed his lips to yours, moving them with intent. Your brain became overtaken with television static almost immediately as you moved your mouth in time with his, opening your mouth immediately at the questioning press of his tongue. You had enough of yourself left aware to yank his stupid fucking hat off his head as you tangled your fingers in his blonde hair, Michael’s hands sliding down to clutch at your waist as you swayed with the kiss. As Michael pulled back ever so slightly, you took the opportunity to press your teeth into his plush bottom lip, the way you’d thought of doing in afternoon slumps on shift. The whine that came from deep in Michael’s throat made a split second decision for you. 

You pulled back further from Michael, yanking your top off in one go and starting in on the buttons of his black shirt before he fully registered the sight of your bra and the top of your full breasts.  

“Shit, Y/N, are you…” Michael trailed off as you pulled his sleeves down his arms, and the shirt off this body. Your eyes met his as you popped the button on his black jeans and placed your hand on his zipper. “Do you really want me to overthink this, Michael?” A moment’s pause, then he shook his head vigorously, leaning down to pull his boots off once you’d yanked his jeans to his knees. By the time he was left in his (funnily enough, black) boxer briefs, you’d discarded your own jeans and were knelt at the foot of his bed in your soft, lilac underwear. Michael’s breath hitched as his gaze drifted down your body, taking it all in under the artificial light of the room. “Get over here, Clifford…” You teased, trying not to second guess what was happening. Michael broke out of his trance and more or less threw himself onto the bed, settling his head on the pillows and pulling you on top of him for another kiss, and then another, and another. By the time you pulled back to catch your breath, your head was spinning. You braced yourself on your forearms on the bed, taking the time to admire Michael’s body beneath you. 

You’d seen the tattoos on his pale, strong arms before, but they looked different in this context; the contrast between the milky skin and dark ink made your stomach swoop. The blonde hair on his head is also a contradiction; to the dark hair on his chest and the hair trailing down his stomach and disappearing under his waistband. Your mouth felt very dry as you let your gaze continue downward, to the straining bulge beneath the fabric.

You flicked your eyes back to meet Michael’s in question, your fingers suddenly resting on the waistband of his underwear. Michael swallowed thickly, and then nodded once before fixing you with a gaze of pure anticipation. 

No use waiting around. You propped yourself up onto your knees over him and pulled on the fabric decisively, not stopping your motion until his underwear bunched up at his ankles. Holy shit.

You always knew Michael had to have at least one redeeming quality, and you’d finally found it. His cock was huge, hanging heavy and hard between his fuzzy thighs. The head was flushed the darkest pink you could ever remember seeing, and the slit was already shiny with precum. 

If a voice in your head that sounded unfortunately like Calum pressed that Michael had lots of qualities you secretly found redeeming, you ignored it in favour of getting straight to business.

“FUCK! FUCKIN-” 

Apparently, Michael hadn’t been prepared for you to take half of his impressive length into your mouth in one go. You sucked with intent, casting your eyes up to take in the sight of him. His pupils were already starting to blow, and you’d barely done anything. God, that was so sweet.

But then Michael threaded his fingers through your hair, his hand pressing ever so slightly into your scalp. The blonde wasn’t pushing down, but his grip was firm. You could feel the weight of his hand on the top of your head as you held his cock in your mouth, and that shit? Would not stand.

You grab the wrist brushing your hair a second before your other hand finds his idle one, fingers twisted loosely in the sheets. Once you’ve captured both wrists, you guide both to the same point above Michael’s hips, before slamming both into the mattress with purpose. 

If you’d had time to think about it, you’re not sure how you would have expected Michael to react. He didn’t really put out the energy of a man who’d properly fight you for control, either in a domineering way or with more of an air of fragile masculinity. Perhaps a bit of questioning but ultimately compliant as long as he got his dick sucked. But the wanton moan that kicked out of Michael’s chest as you settled into a tight grip on his wrists where you had them pinned on the sheets with intent? That was unexpected. That was interesting.   

Your mouth had remained still on his cock whilst you got his wrists pinned down, more cockwarming him than blowing him. But now you had him so pliant and under your control, it was go time. You pulled back up his cock, wrapping your lips tightly around the head of Michael’s cock, and sucked with gusto. Another groan from above you. You worked your tongue all the way around the head before pulling back enough to flick it into Michael’s sensitive slit. “Oh my fuuu- Y/N, God, I-” Michael was starting to writhe, his hairy legs rubbing into the sheets beneath you. You could feel his wrists moving along with the rest of his body, but you knew you’d made it clear you’d wanted him pinned, and he made no move to get his hand free. Good boy. You sank steadily back down Michael’s length, at least to the six inch mark, before pulling back up, hollowing your cheeks as you went. Back down a little further, then up, back to teasing the head, using your tongue. Michael couldn’t predict what you were going to do next, and it was clearly pushing all of his buttons. You could taste the precum that his cock kept kicking out into your mouth and throat, and see the flush spreading down his neck. By the time you’d pulled, drool beginning to build at the sides of your mouth, Michael was a mess, moaning as much as he was breathing. This could get addictive, you thought to yourself as you let your mouth drop to his balls, and your thumbs press into the pulse points on his wrists. You hummed before you released his left ball from your mouth with a wet pop, and that’s when Michael started begging. “Please, please, Y/N, I wanna-” he panted, cutting himself off over and over. “You’re so beautiful, lemme- God, fuck, it feels so amazing, you’re- I’ve been good, I’ll do anything, please…”

You pretend to consider his pleas as you dragged your tongue over his right ball, dipping into all the creases and leaving them wet behind you. Drawing back up onto your knees, you released one of his wrists so you could push his sweaty blonde bangs back from where it was plastered to his forehead, drinking in the vision before you. His green eyes were nearly completely black, blown out with arousal. The sheen on the skin of his face and body made him glow. His lips were chapped from his teeth tugging on them, and the pink of the matched the flush spread from his cheeks down his chest. And the wrist you were no longer restraining hadn’t moved a centimeter, still pressed firmly to the mattress. Michael was a good boy. And you knew how to treat good boys. With no preamble, you took Michael back into the wet heat of your mouth, relaxing your throat and not stopping until your nose was buried in the soft thatch of trimmed hair on his crotch. You took a moment to situate yourself and enjoy the deep whines bursting out of Michael’s throat into the quiet of his bedroom, before you began to move again, swallowing around his cock. You saw his thighs begin to tremble to the side of you before you heard him speak. “Fuck, fuck, Y/N, please, I’m gonna-” You hummed as hard as you could, pushing Michael’s wrists with that little bit more force into the bed as you did. Michael let out his loudest whine yet - bordering on a sob- as he came, shooting down your throat as he writhed beneath you. 

You swallowed everything he gave you, and when you were sure he was finished, you pulled off slowly, and gently, releasing his wrists as you stood back up on your knees.

Michael looked blissed out, staring dreamily up at you with bright, adoring eyes. He still was yet to move his hands. “Hey.” “Hi.” You smirked down at him. “I believe I heard something about you’d ‘do anything’?” You shot a quick glance at the figurine on his desk, and down at yourself. “I had some ideas…” 

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