#teach him that it’s okay to be a little less cautious with his words around me

[toruland]

my feelings for Neuvillette have crossed the lines of lust and have entered the love territory.

[tj-dragonblade]

[FIC] Chaos and Calm

Fandom: The Sandman Pairing: Dreamling Rated: G Word Count: 1551 Tags: fluff, domesticity, single dads, pre-relationship, outings in the park, feeding the ducks, rain

Notes: For Day 1 of Dreamling Week 2024 as organized by @mr-sadman, for the prompt 'hunt'. Also dedicated to the wonderful @chaosheadspace, whose single-dads AU Castle in the Sand rotates in the back of my head quite often - I meant to have this coincide with your birthday but didn't quite make it, alas.

Summary: Searching for rain boots and meeting friends in the park. No real plot, just meandering domestic parenting vibes.

On AO3

"Robyn! You 'bout ready, kiddo?"

Hob winces at the sound of something heavy thudding on the floor above, and then his son appears at the top of the stairs. "I can't find my boots!"

Hob suppresses the urge to sigh. "Do you remember where you had them last?"

Robyn's brow furrows. "Maybe? They might be in the cupboard? But I think I might have used 'em as astronaut boots and forgot to put 'em back."

"Did you check by the washing machine?"

"Not yet."

"Okay. You keep looking in your room; I'll check down here and then come help you look if I don't find them."

"'Kay." Robyn scrambles back up from where he'd started down the stairs and dashes back to his room, and Hob heads to check the coat cupboard in the front hallway.

They're meant to be meeting Dream and Orpheus at the park in fifteen minutes. The day has turned out to be dreary and grey, light rain off and on keeping it misty and damp and a raincoat plus wellies are definitely called for.

If only he or his son could be relied upon to consistently put things back in their expected places. Ellie had always scolded them about it, gently, and for all the years since she's been gone Hob has kept trying to do better, but it's not always top of his mind and they're both surviving okay, despite the current inconvenience.

He checks the bottom of the coat cupboard; no boots.

He lets the sigh out this time, since Robyn's not there to see the frustration. He checks the utility room next, where last year's too-small snow boots are still sitting next to this year's because Hob hasn't gotten round to dropping them off at the charity shop yet. This year's snow boots will have to do if they can't find the wellies, but he's not giving up yet.

He's not going to tear the house apart looking, either, though; he's eager to get going. Letting Robyn spend time with his best friend is important, but also. Hob really looks forward to seeing Dream, for—well. For lots of reasons, that he's comfortably aware of but cautious about acting on because the kids would be caught in the middle if it didn't work out and that's the last thing he wants. Right now he just wants to let himself enjoy the possibilities. Hanging out, conversations while the kids play, watching Dream's pretty face go soft and expressive as they talk.

So. Best check all the likely spots in this comfortably-cluttered chaos he lives in, then, so they can find the boots and get going. It would certainly be easier if his home was less messy, but he's a single dad with a very active kid, he teaches secondary school, and taking the time to make his home look like a magazine spread is just not on his agenda. And sure sometimes it bites him in the arse, like now, but most times the chaos is of a manageable level and more importantly, it works for them.

Just. Not today, apparently.

He pulls his phone from his pocket, fires off a quick text to Dream.

May be a few minutes late We've a crisis of missing wellies over here Keep you posted

Dream's response comes through almost instantly.

I wish you luck in your hunt, then. We will wait.

Hob smiles, tucks the phone back in his pocket and heads up the stairs to join the search.

Robyn's room is a little bit of a disaster zone, as he's been throwing things around in his haste, and Hob kneels to crawl around the floor and help him look. He'll help him straighten up later, too, but for now they're boot-hunting.

Robyn is a little worried, as it turns out. "What if Orpheus and his dad leave before we get there? What if they think we're not coming because I can't find my stupid boots?"

Hob laughs, a small laugh full of kindness. "They wouldn't," he assures, pulling his kid into a one-armed hug as they sit on the floor. "And besides—I texted Orpheus's dad so they know we're running late." He drops a kiss in Robyn's hair. "Now let's find those blasted wellies so we can get going, yeah?"

The boots are not under the bed, or the desk in the corner; they're not in the toy chest, nor the basket for Robyn's dirty laundry, nor under the laundry that hasn't quite made it into the basket. Hob helps that last category get to where it was meant to be and sits back with a sigh, making a mental note—and hopefully he'll remember later—to be sure to run a load of Robyn's clothes.

"Alright, kiddo, is there anywhere you haven't looked yet?"

Robyn ponders for a moment, face scrunched in thought, and then lights up. "Oh!" He scrambles off the floor and over to the wardrobe, yanks it open. Hob would have thought that would be the first place to check, so he hadn't looked himself but obviously he should have, because Robyn dives into it with a little yell of victory and emerges with a boot held high in either hand and triumph radiating from his grin.

~ They're only a little bit late to the park; Robyn and Orpheus spot each other at the same instant and yell in excited unison, charging across the wet grass and crashing into a hug that also involves a lot of jumping up and down. Hob grins at their enthusiasm, eyes searching beyond them to find Dream looking for him as well; the smile that blooms on Dream's face, visible even at this distance, makes Hob's heart do a pleasant little flop in his chest.

"Your hunt was successful, I see," Dream says, when they are close enough for speaking; they are trailing after the boys, who are cavorting in the general direction of the duck pond, splashing in collected puddles on the path. Dream's got his umbrella up, even though it's not raining right this moment, which somehow just enhances his general goth vibe.

Hob stuffs his hands in his pockets. "Yeah, time to do a major cleaning. His room's a bit of a mess but we finally found his wellies in the wardrobe. Which honestly would have been the first place I checked if I'd realized he hadn't. Kid brains work on different logic, I suppose."

"True." Dream shifts a little, casts a glance sideways at Hob. "Robyn is fortunate to have a father so skilled at finding lost items."

"Got a lot of experience misplacing my own crap," Hob offers, laughing to cover the flustery warmth seeping into his chest at Dream's simple compliment. "And he found the boots himself, just needed some help thinking it through."

"As I said. He is fortunate to have your guidance," Dream reiterates, and Hob is saved from having to respond when Robyn comes running back to where the two of them have stopped at the path's edge. Orpheus is over by the pond, bending down to peer between the rails of the short wooden fence that surrounds it as several ducks swim toward him.

"Dad! Did you bring the peas? The ducks're hungry!" There's eager excitement in Robyn's voice and Hob smiles.

"'Course I did, kiddo, here." He rummages in the bag at his hip, slung comfortably across his chest, and hands over the snack-size freezer bag of peas; Robyn thanks him and dashes back over to Orpheus. Whether or not the ducks are 'hungry' is arguable, but Hob won't deny his kid the human joy of personifying the world around him nor of feeding the ducks, which is generally their purpose in coming to this park. He glances sideways at Dream—who is Hob's own private secondary reason for any of the activities they do together with their kids—and finds him watching the boys with the softest little smile crinkling the corners of his eyes.

He's so beautiful.

It starts raining, then, just a light misty sprinkle. The boys put up the hoods on their raincoats and carry on tossing peas to the eager birds who've gathered for the feast; Hob is about to dig his own umbrella out of his bag but Dream steps closer and shifts his own broad umbrella over Hob as well. His arm presses up against Hob's, from shoulder to elbow, and Hob swallows the urge to lift his arm and put it around Dream's shoulders, leans solidly into the touch instead. It's nice.

It's so, so nice, and Hob revels in the imagined warmth he can feel seeping into the contact despite the layers between them, the way that seconds turn to minutes and neither of them moves away, how they both watch their boys in comfortable silence. Hob's thoughts and emotions often feel chaotic and jumbled up in the same way his house manages to be a mild-but-functional disaster zone but this—sharing an everyday domestic moment with Dream, the casual unremarked closeness between them—it quiets something in his head, makes anything and everything seem gloriously possible.

This, this is a feeling worth finding, a feeling he did not even realize he was searching for.

He is still entirely grateful to have found it.

= Started: 6/2/24 Drafted: 6/3/24 Posted: 6/3/24

[lupically]

#F40B32 | RYOMEN SUKUNA.

genre | light fluff, light angst, very faint romance undertone 

word count | 2616

warning | mention of death, mention of injury, mention of killing, decapitation 

note | i just wanted to try my hand at writing for a villain that is obviously irredeemable in a semi-realistic way.

what happens when you are irredeemable? you will fall in love anyway.

but ryomen sukuna wasn't in love with you. after all, he had killed you one too few times to claim that he was in love with you.

the first time he killed you was out of instinct. you were an intruder touching his soul the way mahito did, except you barged in without any malicious intention. he had gazed over your fallen body with mild interest then; a mere mortal, yet you emerged from thin air into his locked tight domain without dying?

the second time he killed you was a choice. he gave you not a minute to explain yourself, even though you had wasted the minute asking questions about his identity and the skull-filled area instead of giving him any valuable information about yourself. he had been fed up, he was never a man of patience, so he killed you with a wave of his hand and returned to his dull life alone on his throne.

the third time he killed you—he did not kill you. there was no third time; people liked to say the third time's charm but sukuna believed no such superstition. he killed you twice already and each time, you came back unscathed, both your body and your memories. whether he liked it or not, killing you for the third time would do neither you nor him any benefit, so he kept you alive.

you were afraid of him. he could tell, and he meant for things to be that way until he realized it served as a misfortune on his part. in order to understand this mystery—your sudden appearance into his domain, as well as your inability to leave it and his inability to kick you out—he has to gain some piece of information about you, but you were too shaken up from being murdered to talk to him at all.

sukuna's patience was reaching a breaking point and he thought about torturing it out of you, but he understood that humans are fragile, way more fragile than your typical jujutsu sorcerer. he could accidentally kill you and you would return with no scars and more unwilling to converse with him than before. then it was the waiting game all over again.

he wasn't planning on going through such a dull ordeal again, so he left you be and waited for you to calm yourself down.

the first time you talked to him, you asked him a question.

"are you going to kill me?" you asked him.

sukuna peered down at you from his throne. small, frightened, curled into a ball with no desire to touch the skeletons at his feet, but you looked up at him out of politeness.

he scoffed, displeased. "no, but i always can."

the second time you talked to him, it was to exchange a brief introduction.

"ryomen sukuna," he hummed curtly then he nudged his chin toward you. "your turn."

you shuffled up to your knees and sat down on your heels. your fingers fidgetted at your lap as you timidly peered up at his tattooed, disinterested expression.

"[full name]," you said with a nod, unable to meet his eyes. "nice–nice to meet you, sukuna-san..."

the third time you talked to him, you flinched.

"ma–may i ask you two questions... if i can...?" you asked, for the first time standing up to face him directly.

sukuna leaned away from his propped-up arm. after taking a better look at you, accessing your figure analytically despite having seen you move around slowly for days already, he shoved his hands into the sleeves of his robe and he suddenly jumped down from his throne to stand before you.

you pursed your lips nervously over his looming figure, face heating up with terrible anxiety while your eyes darted down to the watery ground. oh, his presence has been so overwhelmingly deadly that you forgot your white tennis shoes were stained red and your pastel ankle socks remained wet. you did not dare to complain, not even in your head.

"i'll allow it," he said.

"where am i?" you quickly asked.

"an innate domain," he replied.

you have questions, but you decided not to ask. you only nodded after breathing out a soft sigh to calm your nerves. this man constantly sounded condescending, he was kicking open your comfort zone without actively doing anything that would make you uncomfortable.

"okay..." you said, "thank you."

"aren't you going to ask me another question?" he stated with a raise of his brow. "you wanted to ask me two questions."

you gulped, blinking hopelessly at the air as a grimace appeared on your face. "the first question was if i can ask you two questions, and the second one is about where i am... so that makes two."

oh, a meticulously cautious one, and somewhat humorous too he would give you that. sukuna scoffed loudly, but it was less out of annoyance and more out of disbelief of your incredible dullness. however, as plain as you were, he has grown accustomed to your presence; the scent of fear that bounced off of you and the fact that he cannot kill you at will.

"you must be dying to know what this place is, are you not, you brat?" sukuna asked.

when he saw the flashes in your eyes, he knew he had you down through and through. all you were was but someone who was too afraid to say what they want, which was just as he expected from you. you wouldn't cause him trouble, you never could.

reaching his hand out of his sleeve, he stayed silent despite seeing the way you flinched with your eyes shut at his raised hand. his movement had been slow, but that was an involuntary response, an instinct that he didn't craft into you. he wondered what it was.

"you can ask me three more questions," he said as he pushed the heel of his palm against the curve of your head. he was gentle at first, then he clamped his hand down on your head as he bent his waist to meet your eyes. he laughed. "i'll allow it."

he could keep you here. he has no choice but to keep you here, and he would kill you once he realized he has the ability to. but for now, perhaps he could act a little civil, something like a human being but one that people would hate to the core.

except he was met with a little obstacle in the way, which was that you were no bad company.

the first time sukuna gained a liking toward you was when you asked him a peculiar question.

"sukuna-san," you called one time when there was only silence within the innate domain.

you sat on a bed of skulls, one that you tentatively asked the king of curses to make you so you wouldn't have to lean on the rib-cage structure and sit in water for slumber.

he denied it at first. calling you names and threatening you about ever requesting something from him—a bed in his domain? fucking atrocious. but your insomnia was killing you; you hated the blood water and your neck burned whenever you wake up having it arched at the worst angle possible.

he did not grow soft. he just made one so he didn't have to watch you sleep in his peripheral vision.

"hmm."

"why do you think curses exist?"

he raised a brow at you. "did i not teach you that before?"

"you did, sorry," you nodded, "then do you believe in god?"

"where the fuck is this coming from, you brat?"

"from where i came, god is good. but from what i am seeing, whether from where i came from or here, everything goes against that value," you muttered loudly as you pulled at your fingers. "cursed spirits harm people. if i can argue that way, i think cursed spirits are harmful within themselves."

"if god is good, and god is real, why would this happen," you said. "why should we feel negative emotions? why do we have the ability to create cursed spirits? why do curses like you exist?"

he furrowed his brows in irritation. have you reduced him to mere curses? have you reduced him to nothing but a brainless being that only takes joy in the suffering of others? no matter how he approached your words, he felt infuriated that you could minimize his importance to simply being a bad person.

he was much more than a bad person, much more than just a pain! he has ideals, he has goals and ambitions, he has wit and strength! he has anger and malevolence and power beyond which your soul could ever contain and endure! he was ryomen sukuna, the strongest curse in a thousand years and more!

he will fucking kill you.

"i'm really glad you're here, though," you finished off softly, an unknowing smile on your face as you rubbed your thumbs weakly together.

he will kill you.

"for a long time, i was told my anger and hatred aren't real. that they don't and should not exist, and i learned to bury them to the ground so they never appear on the surface again," you said, your innocent smile audible to his ears and making his chest twitch with guilt.

"cursed spirits' existence is proof that my negative emotions are real. they may be a problem, but i am not crazy for having them because they're here. they became something, they're here and alive."

he will... he will kill you.

"i just think it's unfair to put the blame on cursed spirits and cursed energy alone when the society's standard guarantees the manifestation of them," you said. "if my anger got out to the world in the form of a monster and it hurt someone, i'll forgive it. i will forgive myself."

he...

"you don't need to hear this, i wish i had your confidence, but i have to say it," you looked up and smiled at him, "i'm a little glad you're here, sukuna-san."

he will kill–he will ki–

the second time, he went stoic.

mahito was too smart for his own good. the first thing he noticed when he entered the soul within yuji's body was the way sukuna has the collar of your shirt clutched in his hand and your body pulled close to his side. it was a glance, he had one small glimpse of you both before he was kicked out of the domain.

your face was riddled with tears—crying, disappointed, and frustrated, but why? for the transfigured human whose name mahito almost forgot, or because sukuna just had one of the most sadistic outbursts you have ever witnessed.

and sukuna, the king, the lord, the almighty—didn't he look annoyed. well, not annoyed, per se. angry, mad, overwhelmed, knowing, protective. very, very, very protective; glowing eyes that glared at mahito's patched up face, fingers that gripped at your shirt so tightly he could rip the fabric apart, an aura that was ready to spit any moment if mahito so much as reach a finger toward your direction.

you meant something to ryomen sukuna. mahito realized that, so the second time he entered the innate domain, he killed you.

right before his eyes, with a cunning and triumphant smile, your neck cracked and your skin broke, and mahito tore your head off just before he was once again beat out of the domain.

sukuna tried to heal you. he tried to seal your head back to your lifeless body, time and time again pushing your decapitated head against your haphazardly cut neck. but his reverse curse technique wasn't healing you. your skin refused to piece itself back together, you refused to come back to him. time passed and he was getting mad, he was going batshit crazy trying to force himself out of this body.

bastard! bastard! bastard! he was supposed to kill you! he was supposed to be the one to kill you! he would murder that patch-faced piece of shit! he would kill mahito! and he would destroy the whole world, light it on fire and kill all that wasn't worthy of his time! he would jump universes, light-years, the bloodstream of the galaxy to find you and bring you back to him. he would���

"sukuna-san, i'm sorry i took a while! i thought you were fighting–holy shit, is that me?"

the third time, sukuna admitted to himself.

"what kind of flowers do you like, sukuna-san?" you asked, voice drowsy and your legs dangling after you climbed on one of the bones of the rib-cage structure.

"why does it matter?" he asked from his throne, eyeing you carefully.

your were a clumsy idiot. you could fall anytime.

"it doesn't, but it's flowers," you mumbled with your chin leaning against the bone, eyes threatening to close. "sukuna... sukuna..."

"what?" he snapped.

"i like lilies, the red ones," you said with a silly grin. "will you visit me when i die? sukuna... will you bring... mmm... bring red lilies..."

he looked ahead. your death; your grave, decorated with red lilies, protected and preserved with his curses. your death—he gritted his teeth. he refused to think about it. it was a waste of time.

or maybe he simply hated the idea of your death.

sukuna has not gone soft. he was irredeemable; a killer, a curse, a tragedy to descend upon mankind. he was not good and he never would be, nor did he ever have the intention to be good.

still, from you, there was proof that he could be more. what was left of his being; his anger and his torture, what was left within the gaps of his hell, the rare softness that once was there, belonged to you now.

you were the vessel that pocketed all that he could potentially become if he wasn't born to be ryomen sukuna, a version of him that you have witnessed. within you, there was proof that he did not only exist to hurt people, but also to validate madness and pain, to acknowledge passion in its murderous wakefulness. within you, there was proof that within himself, there are pieces of what it means to be human and alive.

hearing your soft breath, sukuna looked up to find you asleep with your head against the bone. your arms barely supported your weight and you were threatening to fall off as you dozed with faint snores. he stared at you, his fingers twitching, then he finally waved his hand so he could bring you away from the ribcage and to where he sat.

he paid no mind to subtlety when he set you on his lap. his hand supported your back while he kept your head pressed against his shoulder. his other arm went around your body, preventing you from falling off the throne made only for him to sit on. when he was done adjusting to the new sitting position, he relaxed.

brushing the hair away from your face, he stared down at you with disinterest, but his heart pumped and pumped for you to be warm and well, his arms tightened for you to sleep soundly.

"i will bring you all the red lilies you want," he whispered, the back of his finger gliding past your soft cheek. you did not smell like fear when you fall asleep, you did not smell like fear now even when you looked at him. "i will allow myself that."

after all, ryomen sukuna was only fond of you. very, very fond of you. 

[1plus1kiyoomi]

Chapter 22: How I Met Your Mother

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“Okay, listen up my children!” Kiyoomi announces in the middle of the living room, the kids all looking up to him. “Your mother won’t be around for 3 days-”

Kin starts crying because of his father’s words, taking Sakusa aback. His boy must love you so much since he’s the only who seems affected that you are away. The girls... don’t care.

“Don’t cry! Don’t cry! We are only 30 minutes in and you’re already crying,” Kiyoomi sighs, picking Kin up from the ground.

“You should not have mentioned mama,” Kia scolds him. Kia takes a seat on the couch which Mina and Mira follows. She is their leader, not Kiyoomi. If a hierarchy is made in your house it would turn out like this:

You

Kia

Mina

Mira

Kin

Kiyoomi

Yes. Sakusa Kiyoomi, the provider and the pillar of the house, is at the lowest ranking in your house, simply because he isn’t around all the time. He only goes home once or twice a month, leaving all the childcare and managing of the house to you. The wedding planning is only the side dish of what’s on your plate. He has so much respect for you that he’s willing to lower his pride and hurt his ego.

Kiyoomi is more than happy to take care of the kids for you. You get to rest and he gets to spend time with your children. It’s a win-win situation for the two of you.

“Mama!” Kin cries harder, and Sakusa bounces him on his arm, hoping it will stop him.

“If you stop crying we will go see the fish!” Kiyoomi cheers and Kin stops crying. “We will change now and then go see fish.”

“Really?” Kia questions her father, already old enough to be aware of Kiyoomi’s fear of crowds and germs. She knows that there is no way that their dad will bring the four of them in the aquarium. Especially since it’s a weekend, so it’ll be packed with people.

And Kia was right. Kiyoomi didn’t bring them to the aquarium, but to a small fish market. Kia is disappointed but not surprised. At least Kiyoomi tried, right? “Where’s the fish?” Kin asks, looking around as he sits in his stroller. The place only has a few people and small stalls, which Kiyoomi really likes.

They stop in front of a stall where fish are laid on trays of ice, shocking the twins. Kia just face palms, and Mina is just standing there but is also in disbelief. “What? It’s fish.” Kiyoomi defends himself, shrugging.

“It’s dead,” Mina remarks as she stares at the deceased sea creatures in front of her.

“A fish is a fish,” Kiyoomi argues. Kia scans through the surrounding and spots a small tank with king crabs in it. She points at it so they go to it. Kin and Mira are now out of their stroller and are almost glued to the glass tank. The owner of the shop comes out asks if they’re going to it at the store. Kiyoomi says yes, since the kids look so excited to be seeing crab for the first time.

What he didn’t take in account is that the kids will recognize that the crab they were staring at outside is now their food. Cue the loud crying from Kin and Mira. The number of times Kia has face palmed because of her father is uncountable. Mina is chill, playing with the claws of the cooked crab, making her younger siblings cry even more.

“Stop crying. Try it!” Mina puts a piece of meat in Mira’s mouth and she stops. Kin halts as well, confused why his twin stopped wailing. Kia feeds him the crab and he falls in love with it. Kiyoomi sighs in relief, very thankful that he has reliable daughters.

One task done.

Their lunch finally ends and they head to the toy store. Kiyoomi has already planned to buy kinetic sand for the twins since he can’t bring them to the beach. It’s a scary place. He might be the most cautious guy in the country, but he’s still like any clumsy father. The chances of him losing one kid at that place is high.

“Do you wanna walk?” Kiyoomi asks the twins, not wanting to carry a stroller around. The two nod so he takes out the safety harness and puts it on them. Mina and Kia are holding hands, walking obediently beside their father. The family of 5 enters the store and the kids become excited immediately.

“We can buy anything we want?” Kia asks in awe, which Kiyoomi just nods to. “Let’s go Mina!”

“Don’t go with strangers, okay?” Kiyoomi tells them as the two run off somewhere in the store. He picks up tubs of kinetic sand, clay, and slime. Then, he follows the twins around the store, picking up whatever they seemed interested in.

“You want that toy car?” Kiyoomi asks Mira, picking them up from the ground so they can see a clearer view of the toys. Kin points at a toy gun at another shelf. “I’m sorry, buddy, but you can’t use that yet, and maybe your mama will shoot me using that if she finds out I bought you one.”

As Kiyoomi and the twins are picking more stuffed animals, Kia and Mina come running towards him. “Papa! Papa! Can I buy a bike?” Kia pleads, tugging on Kiyoomi’s pants. He takes a deep breath in before agreeing to his eldest daughter.

“Where are your toys?” Kiyoomi asks them, seeing that the two girls are empty handed.

“I only want a bike and Mina wants a picture book,” Kia answers. Kiyoomi furrows his eyebrows in disappointment, but in his mind he’s actually really happy that the girls seem to be taking saving into consideration.

“Are you sure?” Kiyoomi raises an eyebrow at them.

“Can I buy a skateboard too...?” Kia shyly requests, doing a cute pose. Kiyoomi chuckles and agrees with her.

“How about you Minari?” Kiyoomi asks the younger girl.

“I want paint,” Kia nonchalantly says and Kiyoomi does a thumbs up to her. After that, they start to run to wherever they can get their wants. Kiyoomi walks after his kids, the twins already asleep in his arms, their heads on his shoulder. He spots Kia, scanning through the wide catalog of bikes, a small skateboard already tucked below her underarms.

“Can I get the blue one?” Kia tells the employee who is assisting her, pointing at the baby blue bike she wants.

“You don’t want the pink one?” The employee asks, presenting the pink bike. Kia looks at him in disgust.

“Do you think girls only like pink?” Kia remarks, taking the employee by surprise. Kiyoomi smiles under his mask, amused by his daughter’s words. He internally taps the his back because he’s pretty much the reason behind her attitude. He’s proud to say that he has raised his children not to believe in gender norms.

Kiyoomi feels someone tug on his pants, so he looks down and sees Mina holding a small cart filled with coloring materials, picture books and papers. “Is that all you want?” Mina nods and holds his hand.

After checking Kia’s bike they head to the cashier to pay. Kiyoomi then realizes that he has done the one thing you told him not to do. Spend money on the kids. But you won’t know right?

One task has been failed.

As they reach the house, all the kids immediately go to the bathroom to wash. Kiyoomi knows that they adapted this habit from him, and he feels happy that they’re understanding his personality even at a young age. Kia even sprays alcohol in her sibling’s hand every time they come back to the car. It’s the little things his little kids are doing for him that makes him love them even more.

The four of them falls asleep after the bath so Kiyoomi arranges the stuff they bought. As he is arranging Mina’s books, he notices the abundant number of books that included dogs. “Does she likes dogs?”

Kiyoomi is tired. He has never felt this tired after intense games or practices. Childcare is a whole new level of tired. Just when he thought he can rest, Mina walks out of her shared room with Kia. “Hi, baby. Did you sleep well?” Kiyoomi asks Mina which she doesn’t respond to. Instead, she comes close to him and hugs his leg. Surprisingly, Mina starts crying. “What’s wrong?”

“I missed you, papa,” Mina explains. Kiyoomi sits on the foamed floor of the living room, giving Mina a hug.

Mina has always been quiet. She always waits for her turn silently. She never begs for attention even if she wants it deeply. Mina only shows affection towards you and Kiyoomi when she’s alone with you, but with her siblings around, she gives way to them. Sometimes, Kiyoomi feels guilty because of this. Unlike Kia, Mina has never spent time with you and Kiyoomi on her own. Plus, she was then followed by the twins when she was still a baby. He’s afraid that Mina might start thinking that she is less important than her siblings.

“I missed you, too, Minari,” Kiyoomi says back. He puckers his lips so Mina gives him a short kiss. He hugs her once again, calming her down from her cry. She calms down so Kiyoomi takes this as a chance to trim her bangs. “Should we cut your hair?”

The two of them go to your shared bathroom as quiet as they can, not wanting to wake the other kids up. Kiyoomi sits Mina down on the sink, then takes a pair of scissors out of the drawers. “Don’t move, okay?” He starts to cut her bangs, thinking he’s doing a good job. But once he lets go of her hair, the room becomes silent.

Sakusa messed up. Big time.

Mina checks her reflection at the mirror and giggles. “Weird,” Mina says in between laughter, causing Kiyoomi to chuckle as well.

“Your mom will be so mad at me...” He cuts some more length off, but no matter how hard he tries, it’s just an uneven. He then decides to stop, not wanting his daughter to look like an unidentified animal.

“I like it, papa. Thank you.” She doesn’t like it, but she doesn’t want to break her father’s heart. Mina hugs Kiyoomi after taking a look at the mirror. Kiyoomi kisses her cheek, then laughs at the result.

“You’re still cute.”

Two tasks done.

As they return to the living room, they see Kia sitting on the living room couch, staring at the wall emptily. She sees Mina’s new hairstyle and grimaces. “You’re bad at cutting hair, papa,” Kia says, unfiltered. Unlike Mina who is considerate like you, Kia is as blunt as Kiyoomi. He doesn’t say anything back since she was right.

“Can you teach Mina the alphabet while I make dinner?” Kiyoomi requests and Kia nods in agreement. Mina goes to Kia while Kiyoomi goes to the kitchen to make dinner. He’s thankful that he has such a reliable daughter. He would probably not make it without Kia around.

Three tasks done. Somehow.

At first, Kia was teaching Mina the alphabet, but then she had to go to Kiyoomi’s bathroom to wash her hands, and that’s when she saw Kiyoomi’s ripped jeans that he wore a day before in the laundry basket. She hurriedly called Mina and ordered her to bring paper and glue.

“Is papa poor?” Mina gasps as Kia presents the ripped jeans to her. They sadly look at the piece of clothing and feel bad for buying so much at the toy store while their father was wearing clothes with holes in it.

The older girl flattens the pair of jeans on the floor and starts to glue the colored paper over the torn parts. Mina mimics Kia and does the same thing to the other leg of the pants. Kiyoomi, still in the kitchen, wonders why he suddenly can’t hear his children. It’s never good when they’re silent.

“Kia! Mina! Where are you?” Kiyoomi shouts and he hears small footsteps coming from his room. He checks over the counter and sees his pants are now covered in decorative paper. He almost drops the knife he is holding from the sudden transformation of his pants.

“We covered the holes in your pants papa! You might get cold!” Kia reasons as she shows off their little project. How can he get mad at them when they are just worried about him?

“Thank you, Kia, Mina,” he laughs and snaps a picture of them on his phone. Things that his kids do that don’t make sense but is damn adorable.

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“Just go to bed. I beg you,” Kiyoomi pleads to his children who are still jumping on the bed. “It’s already almost 12AM. Please sleep.”

Kiyoomi is damn tired. How do you handle the four of them on your own? He suddenly feels bad for leaving you alone with them. And he hasn’t heard a complain from you even once. His love for you has become deeper just from taking care of the kids in one day.

“Bedtime story!” Kia cheers, putting herself inside the blanket, which her siblings follow. Kiyoomi sighs in relief. Finally.

“What kind of story do you want?” Kiyoomi tucks the blankets properly on their bodies, making sure that the four of them are comfortable in his bed.

“How did you meet mama?” Kia asks, causing Kiyoomi to smile.

“How I met your mother, huh?” Kiyoomi hums, thinking about how you first met. His smile grows, remembering every detail of how you met.

The first time Sakusa had met you was in Itachiyama. You were outside the volleyball gym, and he was on his way to practice. For some odd reason, you were smelling the roses by the wall. He thought you were the weirdest person he had encountered and judged you right then and there. After that, he would notice how you came to the same spot to smell the roses every single day. He didn’t even understand what smelled so good about them. He may or may have not tried smelling them after practice just to check why you kept smelling them.

It went on for weeks, but Sakusa never thought of talking to you. He just didn’t see see a reason why he should. Until one day, it rained so heavily that he became so worried for unknown reasons. On his way to practice, he stopped by the usual spot where you would smell the flowers and he didn’t see you there. Of course you wouldn’t be there, it was raining so hard. He didn’t care about you.

He was sure he didn’t care until he found himself carrying a bouquet of roses one morning to give it to you. He couldn’t believe it himself. But he couldn’t contain his feelings anymore.

You were a virus that slowly corrupted his mind that all he could think of is you. Maybe it be in class, during practice, on his way home, before he sleeps, after he wakes and sometimes he even dreams about you. Your virus then slowly travelled to his heart. He couldn’t explain it but every time he saw you, his heart would pound so fast he felt like he would suffer from cardiac arrest.

But it was also you who soothed him. When he was feeling down, he thought of your smile after you smelled the roses and he’s back up again. The calm he felt when he passed by you in hallways was enough to encourage him to do great in practice and in games. He didn’t even know your name but he already has a mission of taking your last name and replacing it with his.

You were his illness and his cure.

His cousin, Komori, wasn’t surprised to see him standing by the school gates with flowers in his hands. As the libero saw the roses, he immediately knew Sakusa was waiting for you.

Sakusa was never quiet about his feelings judgement towards you. Everyday the spiker would complain to the libero about how weird you were. Each day, Sakusa had something new to complain about. You cut your hair? He would say it Komori. You painted your nails a new color? Komori would hear about it. You were wearing a different bag? Komori definitely knew about it from Sakusa.

Komori had concluded that Sakusa had developed a liking towards you but the latter hadn’t notice yet. So when it rained hard the day before and Sakusa’s plays were bad, Komori knew Sakusa would do something about it. Sakusa was an honest man, even to himself, especially to himself.

You were on your way to school, when you saw Sakusa standing by the gates. Of course you knew him. He was famous in your school despite his too blunt personality and germaphobic tendencies. You had a little crush on him, but you also were aware he’d never like you back. You’d go outside their gym everyday to smell on the flowers and see him. He was a happy a crush. So, seeing him with flowers outside your school broke your heart.

‘So he had a lover, huh?’

You walked past him, head lowered in defeat. You heard murmurs and whispers as you continued to walk but you ignore them, head full of sad thoughts. Suddenly, you felt a hand on your shoulder so you turned your head and saw Sakusa standing before you, handing you the bundle of flowers. Everyone else was staring at you and Komori was hiding somewhere, taking a picture of the commotion.

“I think you got the wrong person,” you chuckled awkwardly, not knowing what to do since other students were looking at the two of you. And Sakusa Kiyoomi, the ace of the volleyball team, your happy crush, the man of your dreams, was handing you a bouquet of roses.

“You’re the girl who smells the roses outside our gym every afternoon, right?” Sakusa said as he pulled his mask down.

You literally short circuited. He was much more taller and more gorgeous up close. He smelled good, too. But what surprised you the most was that he lowered his mask to talk to you. Maybe you saved the world once in your past life to be able to experience this.

You nodded unsurely, glancing around you in nervousness, not able to look him in the eye. “Forecast said it’ll rain later in the afternoon so you won’t be able to smell the flowers outside the gym. So take this.” Sakusa explained to you.

You couldn’t believe it. The boy who you had a secret crush on since the first day of school had noticed you. You didn’t expect anything at all. Considering how he was with people, you thought you didn’t have a chance so you never made a move aside from stealing glances and watching from a far. To say that your heart was beating fast and that you felt butterflies in your stomach was an understatement. One more word from him and you would probably burst.

“Is that so?” A smile slowly grew on your lips, finally making eye contact with him. You were trying so hard to play it cool, but your reddening cheeks were giving you off. “Thank you. I’m (Y/N) by the way.”

“You can call me Kiyoomi.”

“And from that day on, I would bring your mother a rose everyday,” Sakusa tells Kia, fondly looking his children, the products of your love.

“So you liked mama ever since you met her?” Kia asks, seeing her father smile foolishly. A small giggle leaves Kiyoomi’s mouth and Kia teases him. “Papa is a simp.”

“Where did you learn that?” Kiyoomi gasps.

“Momo,” Kia answers and Kiyoomi takes a mental note to smack his cousin when he sees him again. “Papa, do you love mama?”

“We wouldn’t have the four of you if I don’t,” Kiyoomi answers with a chuckle. He checks his other kids and they have already fallen asleep. “Now go to sleep.”

“Good night, papa,” Kia greets him before closing her eyes. “I love you and mama so much. I am happy you are our parents.”

“We love you more.” He kisses their forehead one by one, before settling on the edge of the bed. He takes his phone out and messages you, hoping you were still awake.

All tasks complete.

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[prev] [next]

Facts:

Kia is already 5 years old at this, while Mina is 2 and the twins are 1.

Mina thinks dogs are cute because Komori looks like one and he is her favorite uncle.

Mira is the quiet twin while Kin is the more vocal one.

Kin likes fish because the last time Hinata came over, he showed him a picture of his gold fish. Hinata is Kin’s favorite.

Bokuto is Kia’s new favorite uncle/boyfriend because Atsumu has children and Kita is married. She doesn’t want to get in trouble.

Mira is loyal to Kiyoomi.

Taglist:  @elianetsantana​​ @aoi-turtle @ptv-hades  @aquzairus @a-applepi  @justoneofthefangirlsarianna-r13 @morenabambinii @chaelysian @loser-keiji​​ @mxngy @ne-kuroon1fangirlsblog @d-efend @missalicebaskervillemarvelousbakugou @agaashesmilktea​ @bonkyandloki @kimi09 @ntimacy @mkazuyuh  @ushi-please @minty-mangos-world @dearest-kiyoomi​ @yeehawslap  @onlyshinji @obsessedwhxre @adrasteiaxandromedaa @abuliawrites @song-of-storms162 @tnu-ree @keichainn  @bunnybitesthedust @lililiynx  @maitenight @prettyinblack231  @hyoonx23

[demonslayedher]

any random trivial thoughts you have about the lives of the slayers? i like to think that nezuko keeps the acorns inosuke gave her in a jar as a collection and that inosuke is determined to fill the jar completely, hehe. also, do you think an official announcement of nezuko’s existence was made to the lower ranked demon slayers or did it travel through word of mouth. imagine oblivious demon slayers visiting the butterfly mansion, only to be greeted/encountered by nezuko

If I may add to that thought about Nezuko having a jar, Gotouge has stated that Nezuko is okay getting tossed around and bumping her head in the box because she heals from it immediately, but one of this days Tanjiro is going to open it and it will pour with acorns and glass shards, and she'll just be sitting there glaring with disappointment. (Hopefully Nezuko keeps the jar in a safe place at the Butterfly Mansion instead!)

As for telling the whole Corp that Nezuko got the OK from Oyakata-sama and the Pillars, I can see that being like a low-key announcement that spreads like a rumor, just kinda whenever the crows get around to that detail between missions. It makes sense that Oyakata-sama wanted to tell the Pillars first, and since the Pillar meeting was coming up pretty soon when Tanjiro passed the Final Selection, Oyakata-sama had probably planned as soon as he got Urokodaki's letter than he was going to have Tanjiro and Nezuko at that meeting. Even if we set the Pillars aside, though, there's wide-spread hatred against demons throughout the Corp. It probably helped to have the Pillars generally on board first. I can imagine the rest of the Corp being very curious (if cautious) about Nezuko, and although we see characters who get the pleasure of spending time with her getting to baby her, most Corp members who meet Tanjiro probably don't get to meet Nezuko face to face. Daytime is problematic, or Nezuko would otherwise be asleep a lot of the time even if Tanjiro is busy in settings when he'd meet other Corp members. Still, I think Tanjiro's reputation as a nice guy would spread even faster, so even people who were iffy about Nezuko would probably get to know Tanjiro and be like, "oh, she's probably fine."

But if we're going to get into trivial headcanons about the Slayers' everyday lives, you know who I think gets babied more than Nezuko?

Inosuke. Most of the Corp members are freaked out by him at first, but as it dawns on them that Inosuke grew up all alone, it may bring out a nurturing side in them, and it makes everyone happy to see him get better at fitting in among humankind. They get to feel proud of him as he picks up on limited amounts of etiquette and gets marginally better at picking up names, but most of them are still likely to make a quick exit when he starts getting too rambunctious.

Zenitsu, however, is someone who should know better and most people find him really annoying until they go through Pillar Training with him, as that's the strongest bonding experience most of the Corp members have ever shared, aside from the really close bonding that probably occurs a lot among members of the same Final Selection batches. However, the Corp members who have witnessed Zenitsu in action (and who were rescued by him) have nearly the same awe for him that they have for the Pillars, so they never say anything to him about how indebted they feel.

Since more of the Corp members have met Inosuke and Zenitsu than have met Nezuko, Tanjiro's saintly reputation mostly stems from how much of those two numbskulls' company he can stand, and how he can keep them in line (keeping a demon sister in line must be easy in comparison). Also, Tanjiro is not just good at tending the fire to make good rice, his sense of smell makes him a master at seasoning food perfectly, and many Corp members have cried thinking of how their own mothers never cooked so well. Tanjiro is also very good at tending to people when they fall ill.

The Pillars are so advanced in Breath technique that they don't generally catch colds unless they are recovering from serious injury or like, poisoning themselves. Normal Corp members catch minor illnesses all the time, though, and that's part of why they're so slow to advance. They tend to have to take time for lots of little things instead of just major injuries sustained in battle. They still train as much as possible to make sure they don't get rusty when it's time to take a mission again. These recovery periods are some of the only times when they can maintain a reasonable sleep schedule, many of the members who survive to old age feel long term effects of sleep deprivation in addition to lingering injuries. Since the Corp members can't very well engage in long-term goals, simple pastimes are encouraged in the daylight hours to help keep them in the moment. The Butterfly Mansion and most of the Wisteria houses are well stocked with board games like Sugoroku and card games like Karuta, as well as tools for shuttlecock and paper for origami.

While many of the Corp members try to be virtuous, and in indeed there are other circles that have their own sort of main-character like Tanjiro equivalent, there are still those who have less polished, or certainly far less positive character. The rougher members tend to spend their salary and free time on vices. Oyakata-sama understands his children are under a lot of stress and turns a blind eye to it (or two blind eyes, I guess).

Different Breaths tend to come with their own cultures, and overtime different Cultivators tend to get different reputations based on the members they send into the Corp. Like, "Oh, Yamada-sensei? Then you must be a stickler for the 10th form" or "Yamaguchi-sensei? Are you okay out there? I heard he's real half-assed on Breath technique." There is a certain amount of awe that students of former Pillars automatically get, and although some of that is due to pride and jealously, people who have been in the Corp long enough tend to get over these notions and just realize that everyone's doing their best. Since they're core Breath styles there may be other Thunder and Flame Breath users throughout the Corp from different Cultivators, but, pardon the pun, they can't hold a candle to the students of former Pillars (or the Rengoku clan in general) and it's highly, highly unlikely any of them would ever get close to the same level of mastery. There's plenty of Muratas in every Breath, basically.

Speaking of Murata, he and others like him probably had an easy time of settling down and getting married after retirement. Years of experience as swordsmen certainly gave them a mature edge over the average Joes they otherwise would be compared to, but they also have the advantage of not being freaks. Takeuchi remains life-long friends with Yushiro.

The young maidens of Wisteria houses get flirted with all the time. Many of the Corp members are starved of TLC, and while the maidens of the Wisteria houses are polite and have deep respect for the work the swordsmen do, they know they likely will not know most of them for long. However, when there is a true connection between a Corp member and a Wisteria House family member, they tend to make very solid matches. Girls make up a slim percentage of the swordsmen in the Corp, and this is why they tend to get sent on undercover missions a lot more. Demons tend to put their guards down more around women, as they'd more likely be on the look out for male swordsmen.

Girls make up a larger proportion of the Kakushi, and traditionally feminine skills are highly prized. Gotou is very proud of his sewing skills, even though he only does small repairs and has never been tasked with tailoring full uniforms. The Kakushi use a lot of code words and have a very insular work culture that is hard for outsiders to break into; even Oyakata-sama finds himself confused by a lot of it, but he appreciates that it makes them efficient and mostly leaves them be to organize themselves as they see fit (his orders are still absolute, though, so none of them are aware how much autonomy they effectively have.)

Hand signs like "don't breathe" and "don't listen" are unique to the Corp (yes, I have looked them up, consensus in the Japanese fandom is that they are unique to KnY), and taught by Cultivators. Inosuke didn't have a Cultivator to teach him so it took him a while to catch on the existence of hand signs. He makes up his own confusing hand signs to impress people with how flexible his joints are.

For many, Pillar Training was harder than undergoing Cultivation (but still less harrowing than the Final Selection). In Cultivation they tend to get specialized attention from someone who cares about them and actually knows a thing or two about how teaching works. Pillar Training does not fit this explanation at all, especially in the teaching department. As mentioned before, this is when a lot of Corp members who used to find Zenitsu insufferable come around and start to appreciate him more, for they survived different stages of training together, and every time he blew his top and complained, they were grateful he gave (loud) voice to what they were thinking but were too afraid to say. Instead of getting down and depressed, it riles them up enough to keep at it, however ridiculous the Pillar's demands are. Suffering under the Pillars also broke down perceived barriers between different ranks, building a more solid level of comradery among a lot of the Corp. However, this was also the most time most of the Corp members ever got to spend with the Pillars, who they always felt were untouchable and who they feared bothering. They feel very genuine affection for them by the time they all enter the final battle.

Once Inosuke figures out that Zenitsu can only bring out his full abilities in his sleep, he tries to goad Zenitsu into fighting him at full strength by insulting him in his sleep. He did throw a really good punch at him one time, but usually he only sleep-argues back. Other times Inosuke hits a sore spot and Zenitsu starts sleep-crying, in which case Inosuke gets bored and leaves. Once Tanjiro realizes this about Zenitsu (thanks to Inosuke having point-blank explained it to him), he puzzles over it and figures Zenitsu may not be aware of how powerful and helpful he is, and this hurts his confidence, but then again, how can he not know if he's so aware of his surroundings even in his sleep? As Zenitsu sleeps, Tanjiro has been puzzling over this a long time and how he might best be able to help Zenitsu reach his full confident potential, and by the time Zenitsu wakes up and drowsily looks over at Tanjiro, Tanjiro looks him in the eye and very seriously asks, "Zenitsu, what is your problem?" Naturally, Zenitsu interprets this as Tanjiro suddenly being very disappointed in him, and Tanjiro has unwittingly done more harm than good.

On the contrary, Tanjiro has unwittingly done a lot of simple good for most of the PTSD-suffering Corp members with his little throw-away positive comments, just like he did for Muichiro and Aoi. Most of the Corp members have never met Oyakata-sama, so Tanjiro is to many Corp members what Oyakata-sama is to the Pillars. It's like they all have an Oyakata-sama shaped hole in their hearts and Tanjiro just falls into it like a good proxy. After all is said and done and Tanjiro and Nezuko read all the kind wishes left for them in deceased Corp members' wills, Tanjiro is consumed with some guilt that he can't place faces to all the names, though he remembers the majority of them. While his memory is still fresh he works hard to recall the ones who escaped him, and then he makes sure to refresh his memory every year with annual visits to the graves.

[pftones3482]

Sometimes Stupid

Commission for @randomfandomfan from one of their many prompts they gave me. Took forever bc of work and life and also???? Now I have a cat??? So that's fun. But this was fun to write. Read it here on AO3

Set post TLO and pre HOO (and a little bit post HOO). Under a cut for length.

~~

Contrary to popular belief, Leo Valdez was not stupid.

He was an idiot, at times – for instance, maybe running away from his seventh (fifteenth? He’d really lost track at this point) foster home wasn’t the best decision he could have made, especially given that it was the middle of summer and oh, also, hurricane season. And okay, maybe he should’ve taken more with him than a single change of clothes, a box of Ritz crackers, a pocketknife, and a water bottle that had definitely seen better days, but he was in a rush, okay?

But he wasn’t stupid.

When he ran away from his foster homes, Leo tended to stay away from people where he could. And if he had to be around them, he cleaned up, smiled brightly, “Yes ma’am”ed and “Yes’sir”ed to an obnoxious point, and lied his pants off. People were less likely to call the police on a Hispanic kid if they thought he was just a darling little angel waiting for mom at the grocery store, and the last thing he needed was the cops in his business.

Not that it hadn’t happened, of course. He’d dealt with cops of all kinds – nice cops, bad cops, black cops, white cops (WAY too many of those, in his opinion), the occasional cop who would speak Spanish with him, cops who were just there to write a report and move on with their days – cops.

He tried to stay away from them.

Which meant sticking to beaches and forests, lakes and campgrounds, middle of nowhere places with no people for miles. Leo was good at disappearing. Hiding.

But there were always times when he needed an adult. When he needed to hitchhike, or when he needed food to the point of near passing out. Once for serious medical attention. There was a system to what adults you could trust.

Never cops. You could never trust the cops, no matter what naïve white parents thought. Leo had been in cuffs enough to know that was false.

You also couldn’t usually trust priests. They meant well, sure, but they always ended up calling the authorities in the end. That, or they tried to convert Leo to Catholicism, and while one of those encounters had ended with a swiped bottle of watered-down red wine and a night that made him vow to never drink again, he wasn’t trying to contact the church.

(THAT night, Leo would say he had been stupid. He could admit that)

Homeless people were usually okay. While a lot of them were very suspicious of everyone, almost every homeless person he’d ever met would point him in the direction of food, water, free showers, free clothes, or a library (his saving grace during the heat of the summer and the cold of the winter). The times when he came across gay homeless people were when he felt safest – they especially never pressed him about his background. Ironic, really, that he felt safer with strangers on the street than his foster homes.

Moms were sometimes okay. Especially if they were Hispanic, or black, or just anything but white. They, at least, wouldn’t call the cops on him. But they were also hit or miss – sometimes they helped in way of a meal, or a new bottle of water. One mom even took him to the store and got him new socks and underwear (he had cried that night). But other moms rushed him away from their precious babies. Some moms called him ungrateful for the “space he had.”

Dads were a never. Leo never went to men if he could help it, even if they had children with them. He didn’t trust them as far as he could throw them, and that wasn’t very far.

But it was hurricane season. And he was on the coast. And it was downpouring, and he was starving, and the only people he had seen for miles were a white couple, a man and a woman, standing on the porch of a somewhat rundown shack that Leo would’ve probably thought was abandoned if he hadn’t seen them there.

The man was tall, peppered hair that was shifting more to salt, with a rough beard and a pair of glasses perched on his nose. The woman at his side was short, probably Leo’s height, with dark curly hair and vibrantly blue eyes. It was streaked with gray, but she was, admittedly, a very pretty woman. Something about her smile put Leo at ease.

He clutched his backpack tighter in his fist and stumbled over the sand towards the shack, ankles rolling uncomfortably on the wet ground. He was sure he looked atrocious, sure that the moment they spotted him, they’d shriek and cuss him out and lock the door.

But then he coughed, hard, his shoulders shaking, and the woman whipped her head around. He watched her eyes widen, watched her tug at the man’s sleeve, and then she was bolting – barefoot, Leo noticed – down the steps and over to him.

He flinched when she wrapped an arm over his shoulders, jolting out of her grip more from habit than anything else. She froze, holding both hands up and relaxing her stance. “Hey, honey. It’s okay. It’s okay.”

Somewhere deep down, Leo’s brain was scoffing at the patronizing words. But on the surface, he focused on the words, and then sharpened his eyes onto the man as he approached, phone in hand. “I-I c-can’t-”

The woman looked back, down at the phone, and her shoulders stiffened. “Paul, put the phone away, please.”

Her voice held an intonation that Leo couldn’t decipher, but the man – Paul – instantly shut the phone off and pocketed it. The moment it was gone, Leo let his shoulders loosen, and he looked at the woman anxiously. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I-I just…”

“Hey.”

Her arm was more cautious this time, sliding around Leo’s shoulders with a pace that would let him move if he wanted. He didn’t, just let it happen, and then the woman was easing him over the sticky sand and up the steps of the shack, Paul close behind them. He stopped at the door, pushing back hard against the woman’s guiding grip. “I don’t want to ruin your house,” he managed.

The woman’s laugh was…well, to be perfectly honest, it made Leo feel warm. Like she could never hurt him.

Those are usually the most dangerous people, his mind tried to reason with him.

“Sweetheart, it’s just a rental cabin. Besides, I’ve had far worse than a little sand and water on my floors before.”

Before he could wonder at that sentence, she opened the door and nudged him inside. The second that Paul closed the door, the sound of the wind died down and the chill in the air evaporated. Leo realized he was shivering.

The woman’s hands were warm on his cheeks. “My name is Sally, hon. You are-?”

He usually gave a fake name, but – “Leo, ma’am.”

“Don’t you ma’am me,” she scoffed, her voice easy as she helped Leo to the couch. “I’m not that old, am I Paul?”

Paul put his hands up. “I abstain from answering.”

Sally scoffed and pressed a cool hand on Leo’s forehead. “Can I take your backpack, sweetheart?”

Something like panic flared in Leo’s chest, and Sally must have seen it, because she pulled her hand back and held it up. “I’m not moving it far, I just want Paul to dry everything out for you, okay?”

Fingers shaking, Leo shrugged off his bag – the one he’d been carrying for nearly three states – and passed it over to her. She took it like it was a priceless artifact, and handed it to Paul with more tenderness than Leo had ever seen given to an inanimate object. “I think my son might have left some clothes here while he was with us last week,” she said, voice soft. “He’s a little older than you, so some things might be big, but is it okay if we give you some of his clothes while we dry out yours?”

Leo swallowed around the lump in his throat. “Um. Yeah.”

She stood up and left with Paul, giving Leo a moment to be alone and take in the cabin around him.

It was old, but obviously well taken care of, with weathered planks of wood gracing the walls and the floor. He was in the living room, full of mismatched couches and chairs and a bookshelf stacked full of books and games. He didn’t see a TV in sight, but he wasn’t expecting to find one. He stood shakily, suddenly very aware of how wet he was getting the couch, and wrapped his arms around himself as he explored the rest of the main room.

The kitchen was small and cramped, but he could smell something full of tomatoes and spices in the oven that made his tastebuds water. He didn’t dare look for fear of getting caught, so he stepped away and into the tiny dining area. There was sand on the floor, spread thin and fine, and it was such a small thing, but it made Leo relax even more – Sally meant it when she said she didn’t care about him ruining her floors.

But she and Paul had been gone for a while, and Leo wasn’t stupid, okay? It didn’t matter how well intentioned someone was, they always thought they knew better, and if they were gone too long, it meant they were trying to decide for him. So he crept towards the hallway they’d vanished to, praying that he didn’t step on a squeaky board. Old homes always had them in the most inconvenient places.

“-not answering?” he picked up Paul’s voice saying.

“No,” Sally said, a sigh in her voice. “He did say he and Annabeth were on a date, but I didn’t expect them to be in Paris of all places. How did they even-?”

“Can you get ahold of Chiron?”

Not the police, then, Leo reasoned, unless they knew an officer by that name. He leaned a little closer.

“No – I try not to call the camp unless I need to. Phone lines and all that, you know?”

Paul huffed. “I know. And Rachel is at art camp, right?”

“Yup,” Sally said, and Leo heard a sound like a blowing raspberry. “He clearly isn’t aware of anything, Paul. He’s terrified.”

“Probably a runaway,” Paul hummed, and Leo flinched at the damning statement. “Met a couple kids like that teaching.”

He looked like a teacher. You couldn’t trust most teachers either, Leo had learned. They were just like priests. Tried their best, but they always inevitably called someone.

“What did you do? Who did you call?” Sally asked, and Leo stiffened. Here it comes, his brain taunted.

“No one,” Paul said.

Leo blinked, taking a slight step back. What?

“Kids don’t run away for no reason, Sal. Especially not kids like him. Perce taught me that. I mean, maybe in my early days of teaching, I might have called the authorities, but ever since this summer I…how could I risk that? Even before then, I mean…the stories I’ve heard from some of these kids I’ve talked to. We don’t know anything about him. If he ran away, all this way, in this weather? It was bad, love.”

Leo’s throat ached.

He’d never, the whole time he’d been in foster care, ever heard an adult admit that they were wrong to call the authorities on him. Never heard an adult take his perspective into account, especially without even knowing him. Never had an adult admit that his life could be anything other than ideal.

He took another step back and oh shit, there it was, the cursed piece of wood in every old house to ever exist. He cussed under his breath and ducked his head as Sally stepped into the hallway. He refused to look up at her. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “You were just gone for a while a-and I thought you might be calling someone.”

No verbal response. Instead, a soft bundle of fabric was pressed into Leo’s hands. He startled, gripping onto the clothing, and looked up at Sally and Paul with wide eyes. Paul shook his head. “We’re not calling anyone, son. Not if you don’t want us to. But we do ask that you get cleaned up, before you catch pneumonia.”

Sally tilted her head towards the door across the hall. “Let me know when you’re done, I’ll toss your clothes in the dryer. Paul was just finishing up dinner when you came along. Do you like lasagna?”

Leo’s mouth watered at the thought of eating any kind of food that wasn’t stale crackers and canned tuna. “Yes ma’am.”

“What’d I say about that ma’am nonsense?” Sally scolded.

Leo ducked his head, trying to press down the tears. “Yes, miss,” he chuckled.

Sally laughed as Paul headed for the kitchen. “It’s a start, love.”

~~

Sally’s son’s clothes were soft, well loved. They smelled like sea water and lavender detergent, and though the t-shirt was a gaudy orange with letters so faded that Leo couldn’t read them, he sank into the fabric with a sigh. Sally had also passed him a pair of sweatpants, and Leo hoped that her son wouldn’t be mad if he ever found out that some random foster kid had borrowed them.

If he was anything like Sally, though, Leo had the feeling he’d like him.

His hair was still wet, but this time from a shower, and Leo couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten to stand under an actual stream of hot water without people literally timing him to make sure he didn’t take too long. He stood in front of the mirror, sighing a little at how skinny he’d gotten. He’d always been small – being skinny only made him more of a punching bag for the bigger foster kids. His hair, untamed from weeks of running, hung in his eyes, and he wondered briefly if Sally might have a hair tie he could borrow.

He left the bathroom and crept into the dining room, where Sally was setting the table and Paul was pulling one of the most beautiful lasagnas he’d ever seen out of the oven.

“-texted me, said they’d be back tomorrow morning. He offered to come back sooner,” Sally was saying as Leo stood in the doorway, “but I know he and ‘beth haven’t really gotten to go on any non-monstrous dates recently.”

She blinked when she saw him standing there, and her smile softened into something warm and inviting. “Come on, hon. Paul was just getting dinner out.”

Maybe it was the malnourishment, or Paul’s cooking skills, or Leo’s exhaustion, or a combination of the three, but Leo had never tasted such good Italian food in his life. He downed one, two, three pieces and a full salad before he finally slowed down. To his relief, neither Paul nor Sally gave him any grief about how many pieces he took. Honestly, he thought he watched Paul actively make his slices bigger than theirs.

They’d clearly been talking about their son when he came in the room. This guy was in Paris, on a date with his girlfriend, and he was coming back tomorrow. Leo wondered just how rich this family was – the dad was a teacher, but Sally hadn’t said what she did, and Leo was a little afraid to ask.

When Paul brought out a pie for dessert, Leo almost cried. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had any dessert fancier than a stolen Ding Dong from a corner store. Paul definitely gave him a larger slice than them, and as he ate it, Sally poked at her own pie.

“Leo, we’re not going to pry,” she started, gentle. “Your story is yours, and I know how tricky it can be to share yourself and your past with new people.”

The sad smile Paul shot her didn’t go unnoticed by Leo, and he internally bristled at the thought that this wonderful mom in front of him could understand anything about how he felt, because that meant that she’d gone through shit she didn’t deserve. He said nothing, though, just nodded.

Sally eyed her pie thoughtfully, stabbing a blackberry that had escaped the crust. “But I feel like…well, I feel as though my son especially can relate to how you’re feeling, or at least some of it. If you’d be willing to wait for him to come home, maybe we can figure some things out together.”

Leo felt lost. He’d been lost a lot before, but this was the first time it was mental and not physical. “What?”

Sally looked up, seeming to realize that she’d baffled him. “I mean…”

She looked at Paul, and Leo looked between the two of them, tightening his grip on his fork. They were having a silent conversation. Leo hated when adults did that. “You mean you want to wait until I’m asleep so you can call the cops o-or foster services or-or just wait until your son gets back so he can tell me to get out.”

He shoved his chair back from the table, tears prickling at his eyes. Every time. Every time. He always got his hopes up, always thought he’d found the perfect people, people who got it, and every fucking time, he-

Hands settled on his shoulders, and he ripped away, scowling at Sally. Her eyes were sad, and Leo felt an unwelcome stab of guilt in his chest. “That is not what we were suggesting, ever, honey. I would never call foster services, first of all. They’re atrocious, especially for kids of color.”

Leo jolted back. He’d never had a white woman actively acknowledge his race so bluntly before – it was usually partnered with some demeaning comment about “his kind” of people. He eyed Sally warily.

She lowered her hands, keeping them on her hips where he could see them. “Second, I’d never call the police either. You’re not a problem, and my son has had enough unfortunate encounters with them for me to…distrust them severely, to say the least.”

Her son had-?

“I just…we know a place. Where you would genuinely be safe, hon. No foster homes, no cops, with people who get it.”

She was lying. She had to be lying, no matter what Leo’s heart said. But she wasn’t going to let this go, and he knew it. So he sighed, fidgeted with his fingers. He wished he had something to build. “Okay. I’ll wait for your son to get home.”

Sally relaxed, and Leo gave her a thin smile.

He helped her and Paul clean up the kitchen, put away the leftover lasagna. Sat with them and did a puzzle, played a game of Clue with them. Fixed their radio for them, much to their surprise, and then watched with a small smile on his face as Paul and Sally danced around the living room together. They tried to get him to join, but he’d never been much of a dancer, so he declined.

They bid him goodnight around 11, and he shut the door of their son’s room, let the hours tick on.

At three am, he got up, changed back into his own clothes, left the borrowed ones folded neatly on the foot of the bed. He took a flashlight from the bedside table and slid it into his backpack, stepped out of the bedroom and avoided the squeaky floorboard.

The tool kit from fixing the radio was still on the coffee table, and he picked it up with only the slightest feelings of guilt. Went through the cabinets and pulled out sleeves of crackers, a box of granola, eyed the leftover lasagna with a sad gaze. He found a roll of toilet paper under the sink, a bottle of hand sanitizer in a junk drawer.

He paused by the game of Clue, left out on the table from their match, and let his fingers trace over it sadly. His gut screamed at him to leave. His heart screamed at him to stay. He wasn’t stupid.

Leo had always trusted his gut.

He pocketed the candlestick piece and turned for the door, flinching the second his eyes landed on Sally.

Her hair was done up in a braid, her pajamas wrinkled, and the moon shining through the window reflected the sadness in her eyes. Leo opened his mouth, but couldn’t find it in him to speak – the lump was back.

She stepped forward and he shut his eyes, expecting a lecture. Instead, her hand cupped his cheek. Her other hand pressed into his, and he gasped as he felt the telltale touch of money in his fingers. He looked down at the wad of cash – he couldn’t see how much it was, but he knew that he didn’t deserve it. He looked up at her, panicking. “I can’t-”

“Stay, I know,” she whispered, and that wasn’t what he’d been planning to say, and he knew that she knew that. “I understand, Leo. I understand, sweetie.”

The sob slipped out before he could stop it, and Sally’s eyes softened. She bent at the hip, pressing a soft kiss to his curls. “When you end up meeting my son,” she murmured, “come visit, okay?”

Leo had no idea what that meant, but he nodded, if only to appease her. “I’m sorry,” he croaked.

She squeezed his shoulder. “Nothing to be sorry for, honey. Be safe.”

Sally watched him go, watched him shut the door behind him, and he looked down at the money in his hands with a choked feeling in his chest. It was more than he’d held in his entire life. He couldn’t take it, but he knew she’d be upset if he didn’t. And if there was one thing Leo refused to do, it was make Sally more upset than he already had.

So he pocketed it and, with an aching heart, stepped off the porch of the cabin. The storm from earlier had died down, and, fingers tight on his backpack straps, he started making his way up the beach.

~~

Percy was bouncing up and down at the entrance to Camp Half Blood, fingers curled around Annabeth’s hand. “Do I look okay?” he asked for probably the thousandth time that morning.

Piper rolled her eyes. “Percy, it’s your mom. She doesn’t care what you look like.”

Percy shot her a mock glare. “I haven’t seen her in over a year, McClean, sue me.”

“You look fine, Perce,” Annabeth laughed, kissing his cheek. “She’s gonna mostly care that you’re alive.”

“Okay but this tattoo-”

“Sorry, you vanished on me for over a year, crossed the globe, and you got a TATTOO?” came a very scolding, very obviously Mom Voice, and Leo snickered, turning to see who was about to absolutely whoop Percy’s ass.

And he stumbled on his own feet, lips parting as Sally (Sally Jackson, his unhelpful brain mocked) appeared at the top of the hill. Her hair was a little grayer than it had been when Leo met her, her hips a little wider, but her smile was the same, her laugh as Percy launched himself at her the same peal of delight Leo remembered on his toughest nights, and when she caught his eye over Percy’s shoulder, her smile only widened.

Okay, so sometimes Leo Valdez was kind of stupid.

[jamestrmtx]

Wish Upon a Night Sky - [Beastars | Various x Reader]

[Female, Sheep Reader | Slow Burn]

Act Three | Age-old Conflict

[First] | [Previous] | [Next]

"I knew I'd find you here!"

At the sound of that voice -- familiar and friendly -- you look up from your book and form a smile when you recognize the person behind it. 

"Are you busy right now?" Jack asks, sitting in the empty chair next to yours. "I'd like you to meet someone, if you're not too busy!"

You bookmark where you're at, glance up to face his eyes, and catch a glimpse of excitement behind them. Him looking so cheerful as he waits for your response makes it almost impossible not to be persuaded into agreeing right off the bat. Still, you give the offer some thought and take your school schedule into account, against letting your responsibilities pile up right from the beginning.

"Sure," you reply, setting the book aside. "I'm just doing some self-study, at the moment." You furrow your gaze and add, "Who am I meeting, by the way?" While having time was one thing, taking into consideration who you would befriend was another. You look around and frown when you see there's no one present nearby, not only from the risk of you being all alone at a school like this one, but at the curiosity over getting to meet another student -- and potential, eventual friend, hopefully.

Jack calls the person over as a response. 

The one mentioned doesn't take too long to appear, as he shows up by the door frame in less than it takes for you to organize the pile of books on the table; he even manages a sheepish wave when he catches you staring at him, yet he keeps quiet and still after that, in spite of neither of you knowing each other's names.

It's another wolf, though he's nowhere similar to Juno. The only remotely close aspect you can find between them is his height, but even then, it's not the same. If Jack had to crouch a bit to talk to you, the wolf would no doubt have to do that, too -- if not more than that. Jack introduces him as Legoshi, a name you'd often heard slip from Juno's mouth since the past week spent as her roommate. You reciprocate his wave from earlier and direct a quick smile at him, one he returns with a reserved, almost hesitant nature -- completely different from your expectations, given his species.

At the thought of him being the one Juno often rambled on about, you bite back a grin and introduce yourself in return. The image she'd painted you of the wolf is barely needed when you take notice of just how cautious and awkward he is in greeting you. It's like he's not so sure as to how to approach you, and each movement he makes is just as wary as the next. 

When you shake hands with him, you see his gaze wander over to the book and a pile of them left on the table.

His face lights up in recognition, and it doesn't take long before he asks, "Are you the homeschool student from last week?"

You chuckle, let go of his hand, and walk off back to the table to pick up the book, smile growing when you read the title again. "Is it that obvious?" You hold it up in your hands and bite back another laugh. "I'm, well... I'm trying to be less… ignorant -- now that I'm going to be studying at a place like this! Homeschool didn't really teach me stuff beyond math, science, and languages, so I need to make up for that as much as I can." 'Of Wolves and Sheep: A Fundamental Guide to Carnivores, Herbivores, and those in between', reads the book's cover; the sheer irony of your meeting deems you incapable of wiping away your smile. "But, this is probably basic knowledge to everyone here though, huh?"

His eyes glance over the book once more, while his gaze softens as he shakes his head, returning your playful nature. "Not really," he replies, sitting down across from you and Jack when you offer him to. "I'm still learning, too," he adds. "Maybe it looks like everyone here knows about that topic, but... If you know about what happened to one of the students, you'd think differently." A somber expression reaches his face as he huffs and passes a hand against the back of his neck; a more mournful look then glints in his visage -- almost a second after, yet it's shaken off when he continues with, "In the end, it feels more like everyone's just trying their best to understand each other despite everything going on."

You toy with the book in your possession and stay quiet as your mind debates whether or not it would be okay to ask more about the incident. So far, you'd only heard rumours about it, these hard to hold on to with how frail and inconsistent their sources and information were. When you see sadness return to the wolf's gaze, you fight against it. Whatever went on at the drama club with one of its students was clearly still affecting him to this day, so you try not to make him feel worse by adding any unneeded comments to the mix. Whether he knew the person didn't matter; asking anything else would kill the mood entirely.

"I thought you'd wait for me, Legoshi. How rude of you!"

Hearing another voice blend into the calm of the library, you glance back towards the door to see a peafowl standing by it, a smile on his face despite the accusation in his words. He has his arms firmly crossed, faking anger through an equally firm glare. "Were you that desperate to meet the new girl? You disappeared the second we left the drama club!" While part of your questions are fulfilled with the person's entrance, you still don't dare ask Legoshi about the incident. Rather, you keep quiet and greet the peafowl with a wave and a smile -- just like you'd done with the wolf next to you. "You all look so cute together! Should I take a picture?"

You tense up and observe those around you. Embarrassment falls on you when you notice just how popular you seem to be currently, being surrounded by two canines and an avian. Your first few days as a new student appear gone now, and -- to any outsider -- it would come off as if you're the center of attention, with all gazes on you. "It… It's fine!" you reply, words almost stuttered. On instinct, you hide behind your book and try to control the shake of your hands. As kind as the offer is, you're far too jittery to even consider the idea of having your picture taken -- and even less with other people.

Still, you're against being rude, so you add a 'thank you, though' after your words.

"A shy one, aren't you?" he comments, covering a giggle with his hand. "You must be (Y/N), right? Juno wouldn't stop talking about the new girl, and when I heard Legoshi was meeting you today, I just had to join!" He stands by the only empty chair left at your table and extends a hand out to you before sitting down. "My name's Dom. It's nice to meet you!"

Safe to say, his energy is infectious.

You take his hand, palm feeling just as warm as his voice and smile. "Nice to meet you, too." 

Then, you let go and move your gaze back to your book. The pile at the center of the table is the next thing to be the source of attention when Dom comments over it, mischief replacing his previous, friendly tone. He reaches out for the pile, drags it over to his side, and picks the odd one out -- one you'd tried to hide by slipping it in the very middle of the rest. "It seems our new girl already has her eyes on someone here, huh? And here I thought Juno was only teasing you about it!"

To be blunt, he's holding a romance book -- its cover risqué. The image features a forbidden love between a carnivore and a herbivore, and while the publishing year dates back to almost a century ago, it retains plenty of relevance today. At a time when tension between the two sides was still fresh and bleeding, books like these existed, though you didn't exactly want to be found out with it currently. "Is it this guy, perhaps?" Dom asks, pointing at Jack, who straightens his posture as fast as the accusation comes. A hint of red shows on his face, but he tries to hide it by looking elsewhere. "You sure act quick, (Y/N)! I'm impressed."

Not wanting for further assumptions to be made, you suspend yourself over the table, focus on your target, and try to reach out for the book. Too easy to be true, you almost fall over when Dom pulls back, hiding it behind him. "It- It's not like that, really!" you exclaim, words coming out about as flustered as your face likely is now. "I'm just curious about the book -- It reminds me of a fairytale I read when I was little!"

At that, Dom stops evading your attempts at grabbing the book back from him. Interest crosses his gaze and a moment of silence takes over the room, one you're not feeling too confident about. "Oh, really?" he asks, cooing. "Hopeless romantic? Or curious about what your parents never told you?"

You sit back down on your seat and look at your lap, face burning. "A... A bit of both, actually."

The peafowl laughs, a sound honest and bright. When you stare back at him, he's holding out the book, waiting for you to take it. "Lend it to me when you're finished, alright?" he says, winking. "I'm a bit curious myself."

You allow yourself a few minutes for your face to cool down some more and huff out a long, deep breath when you're done. Truth be told, it nearly seems as if you've spent all the energy left in you by agreeing to meet new people, yet you don't exactly dislike the experience. Rather, you smile again when you recover and find your cheeks and chest hurt from how happy you are right now.

Nodding, you take the book and place it under your current read.

Your shoulders tense when you feel everyone's eyes on you, though you push through with an "alright".

[First] | [Previous] | [Next]

[angelic-jeonghan1004]

Dancing with ENHYPEN at a ball

Okay so I've been to many balls and masquerades in my day actually I used to go to 3 specific ones every year for the past 7 or so years so Enhypen doing something with a similar vibe in concept photos had me very excited. I can usually read someone on how they are as a dance partner by their initial bow and as we saw from the Instagram stories all of them did a bow and all had their own characterisc charm so here I am to put that into words for you :) also my first ever enha writing! Sorry if some are longer than others

Genre: fluff, first meet, non relationship (still some romantic charm for a few)

Warnings: none

Pairing: Enhypen x gn reader

Gif credits to me this time actually

Heeseung

He'd be my favorite to dance with by far (along with Jake and Sunghoon theyre just my favorite type of people at masquerades/balls)

He'd be one to take you around the entire ballroom and spin you like crazy

No specific crazy moves

Just swaying with you around the room with many twirls

It'd be so comfortable no pressure at all

Just no care in the world

He'd guide you through the whole room and very playful with a big grin on his face

Conversation is very fun just full of giggles with how little effort in dancing to replace with twirling

The spinning around the room is such pure fun and filled with so much laughter and he's just happy to make you happy

Would want everything to feel like a cheery fairytale

So to see you in pure glee he's just so energetic and happy as well

Plus he's also having the time of his life

Would find your way to the center of the ballroom or a more so isolated area to which he'd ask if he could dip you

The dip would be so cheesy and romantic even if you where complete strangers

One to kiss your hand when parting

"thank you for a joy-filled dance"

Jay

The flirtatious gentleman

He'd have confidence in his walk when going up to you

Would hold his hand out to you acting like a true gentleman straight out of a fairytale

"would you like to share this dance?"

Then when you accept he'd ask your comfortablity levels

When you take his hand he'd guide you closer to him so he could put his hand on your waist

He'd be one for small talk while dancing with like an underlining level of flirting (if you're okay with that)

if not he'd just be chilling talking to you on how your evening has been

Would be one to dip you when dancing

Spin you multiple times in a row and that whole time have that specifc grin (you know the one the :D happy Jay one)

Would definitely also be the gentleman when you finish dancing he'd say

"thank you for sharing this dance with me" then bow.

Kiss your hand if you're okay with that

We love the flirtatious gentleman agenda that's for sure

Jake

I swoon at the idea omg

One of my favorite kind of dancers that hold some sort of magic in them

The one to be where it doesn't matter if you've never ballroom danced before

Since when you dance with him it's like you've been doing this all your life like it's muscle memory

(dancers like this own my heart please give me your sorcery I'm talking about you Mr tango man who I had never danced tango once in my life but once on the dance floor with him was like I was a pro for years)

very respectful and super sweet

Trys to keep a steady and good conversation with you

Learns a lot about you and you learn a lot about him in the 3-5 minute dance

After the dance is done would give you one last spin then bow with a giggle

would smile at you when making eye contact throughout the rest of the evening when crossing paths

Sunghoon

My mans got many moves but he goes for the classics

would do simple ballroom 1234 steps

A great partner for a beginner or first time ballroom

Teach you the basic steps and gives that toothy grin

Cautious of stepping on feet but would be very sweet and understanding if you stepped on his feet accidentally

Due to the simple movements it's easy to talk with him and not get to anxious messing up the footwork once you get a hang of it

Will spin you and show you the different ways people are spined so you can learn how to do them correctly so you don't get tangled when spinning with other people

Or let you spin him to flex his excellent spinning skills

Very charming

Doesn't do the most intense of moves since he wants the experience to be enjoyful and relaxing with less pressure

If you have a lot of experience in dancing already he may amp up the level but not too bad

Sunoo

Sunoo seems like a lot of fun

he'd be a mixture of Riki and Sunghoon

Simple steps and would have a firm hand on your waist

He'd be immediately talking with you and joking with you

"so what brings you here?" wiggling his eyebrows pls y'all would be so loud from laughter

Would love spinning you!! And you could spin him too he finds it so much fun

If he saw someone dancing with someone super well and ethereal

Oh boy that's a battle

He'd take that as a challenge

So then both of you had the goal to out do them

You'd move to the center of the room doing basic outgoing moves(example both spinning out at once, trying to lift the other gracefully ect) so that gets people's eyes on you

There'd be a lot of laughter definitely at how ridiculous it was to be trying to out do those other people

would definitely once finishing dancing if later in the night you both have no partners would come up to you once again and be a continuous partner throughout the dance

Jungwon

Someone help this boy please

Gives me the tense awkward vibe?

Being so scared to overstep boundaries he'd be so stiff

Boys hands would be clamy but strictly at your waist

Like he'd be super sweet don't get me wrong!!

But be so respectful he'd end up being tense

Makes sure not to over step boundaries

You'd have a good conversation and he’d slowly get less tense as the dance continues

Would apologize for his hands getting a bit sweaty

If you danced together again later in the night or saw you at another ball your next dance he’d be way less tense

Definitely a gentleman though

When the dance ends he’d bow squeezing your hand lightly before biding farewell

“Thank you for dancing with me”

Riki

Riki would be a little tense (I know surprising from the amazing dancer he is)

In the beginning a little awkward

But gradually as the song escalates would be more calm and loosen up

His hand would have a little bit of a firm grip on your waist (the only thing making him tense is from idea of over stepping boundaries)

He'd be a little bad at small talk in the beginning

But once he loosens up he'd let loose of the tension the conversations got better

Went from

“How are you this evening?” very awkward to

“You see those two over there? Have you noticed how they both keep stepping on each others feet then glaring at each other?”

Trying both your best to not laugh at the situation in from of you to be kind

But when your conversation is finally going well and pure fun

Just having an amazing time of fun joking around and getting to know each other

The song ends

Now you have two options

You share another dance

or say a bittersweet goodbye

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

By Your Doorstep (Part 6)

Summary: The reader’s relaxing plans for Dean at yoga class are anything but. However the rough evening turns out to be exactly the opposite when it helps Dean get over his fears...

Pairing: Doctor/Neighbor!Dean x reader

Masterlist

Word Count: 4,400ish

Warnings: language, smut, drugging & overdosing

A/N: Parts of this series are told from two different POV’s. Dean’s POV are written from limited third person. Reader’s POV are second person (like a typical reader insert). Enjoy!…

________

Reader’s POV

Two Weeks Later

“Yoga is exactly what I need,” you said, throwing your head back. You grabbed Dean’s arm as he chuckled on your way into the studio. “You don’t have work tomorrow right?”

“Nope. We are both off from now until next week. I can’t wait to give you girls a proper thanksgiving again,” he said, opening the door for you.

“Does family come or is it just friends?” you asked.

“Mostly friends. We uh...there’s a lot of crap that’s happened to a lot of us. Some have lost people. Some left bad situations like Sam and I did. My Uncle Bobby and Aunt Ellen will normally come though. They don’t talk to my parents anymore,” he said.

“Well I am looking forward to meeting anyone you consider family,” you said, showing him to your locker. “So you can put your coat and shoes in here and I will go get you a spare mat.”

“Thanks, sweetheart.”

You whistled as you went over to the front desk and got a rental for Dean, seeing some other people there for class.

“Hey Y/N. Been awhile,” said Kerri as you headed back to the lockers. 

“Yeah. Life’s been a bit crazy. I managed to get my boyfriend to come with tonight,” you said. “He could use with some relaxing too.”

“Oh is he cute?” she asked.

“Take a look for yourself,” you laughed as she walked in with you. Dean turned in your direction, gaze going right to Kerri. “Dean this is Kerri. She’s one of the instructors here.”

“You look so familiar,” she said to him. “Have we met?”

“Yes,” he said. He turned back to the locker and you saw him tense and start pulling on his winter boots again. “Y/N I got an emergency call. I need to take this.”

“Do you want me to…” you said, Dean walking out with his jacket under his arms. “Uh, sorry. He’s a doctor. There must be an emergency.”

“Oh no trouble. I definitely remember him now,” she grinned. You raised an eyebrow and she laughed. “It was a one night stand years ago. There was nothing to it. He was very fun to play with.”

“Fun to play with how?” you asked.

“Most guys aren’t into fingers...in places,” she said. You stared at her and she looked around. “Maybe it was just a phase. He was into all sorts of kinky shit.”

“Walk away,” you said as it dawned on you.

“What?”

“I said walk away before I punch you in the face.”

“Don’t be such a prude. He asked for-”

“He asked for you to stop. That’s assault what you did.” You clenched your fists, catching her size you up and down. She was tall but slim and didn’t have the muscle you did. 

“Wait in the car,” said Dean, his hands on your arms tugging you backwards. You glared up at him but he pushed you back towards the door. You grumbled and went outside, Dean returning less than a minute later with your coat and yoga mat. He tossed them in the backseat and drove off, pulling into a parking lot after a moment. “Y/N I don’t need you to defend me.”

“I wasn’t defending you. She pissed me off. I’m never going there again,” you said. You crossed your arms and he looked out the window, leaning his head against the glass. “I’m sorry that happened.”

“You didn’t know. I didn’t know. I never knew what she did for work,” he said.

“Can we just go home?” you mumbled. Fifteen minutes later you were in your bedroom, Tessa and Toast over Hailey’s, Sam out catching up with some friends. You tossed your yoga mat in the closet and ran your hands over your face.

“You did promise me yoga,” said Dean. You moved your hands down to catch him picking up the mat. “Show me?”

“I don’t know how to teach.”

“A few moves then,” he said. He held out his hand and you took it, following him out to the bedroom. You laid out the mat in the open space, pausing when Dean took off his shirt and tossed it aside. He stood by the end of the mat with a smile and shrugged. “What’s up first, boss?”

“We’ll do a little light stretching,” you said. You stood at the opposite end, Dean matching you work your arms and legs a bit. “Let’s just do a little three move circuit. Pretty beginner stuff. Let’s do cat cow so get down on your hands and knees. I’ll do it first and then you can try.”

You went down to the floor beside him, arching your back and then bowing it, doing it a few times for Dean to catch on. 

“Like this?” he asked as he arched his spine.

“Yeah. It works your lower back,” you said. He did the pose for a minute or so when you got up to your feet. “Okay. We can do a quick warrior. This one stretches your legs and hips.”

You got into position, Dean mostly matching you aside from leaning too far forward.

“Tuck your hips back,” you said. 

“Uh, what?” he asked.

“Can I?” you asked. He nodded and you put your hands on his hips, pulling them back a little. “Now put your weight forward...and keep your back straight...and there you go.”

“This feels weird. Like a stretch and strength at the same time,” he said. 

“Welcome to yoga,” you said. “Now try with the other leg forward.”

He turned and faced you, letting you help him put his hips in the right spot again. He lowered his arms and rested his hands over top of yours, standing up, moving you with him. 

“You uh, have one more pose,” you said, Dean not saying a word when you ran your thumbs over his skin.

“Maybe another time,” he said. You started to move your hands away when he caught your wrists. You laid them back on his hips and gave a cautious squeeze, Dean taking a sharp breath. “If I hadn’t come in, what would happened back there.”

“She’d probably have a black eye right now.”

“You shouldn’t be violent.”

“People shouldn’t hurt you. She would have deserved it. She does deserve it.”

“I told you that you don’t have to defend me.”

“Well I’ll defend you whether you like it or not. You’re my boyfriend. You don’t like it, tough shit.”

“Touch me. Please.” You stared at him and he slide your hands up his chest. “Y/N.”

“Where?” you asked softly.

“Everywhere.”

“Does everywhere include down there?”

“Yes,” he said, leaving your hands on his pecs. “I am so not afraid of you. I never had to be.”

“I’m gonna freshen up quick. If you’re so inclined to take off the rest of your clothes while I’m gone, I’d have no problem with that,” you said. You raked your fingers down his torso gently and he shivered. “Been awhile for me too, Dean.”

“I’ll be waiting,” he said. You kissed him briefly before you ducked into the bathroom. You peeled off you workout clothes and stripped down, washing off your face. You waited a beat and opened the door, the bedroom darker now. Dean’s back was to you and you smirked at his perky cheeks, Dean spinning around with a smile.

“Hey.”

“You’re gorgeous,” he said. 

“I know,” you teased, Dean chuckling long enough for you to walk up to him and kiss him. “Tonight’s about you, alright?”

“Why not the both of us?” he murmured, dipping his head low to your neck before he started kissing the skin. You arched it back for him and put your hands on his ribs. He shuddered but it looked pleasant that time, his hands gently landing on your hips. 

“Mostly about you then,” you said, gripping his sides. 

“I can agree to that,” he said. You broke off and climbed up on the bed, pulling Dean with you into the middle. He sat back and let you take charge of a kiss, his hands lazily wandering up and down your back. “Y/N.”

“Yeah?” you breathed out as you caught your breath.

“I can touch you right?” he asked.

“Yes, Dean,” you said with a smile. “I highly encourage it actually.”

“Just wanted to make sure.” 

“Why don’t you lay back and we can take this nice and slow.”

“Alright,” he said. He scooted further down the bed and lay back, gazing up as you straddled him and dipped your head low. “Wait.”

“You okay?” you asked, sitting up as Dean smiled.

“Yeah. I got condoms in the drawer is all,” he said, nodding towards his nightstand.

“And you already know I’m on birth control,” you said. “You good to keep going?”

“Yeah,” he said, your head dipping low once more and kissing under his jaw. “Stealing my moves on me sweetheart.”

“Good,” you mumbled against his skin, kissing him softly, running your hands all over his shoulders, his arms, his chest. You gripped his sides carefully, Dean’s eyes fluttering shut. “You’re all mine, you got it? Gonna take good care of you.”

“Why?” he asked as you gave kitten kisses down his chest. “Would you want me to be yours I mean?”

“Cause you’re my boy,” you said with a smile, cupping his cheek and giving him the gentlest kiss you could. “You’re my best friend.”

“You’re my best friend too,” he said softly. He reached up and pulled you flush with him, kissing you deeply. He roamed a hand down the curve of your spine, dipping in the hollow of your back before traveling up again. “I trust you.”

“Good,” you said, kissing him and reaching over to the nightstand. You dug around and found the box, pulling out a condom. You tore it open and sat back, Dean propping himself up on his elbows. He nodded and you lightly grazed his cock, Dean’s breath hitching. It was mostly hard already and you slipped the condom over the head, rolling it down slowly, Dean throbbing under you. You smiled and leaned back, waiting a beat to wrap your lips around his tip.

You bobbed up and down slowly, only a few inches, focusing on the head when Dean’s hips bucked and he groaned.

“Gotta stop,” he said and you pulled off. “I’m too wound up. I was about to come already.”

“You come as many times you want to,” you said. He grinned and you moved closer to him, hovering over him, kissing him again, Dean exploring more with his hands. Goosebumps broke out over your skin while he touched you, smirking when rolled your hips against nothing.

When his hands rested on your hips you slid back and lined yourself up with his cock, sinking down slowly, Dean squeezing gently when he bottomed out.

“Same,” you said, lifting off and back down, Dean letting out a tiny laugh.

“Ah, that feels so good,” said Dean.

“Like I said, lay back and enjoy.” You rolled your hips and started a steady pace, Dean’s palms landing on your thighs after only a minute.

“Y/N, I’m gonna-”

“Go ahead,” you said. You went a hair faster and before you knew it, Dean’s hands were on his hips and you felt him tensing beneath you, Dean gasping when you clenched around him. You rode him for a few more thrusts, Dean enjoying every last second of his orgasm. You giggled and lowered your head, kissing him quickly. “Feel good?”

“Definitely,” he said. “Come here.” 

You cocked your head and he lifted you up, pulling you forward, your hands slamming against the headboard.

“Dean what-” you said as he slid down, holding you over his face as he ate you out. You slammed your hand again when he teased your clit, Dean chuckling under you. “Dean.”

You breathed hard, Dean knowing exactly what he was doing as he swiped his tongue over you. You moaned when you came, Dean holding your legs as they quivered. You panted and slumped back down beside him. 

“Fuck. Me,” you said. You sat up and reached over, removing the condom before you got up. Dean giggled in bed as you threw it away in the trash, grabbing onto the doorframe of the bathroom when your legs wobbled.

“I still got it,” he said with a big stretch as you cleaned yourself up.

“I will definitely take more of it,” you said. You walked back up to the bed and reached under the covers, wiping him off with a washcloth as he looked up at you with a goofy smile. “What?”

“You’re cleaning me up,” he said. 

“I like taking care of you,” you said. You tossed the washcloth in the laundry basket by the closet, Dean wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into his chest. 

“Thank you for taking care of me.” He kissed your temple and smiled, holding you to him. “I had a lot of fun tonight all things considered.”

“Good,” you hummed as you shut your eyes. “Still kinda wanna go kick Kerri’s ass.”

“It’s the thought that counts,” laughed Dean. He played with your hair and you burrowed down into him, starting to drift off when there was a knock at the door. “Yes?”

“Guys I don’t feel good,” said Tessa. You sat up and Dean pulled on some boxers and sweatpants by the time you put on his shirt and a pair of underwear. He opened the door and Tessa was leaning against the wall. Dean put a hand on her head and glanced back at you.

“You feel okay before Hailey dropped you off?” he asked as he checked under her jaw. She shook her head and he walked her into your bathroom where you saw how pale she was. He got out the first aid kit from the cabinet and took out a thermometer, sticking it in her ear. He pouted when he pulled it back, showing you.

“Ninety eight?” you asked, Dean nodding.

“Tessa tell me what else is wrong,” he said. He felt her abdomen but she just shut her eyes. “Tessa.”

“I’m tired and cold and achy and feel like I’m gonna throw up and my skin’s weird, like tingly, and I’m just really like off,” she said. He crossed his arms and she blinked hers open, Dean pinching the bridge of his nose. “What?”

“Your eyes are dilated. Did you take drugs tonight, yes or no?” he asked. She scoffed and he ran a hand over his face. “Tessa. I’m serious. Yes or no.”

“I don’t take drugs. I had a headache so Hailey’s mom gave me an advil,” she said.

“Tessa, I’m not joking around.”

“I’m not laughing,” she shot back. 

“Tessa,” you said, her face softening. “What did you take?”

“Her mom gave me an Advil!” she said. 

“Call Hailey’s parents and find out exactly what medication she gave her,” said Dean. You left the room and found your phone on the bed stand. You walked back a few minutes later with Dean still checking Tessa over. “Well?”

“Heather I’m gonna put you on speaker,” you said. You tossed the phone down and Dean took a deep breath.

“Heather this is Dr. Dean Winchester. We met a few weeks ago when the girls were in the car accident. Tessa’s just gotten back home and is showing some serious signs of drug side effects. I need to know what and how much you gave her,” said Dean.

“It was just a painkiller. My doctor says it’s just like Advil,” she said. Dean rolled his eyes but bit back a comment.

“Heather I need to know the name of the drug and the amount of milligrams you gave Tessa. It’ll be right on the bottle,” said Dean.

“Fine. Give me a minute.”

“Are you aware that it’s illegal to give prescription drugs to anyone that’s not the intended recipient,” said Dean. There was silence on the other end and Tessa leaned back against the counter, gripping it tightly. “Heather.”

“Yes, yes. It’s Hydrocodone. I gave her three pills since she said it was quite bad,” she said. 

“Tessa, throw up right now,” said Dean. He pulled her over to the toilet and she stared at him. “You need to put your fingers to the back of your throat and trigger your gag reflex. Do it right now.”

She paused only a moment before she forced herself to, Dean holding her hair as she wretched.

“Y/N. 911. Tell them she’s overdosing on an opioid,” said Dean. You hung up and dialed, your local fire department showing up within four minutes. You let them in and showed them upstairs, one of them opening up a bag when they got into the bathroom. 

“Deano. Not the way I wanted to meet the new girlfriend,” said a guy. He pulled out a syringe and Tessa hurled again. He stabbed the needle into her leg and she yelped, scooting back into Dean. 

“That’s gonna help buy us some time,” said Dean. He picked up Tessa and carried her downstairs, Toast pacing around frantically. “She’s gonna be fine, buddy. Y/N, why don’t you ride with your sister and I’ll follow behind in the car, okay?”

“Alright,” you said, an ambulance there by the time you walked outside. She threw up a few more times in the ambulance and they rushed her into the ER, jabbing her with some needles. Dean jogged in with a fire department shirt on, handing you a pair of sweatpants as he stepped inside the room.

“Paramedics say Hydrocodone overdose?” asked some doctor that was tearing open a black package.

“Yeah. Three pills intended for an adult woman about thirty minutes ago,” said Dean. “Didn’t get milligrams.”

“She’s been vomiting,” he said.

“First time tried to flush out what was left in her stomach. She hasn’t stopped since,” said Dean. He grabbed your arm when he saw a black capsule in the doctor’s gloved hand. “Y/N you don’t want to watch this.”

“Dean, it’s-”

“I will stay right here with Tessa.” You nodded and stepped back. “The police will show up soon I’m sure. I’ll come get you when she’s ready to see you.”

“Is she-”

“She’ll be okay,” he said. “I think we caught it real early. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

You pulled on the pants and took a seat on a bench in the waiting room, Dean coming back about ten minutes later to get you.

“Hey,” said Tessa wearily, her lips stained black and some streaks down her chin and neck. “I really liked this shirt too.”

“We’ll get the stains out,” said Dean. “Doc this is the big sister and guardian.”

“Alright big sis. Tessa’s gonna be just fine. Her vitals are already all back up in the normal range. We’re gonna keep her overnight and flush out her system. She’ll be able to go home in the morning.”

“Thank you,” you said.

“Thank him. He made my job easy,” said the doctor. “A nurse will bring some paperwork over in a minute to get her admitted.”

“Thank you,” you said. He left along with most everyone else in the room besides a nurse, Dean finding your hand and giving it a squeeze. “And thank you. Really.”

“I like the little dork,” he said, ruffling Tessa’s hair. She gave a half smile and closed her eyes. “Tessa I’m sorry if it sounded like I was accusing you of taking drugs. You were very ill for a second there and I was scared.”

“Why?” she asked. “Don’t you deal with stuff like this all the time?”

“In med school I did. But you’re like my little sister. It’s different,” he said. 

“I like having a family again,” she said quietly. She nuzzled his hand for a moment and you smiled. “I should get all the credit for getting you two together you know.”

“You’re delusional,” you joked. “Hey you want ice cream in a little while? I can run out and get you some.”

“Yeah. My throat hurts,” she said. 

“How about I run home and get you some clean clothes and ice cream and you’ll be all set for it by the time I get back?” said Dean. She nodded and you promised you’d be right back as you walked out with Dean. You took a deep breath out in the hall and he pulled you into a big hug. “She’s okay.”

“I know. You really care about her,” you said.

“If I’m overstepping-”

“No. Not at all. She likes having a big brother. Two of them. Trust me. She tells me things.”

“She reminds me of Sam sometimes,” he said.

“I will happily take someone else watching her back. As long as I get to watch yours every once in a while too,” you said.

“Mmm I will take you up on that tomorrow. You still owe me a post-sex cuddle,” he said.

“Sadly I think we’ll have to do it again if you want the right mood for it,” you smirked.

“Such a shame,” he said, kissing your temple. “I’ll be back soon, sweetheart.”

“Hey,” you said when you saw Dean in the hallway an hour or so later, Tessa watching TV in her room. You were speaking to a detective and after Dean brought Tessa her ice cream, he stepped into the hall with you. “Detective Hawkins this is my boyfriend, Dean.”

“Y/N’s told me about your involvement tonight. I’d like to get your statement,” he said, flipping to a new page in his notebook. “Just take me through your evening sir.”

“Um…” said Dean as he glanced at you. 

“Sir this isn’t a group statement,” he said. Dean sighed and started to recant you two having dinner and then what happened with yoga. He didn’t give any details about your bedroom antics until Tessa showed up. 

“Then I left to go home and get a change of clothes for the girls and some ice cream for Tessa. I just got back,” said Dean. He nodded and bit his lip for a moment. 

“Would you like to press charges against this Kerri person?” he asked.

“No,” said Dean quietly. “I have no proof anyways. I’d rather forget about it.”

“Alright. There are counseling-”

“I understand,” said Dean. “I’m more concerned about the fact a prescription opioid was given to a teenager so nonchalantly. A teenager with a history of seizures.”

“I’ll give it to you straight,” he said, tucking his notepad away. “There’s a reason you’re speaking to a detective about this and not a regular cop. This is not the first incident involving the Locke family and the severity of this one has raised it up the chain. There’s a class action involving two other families pending. I would suggest you get involved with them if you intend on suing.”

“Yeah but courts don’t tend to…” said Dean before the detective gave him a look. “Oh. Oh. The parents are…”

“Mother is also a doctor. You get the picture,” he said, giving Dean his business card. “I’ll be in touch with you two and Tessa.”

“Thank you,” said Dean. He nodded and the detective left as you cocked your head. “Tessa’s mom is pushing pills.”

“What?”

“She’s got access. She gives a younger person free dosage, makes ‘em feel good, gets ‘em hooked and then she collects. You mentioned Hailey has older siblings. I guarantee those are who that cop is talking about.”

“Hailey is her best friend. I’m supposed to tell her she can’t see her anymore?”

“Her best friend’s mom tried to give her a drug addiction. She nearly killed her. Hailey didn’t do that though.”

“Guys,” called Tessa from her room. You both ducked around the corner, Tessa sat up in bed and toying with her pint of ice cream. “I think Hailey knows. She’s been acting weird lately and like, talking to the stoner kids a lot at school.”

“Well that might-” you said before Hailey held up her phone.

“She texted me and told me not to say anything to get her mom in trouble,” she said. 

“I’m gonna go get the detective before he leaves,” said Dean. He jogged out of the room and you took a seat on the side of the mattress. Tessa put her phone back in her lap and poked her ice cream again.

“Tessa it could be coincidence.”

“But it’s not. She’s so sketchy lately and she doesn’t even care I’m in the hospital. She didn’t care about Toast getting hurt. It’s her fucking fault my dog lost his leg. She didn’t even care. She’s been this way since the summer and fuck her.”

“Do you want to sue? It’s your call,” you said. She nodded and you gave her a hug. “Okay. We’ll get all this sorted out as soon as we can.”

_______

A/N: Read Part 7 here!

[ironmandeficiency]

pedro boys + spending habits

word count: fuck if i know, wrote it thru the app

characters: din, marcus m, dave, pero, marcus p, oberyn, max, frankie, whiskey, maxwell, javier, ezra

a/n: idk what caused this to happen but it works i guess. hope they make sense

✨support my ko-fi✨

trust him with your money, your drink, your social security number, everything:

din. this man is barely scraping by on his own when you first meet him. when he adds the kid to the mix, he gets even more frugal than he already is with an old as sin ship that many people are surprised to see fly. he will have a policy of “you earn it, you choose what to do with it” and since he goes after most of (if not all) the bounties to keep you all alive, he has the final say in how most of the credits are spent. he does want you to have nice things though, so he makes sure to configure the budget to where you don’t have to pour your credits into the group’s survival money very often. it’s the least he can do. he’s very big on taking care of his people and will show that in small ways.

marcus m. he’s a single dad for a significant amount of time, he has no choice but to be responsible with his money. he has to take care of missy, keep them both fed and housed and healthy, and that’s not even touching on how expensive all of high school graduation and college will be once she gets there. he teaches missy very early in life how important money is bc he doesn’t want her to ever know how it feels to not have enough. he makes a considerable amount of money w the heroics tho so he can afford to responsibly splurge on you both, but not constantly. is very cautious abt the splurging becoming a habit

dave. yeah he may be a murderer, but he’s scary great at managing his money (to continue being able to murder). he’s got his ex wife’s alimony (that still pisses him off but that’s another story) and two girls he takes care of, there’s no other choice for him either. there’s never a worry about dave having a midlife crisis and spending money on some stupid dad thing (like a motorcycle or assless chaps or a country club membership) because he murders to keep his mind off that sort of stuff. files his taxes diligently every year the day tax season starts and will pass this wisdom to the girls.

pero. he’s very good at judging if you need something or not. if it can’t feed you, keep you healthy, kill someone, or protect you, you don’t need to buy it. definitely not a man who indulges in trinkets and frivolous things that do nothing but weigh down his horse and his person. will encourage this way of thinking with whoever travels with him to whatever extent he can, but won’t be a dick about it if you have something sentimental on your person. if it’s a necessity, he will splurge on a bed and bath at an inn but not much else for a while. cheap because he has to be

marcus p. i don’t think i have to explain this one so i won’t. no i’m not being lazy who said that?

maybe you’ll be fine if he’s in charge. maybe:

oberyn. being a prince (and himself), there are different ways this could go. he spends his money frivolously at brothels & on his daughters + other loved ones (as well as other luxuries) and doesn’t really seem to be the type to keep tabs on it all as he goes. but... he’s a prince in a prosperous kingdom and so there isn’t really a worry for money. he’s known as the red viper for many reasons, including his clever nature and the ease with which he can get what he wants thru whatever means necessary. if you want for something that he can’t buy, you know he will find a way to get it for you (which can be a problem sometimes).

max. he’s good with money in the sense of perpetuating capitalism — that’s the red flag here. hell, he’s gonna be investing into bitcoin and who knows what stock market bs & bc it’s max, of course you trust him. max can’t control the stock market tho, so sometimes things are a little iffy. it always evens itself out though, and you make sure in the future that he invests his money instead of your joint money. he’s still gonna share anyways, it just helps you have a little more peace of mind.

frankie. he just wants to take care of you, okay? you can’t fault him for that 🥺 he maneuvers his budget around to make sure he can do all these nice things for you while leaving his own needs unchecked, which isn’t okay. he just wants to provide for the ppl he loves the best he can, but the problem begins when he starts to think he isn’t doing enough. his insecurity & lack of self-worth (fueled by his guilt for “not being everything you deserve”) is what makes him agree to the Trip™️ in the first place. once he comes back & sees you frantic, only wanting him home and not giving a flying fuck about the money, does he realize that you’re devoted to him and not what he can do for you.

whiskey. working for statesman made him forget what things really cost bc he suddenly never had to worry again about not having enough money. being with someone that isn’t practically made of money will snap him back into reality. he looks at his bank statements and his balance occasionally, but our big spender cowboy hasn’t really counted money as something he worries about for a while. when he constantly showers you in expensive gifts (only the best for his baby, that’s his motto) and you tell him that he has to not do that bc he’ll go broke, he plays it off because he doesn’t remember having to worry. separate bank accounts are only because you want to make sure your money is being spent smartly (even though jack has offered constantly to pay for literally anything you need).

don’t give him anything you want to see again:

maxwell. as much as i love this dork, he’s absolute shit with money. when his business is falling apart (bc he made the stupid ass decision to buy the oil rigs no one wanted bc they weren’t producing oil), he throws it all into saving face and trying to make investors buy into something that isn’t there. what a smart business man would’ve done was liquidate his assets and possibly try to get into a business that will yield at least some profit. he does learn his lesson tho and eventually can be trusted with money, but even he is hesitant to do anything with the household finances. he’s a dreamer, and dreams and money are the same as oil and water.

javier. i know you’re possibly surprised but hear me out. he’ll go all in to get info, whether he’s spending american taxpayer money or his own money or anyone else’s, if it’s valuable info that can be bought, it’s gonna be bought even if he goes without groceries for the next two weeks. before being with you, it was booze and prostitutes and cigarettes that ate away at his checks outside of buying information. the only thing that really changed once you got together was the prostitutes and slightly less cigarettes and booze. however, when he goes back to laredo permanently, he’s perfectly capable of keeping his shit in line. he’ll balance every checkbook in sight and run a tight af ship.

ezra. this man is a scavenger by necessity, a con man by choice. he has a silver tongue and a roguish charm and pretty questionable morals; he’s not gonna have any issue with getting his hands dirty. he’s probably gonna use your joint money to try and pull a fast one on some unsuspecting stranger (“it’ll double our money,” he says, “it’ll be fine,” he says), but then said stranger will end up turning the tables and leave you both absolutely broke. yeah he will feel guilty, no doubt. the only problem is that he won’t take it as a “hey don’t do it again” lesson, it’ll be a “this is how i can improve for next time.” eventually you have to put your foot down and take control of the money and when he realizes that you’re improving your lives much better than he is, he will thank you for it.

all pedro character taglists: @likeshootingstarsinthenightsky @obirain @leias-left-hair-bun @themarcusmoreno @catsnkooks @captainrexstan @mackstrut @torradoza @simping-for-fives @stardustsunrisekisses @darthadeline @artemis61003 @majorshiraharu @getdookuedon @capricornrabies @max--phillips @darklingveracruz @book-of-anarchy @andysficrecs @purelypascal @whovianwar @lv7867 @hornystarwarsbisexual @kaermorons @princess76179 @pedropasscals @greeneyedblondie44 @seasonschange-butpeopledont @qhbr2013 if you don’t want to be tagged, lemme know!! the link to join is in my bio

[noona-clock]

What’s Your Sign?: Capricorn

Genre: Dance Studio!AU

Pairing: Jaebum x You (Female!Reader)

Warnings: None

Words: 5,693

Author’s Note: Since I’m so fascinated by astrology, I decided to do a Zodiac series! I will be writing a one-shot fic for each sign featuring different members from different groups (and even an actor!). Each story will be posted on the 5th of the month during that sign’s season. Please reblog, comment, or send in an ask with your feedback! Thank you for your support 💜

It was clear he didn’t want to be here.

And by ‘he’ you meant the dark-haired guy in your dance lesson whose facial expression betrayed that he would rather be anywhere else and doing anything else right now.

But you were a dance instructor. You’d been teaching for almost five years by now, so you had seen your fair share of begrudging students.

(Though, if you were being completely honest with yourself, none of the begrudging students you’d had so far had been quite this handsome... but that is absolutely besides the point.)

As you introduced yourself to your new class and began to go over the basics, you mentally prepared yourself to spend a little extra time with him -- the handsome, begrudging student. You’d discovered that some one-on-one time with the dancers who didn’t actually want to be dancers went a long way in helping them get more comfortable and enjoy themselves.

Usually, people who had no desire to take your class were being forced by a third party -- for some reason or another -- and it was pretty clear why they had no desire to take your class: their dancing skills left a lot to be desired.

But, only a few minutes into your instructions, you were more than surprised and shocked to see that this guy actually had some natural talent.

A lot of it.

But he also didn’t have a partner, so that one-on-one time you’d prepared for was incredibly easy to manage.

After you’d told everyone to pair off and start practicing the basic waltz square you’d just shown them, you weaved your way through the parquet floor to him with a somewhat cautious smile on your face.

If he wasn’t thrilled to be in your class in the first place, it was safe to assume he wouldn’t be thrilled for you to be his partner, but... there wasn’t much you could do about it now!

“Hi,” you greeted softly when you approached. “I noticed there wasn’t a partner for you, so I’m happy to --”

“Sure,” he muttered.

Of course, his terse interruption made you pause, but you recovered quickly and simply smiled at him. You then stepped closer to him, resting one hand on his shoulder and extending your other arm out to the side so the two of you could get into a waltzing stance.

As soon as he’d slid one hand around your waist and took the other one, grasping your fingers firmly, you waited for him to lead into the four-step box formation.

...And you almost yelped with surprise when he did.

His hold on your waist and fingers quickly became even more firm, and he pushed you subtly but confidently backward, dancing with you smoothly.

You’re not sure why this surprised you so much.

But it did.

And that made you a little uneasy.

“So,” you breathed, clearing your throat quietly. “What’s your name?”

His gaze had been inconspicuously aimed at the floor, most likely watching his feet, but it shifted to look at you when you asked your question.

“Jaebum,” he answered without hesitation, though his voice was still very brusque.

“Nice to meet you,” you replied with a slight dip of your chin. “I’m Y/N.”

“Yes, I know,” he murmured. “You introduced yourself about five minutes ago.”

You raised your eyebrows, unsure if you were bewildered or offended by his incredibly impolite response.

Probably a bit of both.

“...Right,” you said. But you had to maintain your composure and civility, so you added, “What brings you here?”

Rather than answering quickly and succinctly like he had previously, Jaebum simply furrowed his brow at you.

“You just seem less than enthusiastic, so I was curious as to why you’re here in the first place,” you explained, figuring you could at least be honest to counteract his almost-rudeness.

His forehead smoothed out, and he tilted his head to signal that you did have a point.

“One of my best friends is getting married in a few months, and he wants the wedding party to do this... dance routine.”

“And you’re not too excited about it?”

Jaebum shook his head.

“Well, if it helps, you’re a really good dancer.”

Again, Jaebum furrowed his brow at you, shooting you a confused, sidelong glance. “I am?”

He sounded genuinely perplexed which made you genuinely perplexed. He really didn’t know? Had he never taken one single dance class before?

“Yeah,” you chuckled. “You’re a natural.”

And naturally gorgeous, you thought.

Oh my god, why did you think that?

Besides the fact that it was true, of course.

To distract yourself from that thought, you added, “You haven’t taken any sort of class before?”

“No, never.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” you replied with the tiniest smirk you could muster. “You’ve barely even looked at your feet this whole time, and you haven’t tripped me once.”

Of course, Jaebum instinctively looked down at his feet and almost immediately stumbled.

“See? Once you looked down and thought too much about it, you messed up. You’ve got instinct.”

An expression of clear discomfort flashed across his face, and rather than insisting that you knew what you were talking about, you simply kept silent. You were only planning on continuing this exercise for another minute or so, and you would rather not make him any more uncomfortable than he already clearly was.

But when that minute was up... you realized... that you didn’t want to stop dancing with him.

Oh, boy. 

A student who had made you feel uneasy twice in the first half-hour of class.

That was quite unprecedented.

And... very disturbing.

When the two of you got to a good stopping point, you murmured under your breath that it was time to move on.

Jaebum responded immediately, pausing his movements and loosening his hold on your hand and waist to allow you to step away.

“All right, great job,” you said, turning away to face the rest of the class and doing your best to avoid any sort of eye contact with Jaebum. “I know it may seem repetitive, but this is the foundation of a waltz. You need to be really familiar with these steps, know how to do them in your sleep, before you can move on.”

You had everyone go through the steps on their own while you played different music tracks, helping them find the four-count beat in each song and showing they could waltz to really any style of music.

All in all, it was a pretty typical class.

Except for Jaebum.

You had tried to get him -- and the way he’d briefly made you feel -- out of your mind, and while you had been mostly successful when you hadn’t been looking at him... you had been the opposite of successful when you had.

And once the hour was up, you found yourself doing something you truly hadn’t ever expected to do. The thought had never crossed your mind, yet you couldn’t stop your body from walking toward Jaebum, an anxious grin plastered on your lips.

“I was just --” you began, though you were quickly interrupted by a departing student who thanked you for a great class. “Oh, sure, you’re welcome.”

You pressed your lips together then, your gaze following the student and waiting for her to vanish through the studio door.

When she did, you looked back to Jaebum and saw that he was already looking at you, his gaze expectant. You jumped a little -- though, you weren’t quite sure why you were surprised that he was looking at you. You had been just about to say something to him.

After letting out a breathless chuckle, you inhaled sharply and continued on from earlier. “I was just wondering -- you said your friend is wanting to do some sort of routine? For his wedding?”

Jaebum nodded. “During the reception. The bridal party is all going to do a... ballroom dance... thing.”

“Do you know if the choreography is finished?”

“I believe so,” he answered, slightly lowering his brows.

You gulped.

“I -- I mean, I would be happy to help you learn it if you want to -- have the time. You could stay after class or come in whenever you’re free. I can shift things around if I need to, this job is pretty flexib --”

“Okay.”

And you were surprised yet again.

He had actually said yes? Even though you definitely sounded a bit like a bumbling idiot right now?

“Oh, good!” you said with a relieved sigh, your lips spreading into a grin.

“I can’t stay much longer today, but if you have time tomorrow?”

For some reason your instinct was to reply immediately -- in the positive, of course -- but you forced yourself to actually pull up your schedule in your head to look and make sure.

“I’m very free in the afternoon,” you told him after a few moments. “From after lunch until about four.”

Jaebum nodded tersely and said, “I can be here at two” before murmuring his thanks and heading toward the exit.

You stood there, in the same exact spot, for about five minutes after he left, mainly because you were dumbstruck. You had no idea why you’d done that, and you had no idea why you were so relieved (and excited) that he had accepted your offer.

You had literally never offered private lessons -- private free lessons! -- to a student before. Many students had requested them, absolutely, but you had never offered.

The only reason you could think of as to why you’d done this was because Jaebum was so... intriguing. He fit the stereotype almost exactly for the “Perfect Man.” Tall, dark, and handsome. Strong and silent.

...And did you mention handsome?

Very handsome.

But that was actually more of a reason not to give him private lessons. You wanted to spend more time with him, of course. But you shouldn’t.

You really, really, really shouldn’t.

Rather than wait in jittery anticipation for Jaebum to show up, you spent the first part of your day keeping as busy as you could.

You had two classes basically back-to-back in the morning, which definitely helped keep your mind off the perfectly handsome man arriving at the studio in the early afternoon. And once those classes finished, you took a lunch break and headed to a nearby deli for one of your favorite sandwiches.

Between lunch and Jaebum’s arrival time, you decided to clean the entire studio from top to bottom because that was just what you did when you were stressed or nervous: you cleaned.

A small cleaning crew visited the studio once a week to keep the floors and mirrors gleaming, of course, but it had been a little while since you’d wiped down your office and deep cleaned the reception area.

You dusted and vacuumed and scrubbed and decluttered and even rearranged some furniture just to change things up -- for almost two hours.

And it wasn’t until a quarter to two that you realized you’d made a rather large mistake.

Cleaning and rearranging furniture for two hours was hard work, and now -- fifteen minutes before Jaebum was set to arrive -- you found yourself exhausted and sweaty.

I mean, you were exhausted and sweaty a lot. Obviously. You were a dance teacher. 

But the exhausted and sweaty parts of your day were always at the end of class, after you’d done all the work, not at the beginning.

...And your classes typically did not involve an incredibly good-looking man whom you were nervous about spending time with.

After putting away the cleaning supplies in the closet, you quickly ran into the bathroom to splash some water on your face. You then headed into your office and dug around in your bag for the emergency vial of perfume you kept in there -- just in case.

Thank goodness you did because it really came in handy in this moment.

Just as you stepped out of your office and back into the studio, closing the door behind you, you heard the clack of footsteps on the dance floor.

“Hello?” a soft but deep voice called out.

You jumped a little, your gaze snapping over to the studio entrance and landing on Jaebum.

A quick glance to the clock above the mirrors showed you that he was almost ten minutes early -- and that only heightened your intrigue.

You loved a man who was early.

“Hi!” you blurted out suddenly, realizing you hadn’t yet answered him. “Hi, come on in. Welcome.”

Jaebum reached into his pocket as he walked over to you, retrieving his phone and tapping on the screen with a wrinkled forehead. “My friend sent me the video of the choreography,” he muttered, his eyes flashing up at you briefly over his phone screen.

“Oh, perfect,” you grinned. You came to a stop in front of him, resting your hands on your hips as you waited for him to find the video and show you.

“Here,” he mumbled before doing just that -- turning his phone around and showing you the video.

You leaned in, and only then did you realize this was a bad idea.

Obviously, watching something on a person’s phone meant you had to be standing rather close to that person, leaning in until your heads were almost touching.

And that’s exactly what was happening right now.

You were standing rather close to Jaebum, your heads almost touching.

And, boy, did he smell amazing.

It took almost every ounce of willpower in you to concentrate on the video and not on how amazing he smelled.

When the video finished, you took a step back, hoping you hadn’t backed away from him too obviously. If you were going to be learning this choreography together, you certainly didn’t want him to think you couldn’t stand being close to him. Because that wasn’t even true! 

It was just... difficult. In a good way. Kind of.

“That seems fairly straightforward,” you said, pushing all these thoughts out of your mind as best as you could.

“Yeah?” Jaebum asked, turning to look at you, a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

“Absolutely. You want to give it a shot?”

He nodded and took off his jacket, hanging it up on the rack by the door before joining you in the middle of the dancefloor. He set up his phone against the mirror, and you began guiding him through the choreography, step-by-step.

Only a few minutes in, and Jaebum stopped you. “How... how do you know the routine already? We watched it once, and you’re not even referring back to the video.”

A frown curved your lips, and you lifted your shoulders into a shrug. “I... don’t know? I just remember it.”

“Seriously?” he asked with a soft chuckle of disbelief. “How?”

“I don’t know,” you repeated. “I’ve always been this way, with dance especially. I can just picture it in my mind.”

“So, you have a photographic memory.”

...How had you never realized that before?

“I guess so?” you chuckled. “I just never thought it was different than what anyone else could do.”

A half-smile tugged at Jaebum’s lips as he got back into the dancing position, and he murmured, “No. I absolutely cannot do that.”

“Well, then, it’s a good thing I’m the dance teacher,” you retorted, trying to suppress a smirk.

He laughed softly, and you ignored the fluttering in your heart.

You spent the next hour and a half going through the first part of the routine, and even though Jaebum claimed he wasn’t able to learn choreography like you did, he still caught on quickly.

“No, you’re honestly doing a great job,” you assured him after deciding to stop for the day. “I told you, you’re a natural dancer. You have instinct!”

Jaebum simply shook his head, but you saw the smile he was trying to hold back.

As he went back toward the door to retrieve his jacket, he glanced over his shoulder at you and said, “Are you free to keep going? Go over the rest of the routine?”

“Absolutely! I wouldn’t leave you hanging like that for a wedding.”

“What if it was a birthday party?”

“Yes, maybe.”

You heard Jaebum’s deep, low chuckle, and even though you’d just spent over an hour touching him and dancing with him and being extremely close to him, the sound of his laugh still sent a shiver down your spine.

What was this guy doing to you?

“What does your schedule look like?” he asked as he slipped his jacket back on.

“Oh, here -- let me write it down for you,” you said, taking a step toward your office.

“Or --” Jaebum blurted out.

You paused, raising your eyebrows and shifting your gaze to him.

“Or you could... just text it to me.” He still had his phone handy from playing the dance video on repeat during the lesson, and he held it up as to emphasize his suggestion.

“Oh!” you chirped. “Well -- I mean, yeah, sure. That -- that works.”

Jaebum opened his mouth to say something, but then he stopped himself. He narrowed his eyes slightly at you and said, “If I just tell it to you, will you remember it without having to write it down?”

Your eyes widened with minor panic. “...Yes?” you replied uncertainly even though you were absolutely certain you could do that.

He let out a soft, breathy chuckle and shook his head.

After he told you his phone number, he murmured his thanks for the lesson and then headed through the door without another word.

You waited approximately ten seconds before scrambling to your office, fishing your phone out of your bag, and quickly entering the number into your contacts.

You wouldn’t have forgotten it, but... still. You didn’t want to take any chances. It wasn’t every day that an incredibly attractive and fascinating guy gave you his phone number.

Not that you would use it for anything other than sending him your schedule.

But. Yeah.

Jaebum was absolutely incredibly attractive and fascinating.

Either Jaebum was not a busy man or he...

Well, you weren’t actually sure what the other most viable option was.

Because the only things you could think were that he just really wanted to learn this dance routine for the wedding reception... or he just really wanted to spend time with you.

And that was definitely just wishful thinking.

Either way, Jaebum was -- apparently -- able to fit in a private lesson whenever your schedule allowed.

Did he not work? Or was he taking a lot of time off for this? Or maybe his job allowed him to be flexible like yours did.

There were so many questions you wanted to ask him and so little courage you had to actually ask them.

When he came back two days after your first private lesson, you began the lesson with those questions still occupying your thoughts but ended it with another question on your mind entirely.

And, for some reason (seemingly everything about Jaebum was a mystery, I guess, including your reactions to him), you found the question tumbling from your lips as he was putting his jacket back on to leave.

You had just spent another hour and a half teaching him the second half of the choreography; another hour and a half touching and dancing with him. Maybe that had bolstered your courage enough?

“Why do you not want to do this?” you asked, tilting your head curiously. “The dance at the wedding.”

Jaebum paused for a moment before turning to face you. “I just... What -- what do you mean?”

You felt your cheeks warms, but you continued on. “You were just so... not happy to be in that first class, and... I don’t know. Whenever I bring it up, you get this look on your face.”

His eyebrows flew halfway up his forehead. “I do?”

“Yeah,” you chuckled.

He stood there just for a second before letting out a sigh and taking a few steps toward you. “To be honest, I’m not thrilled about having to dance in front of a room full of people I don’t really know.”

While you couldn’t exactly relate to the sentiment, you still understood what it was like to be scared to do something. Or, at the very least, be uncomfortable about it.

“You’re going to do a great job,” you assured him, your heart starting to skip a beat here and there as he got closer to you.

Seriously? You had just been dancing with him. Touching him. 

“I’m not saying I don’t trust you,” he said, shaking his head. “But... I’m just not... confident about it. And I don’t like that.”

Jaebum was such the epitome of the Strong and Silent type -- so far, at least -- that you couldn’t even imagine him not being fully confident in himself. And the way he danced definitely wasn’t something to be insecure about it!

“I don’t know,” he added with a roll of his eyes. “I just don’t see the point in doing a choreographed dance at a wedding.”

Okay, now that made you laugh.

“Because it’s fun,” you chuckled. “Receptions are basically just a big party, and most parties involve dancing, right?”

“Well, yeah,” he shrugged. “But they don’t have to. And you can dance without doing some full-fledged routine.”

“This is true,” you agreed, though it was mainly just to appease him.

“In my opinion, weddings should be about the marriage. The relationship. The vows you make. Not cutting a cake or a DJ playing viral songs no one really wants to hear.”

...Well. You couldn’t argue with him there.

“So, when it’s your turn to get married, you don’t even need to have a reception.”

And your heart was acting funny again. Thinking about Jaebum getting married both made you hopeful that it would be your wedding, as well, and upset that -- realistically -- it would not be. You were just his dance teacher, and he was only taking lessons until the wedding. It was highly unlikely he would come back to continue his education, and even though you had his phone number now... why would you ever have a reason to use it?

“Don’t worry,” he murmured. “I absolutely plan on eloping. Or only inviting my family and having just a small ceremony.”

“Ah, good. Now I know not to be offended when I don’t receive an invitation.”

Um... okay? Why? Had you just said that?

Thankfully, Jaebum simply smiled that tiny half-smile of his and let out a soft chuckle.

Was it weird that after spending time with Jaebum only three times you already knew his signature smile?

Despite the fact you had taught Jaebum the entire dance backwards and forwards and there was literally nothing else you could do to help him, he continued to request private lessons. He continued to show up whenever you had a free hour or two, no matter the time or day.

And while this behavior would usually suggest some sort of romantic feelings on his part, he also continued to be Strong and Silent.

He talked to you during your lessons, of course, but he was never talkative. He was always polite, but he wasn’t super... friendly.

So, in conclusion, you were still as mystified and confused by Jaebum as ever.

He didn’t like dancing but he was amazing at it.

He didn’t need you to teach him anymore but he still showed up at your studio.

You just wished you could peek into that brain of his -- just for a minute! -- to see what he was thinking.

And, because you were his teacher, you never felt comfortable asking why. Why was he still asking for lessons when he didn’t need them? Why was he always so guarded around you? Why did he never ask about your personal life?

I swear, if Jaebum ever asked if you had a boyfriend, your heart would absolutely combust.

Maybe one day you would ask him all those questions, but by then, he wouldn’t be coming to your classes any longer, and what would be the point?

Apparently, you were thinking too much about all of this because, all of a sudden, Jaebum’s voice broke through the haze in your mind.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice forceful enough to make it obvious it wasn’t the first time he’d said it.

“Sorry,” you replied hastily with a shake of your head. “Zoned out.”

“Did you hear what I said?” he asked as he stood by the coat rack, getting ready to put his jacket back on before he left with hardly a word.

That had become his routine after every class, and you had come to expect nothing different.

“Hmm? Oh -- no, sorry. What did you say?”

“I said the wedding is this weekend, so I won’t need to come back any more.”

...Oh.

That was not what you wanted to hear.

“Oh,” you replied, doing your best to sound... well, not upset about it. “Well, I know you’re going to do an amazing job --”

“I’m more nervous than I thought I would be,” he interrupted.

You froze, your mouth slightly hanging open and your unspoken words hanging from your lips.

But then you quickly pulled yourself together and said, “You are?”

He nodded tersely.

But he didn’t elaborate.

So, you bit. “...Why?”

“Because I know how to dance it with you, and what if it’s different with someone else as my partner?”

“I mean, yeah, it’ll be different,” you confirmed. “But you know the steps through and through. Even if the bridesmaid is a terrible dancer, you’ll be able to carry her through it, I promise.”

Jaebum let out a sigh and his head tilted forward, his chin practically touching his chest.

“You’ll be fi --”

“What I really wanted to say is that I wish it could be you and not someone else,” he said, interrupting you again in a quiet but strong voice.

...You stared at him.

And blinked.

“...Excuse me?”

Without hesitating, Jaebum strode over to you, only stopping when he was as close to you as he was while you’d danced.

You tilted your head to look up into his eyes, though yours were still too wide with shock to say anything.

“I... I feel more comfortable dancing with you than doing... anything else. And the reason I kept asking to come back even after you taught me the whole dance is because... I just wanted to be with you.”

Okay, you were fairly certain you were no longer breathing.

You certainly couldn’t speak at the moment, so it was very possible that your heart and lungs had just stopped working.

“You are... incredible,” he continued. “Confident and talented and kind and beautiful.”

You repeated the word ‘beautiful’, though you couldn’t even hear your own voice so you must have simply mouthed it.

...Was he really saying all this to you?

To you?

And since it was obvious you weren’t going to actually say anything yet, Jaebum continued.

“You’re why I haven’t stopped coming back. I only joined your class because my friend practically forced me; he’s one of my closest friends, and I would do anything for him, but I truly could not care less about this dumb wedding dance. I would have happily fumbled my way through it if you hadn’t been so... wonderful.”

Okay, at this point, you kind of felt like you were more shocked to hear this many words coming out of his mouth at once. You’d been teaching Jaebum for almost three months, and you were fairly certain he hadn’t said more than two sentences back-to-back.

And you, who normally had no trouble speaking, could only reply with a whispered, “...Really?”

Jaebum simply nodded, and you felt more at ease. A simple nod was much more in character.

But you had no idea what else to say because there was too much you wanted to say.

Apparently, your racing thoughts showed through on your face because Jaebum stopped waiting for you to say something. “I... don’t really want to invite you to be my date to the wedding since... I’m a groomsman and all. You would have to sit by yourself, and I don’t want to make you do that.”

Ah, so, he was thoughtful, too.

“So... maybe you’d like to meet up after the wedding? I mean, like, go out. Not meet up. Go out. On a... date.”

“Yes,” you replied, finally able to force some actual words out of your mouth. “Yes, I would love to. Please.”

And then, Jaebum’s lips curved into a smile.

A real smile.

A full-on, teeth-showing smile -- not the half-smile you’d gotten used to.

Your heart stopped.

I mean, it felt like it stopped.

And you were immensely glad he hadn’t smiled like this before because oh my god. You wouldn’t have been able to go on teaching him. You would’ve fainted.

Even now, you had to reach out and grab a hold of his arms to steady yourself.

But Jaebum must have thought you were going in for the hug, so took another step closer to you and slid his arms around your waist, pressing his fingers into the small of your back and enveloping you in his embrace.

It took you approximately .0001 seconds to melt into him, feeling the strong wall of his chest and the secure cage of his arms around you.

You’d danced with him countless times by now. His hands had held your waist for hours, and yet... You had never experienced this sensation before.

And you knew right then and there that you never wanted to live another day without experiencing it again.

OTHER SIGNS: ARIES, TAURUS, GEMINI, CANCER, LEO, VIRGO, LIBRA, SCORPIO, SAGITTARIUS, AQUARIUS, PISCES

[roger-that-cap]

jack pendleton

summary: moving into an apartment to get away from your last relationship was fun all fun and games until you met your extremely attractive across-the-hall neighbor, who makes awesome cookies and even better novels.

author!bucky x reader

warnings: no legitimate warnings besides swearing, it kind of moves just a weensie bit fast but i think it’s cute, minimal angst, I WROTE THIS IN ONE DAY and that is a warning tbh so expect mistakes in this hunk a junk-

word count: 6.2k!

Searching for your new apartment was a terribly long and boring process, but even you couldn’t deny that finally moving in was heavenly. 

It was the first thing that you did by yourself after having a mutual break up with your boyfriend, and you would be damned if it felt anything but good. He confessed to you that he had fallen in love with a man that he met online. Not only that, but an Italian man that he was teaching English to over a website. He was brave enough to tell you as soon as he realized that he loved the man, so the heartbreak was minimal. 

You never told him, but honestly, you sort of respected him for that. So, with your hidden respect and gratitude, you wished him well and knew that you were going to be the one to find a new place. 

 So there you stood, right in front of your new place with a singular box in your arms, all the others in the smallest U-Haul available to rent that you drove there. You stared at your door for a moment, which read an embroidered C7, and then you fiddled with your keys to unlock it.  

  You had a lot of work to do. 

§§§

By the end of the fourth day, mostly all of your things were put away. You didn’t think you had much to begin with, but unpacking made you realize that you had more than you thought. So with your ambitious mind, you got everything done on your own, even the decorations that you had at your last appointment were on the walls. 

 By the seventh day, it was starting to feel like home again. And that called for a celebration. You got your purse and your car keys, your mind already in the shopping mall. 

  As you stepped out of your door, the door directly across from yours opened too. You didn’t pay them much mind besides flashing a smile and turning around to lock your own door, not even looking at whoever it was properly enough to see them. But when you did, you definitely did. 

 A man with long, brown hair and clear blue eyes was staring at you like a deer in the headlights, and you would have thought that he mistook you for a celebrity if it weren’t for the wrinkle of confusion on his forehead. The first thought that came to your mind was that he was as stiff as a board, and that it was almost comical. The second thought that came to your mind was that this man was very handsome, despite the way that he was looking at you like you had just said the dumbest thing known to man. 

 “Um, hello,” you said, not even having to be loud because you were just a few feet apart. You were tempted to be a smartass and say something rude about his incessant staring, but instead, you reminded yourself that you were going to have to deal with the consequences of your smart remark later on. Humiliation and awkwardness every time you saw him was not what you wanted. “Have a good day.” 

  You turned to your left and walked down the stairs, thankful that you lived on the edge of the hall and could just run down some steps to get away from whatever that “encounter” was. 

§§§

The mall was utterly packed, but that didn’t matter to you at all. You were there to browse for something that was going to make you even happier after your move, and a few people in line weren’t going to bother you. You went in and out of clothing stores, buying a few things here and there, and then on your way out, you passed by a bookstore. 

  You liked books, you really did. But you were avoiding that store like the plague. For you to go into a bookstore with so many options available, you knew that the safest route for your budget was to know what you were getting from the second you walked in. You stood in front of it for a second, debating on going in without looking online beforehand or just coming back another day. Your own feet answered the question for you, and then you were entering the huge book store.

 The shelves were high and wide and sturdy, dark brown and creating isles. Fantasy, Young Adult, Spiritual, Languages. The genres went as far as you could see. And that meant that if you weren’t wise, you could be buying a book from every aisle.

  You counted the number of shelves, seeing that there were almost thirty as far as you knew, and then took out the two dice that you took with you everywhere, for reasons like this. You were indecisive, and two little cubes with black dots on them were as sure as it could get. They were your Decision Dice. They had never steered you wrong before, and today wouldn’t be the day. You were going to roll twice, and if the sum was a number less than ten, then you would multiply it by two, which was your lucky number.  You liked to make things difficult. 

You saw a woman staring at you with cautious eyes as you bent down and shook your closed hand, and you heard her chuckle when she saw the two little cubes roll out of your palm. 

  “Four,” you murmured once you saw three dots on one and one on the other. You picked them up and shook your hand again. “Three. That makes seven, and seven times two makes aisle fourteen.” You picked up the dice (that you would never admit came from your grandpa’s set of Yahtzee) and walked past the still laughing woman in the science fiction aisle.  

  Of course, aisle fourteen was the aisle that you probably had the least business in. Romance. You almost walked away and went for the fifteenth instead, but then what would the point in rolling be? What would stop you from denying the Decision Dice in later situations? You sighed for a second after your own dramatics and looked the shelves up and down, trying to find a title that grabbed you. 

 You walked up and down the aisle, slowly combing through until you saw a book on the bottom shelf by some Jack Pendleton. You frowned. It wasn’t often that you saw men’s names in the romance section, and when you did, you hardly liked what they wrote. The love interest was always flat or too out there to be believable. The female love interest in men’s books always had to be “not like other girls”, and it was worn out. For some reason, you reached down for it anyway, ready to see what you had already seen a million times before. 

  What you really ended up seeing shocked you. 

It was about a man who served in the army oversees and came back an amputee, and became locked in a love triangle between his physical therapist and his best friend, all the while dealing with his sexuality. 

  That was a lot of man versus self. You wanted it. 

You stood up and without second thought walked to the counter, handing the cashier the book and getting out your credit card. 

§§§

You cracked open the book the second you threw your fast food trash away in your trash can. You made yourself comfortable on your little couch and put some light music on in the background, just so that it wouldn’t be completely silent. You didn’t do well with silence at all. 

 It took all of four pages for Jack Pendleton to surprise you again. His writing style was gorgeous and smooth, and you cold tell that he meant every word that was printed on the pages. His diction was brilliant, his descriptions even better. He didn’t give too much or too little, and you were already falling in love with it. 

  The main character, Elijah, was likeable but flawed. Within the first thirty pages, you could already sense that he was gaining feelings that he didn’t even know about for his best friend, Will, who wasn’t named until about forty pages at Elijah’ first physical therapy appointment. Will hadn’t even shown up yet. 

You had blown through nearly half the book when you realized that it was eleven at night, and that you had work the next morning. You swore to yourself and put a smaller piece of paper in your book this time, looking at it longingly and patting it on the spine before leaving it on the small coffee table. 

§§§

Work was horrible. It was boring, and you spent the whole first part of your day with a man who was mad at you specifically because you ran out of a special type of shoe that he needed to wear the next day. The store that you worked at wasn’t even really a shoe store. Then, he asked to see the manager. You were the shift manager. He got so pissed that he threw a hanger at you and stormed out, and all you could do was laugh. 

 You were so tired of retail, it wasn’t even funny. 

 You were a little more than a hundred and twenty pages in when there was a knock on your door, and it came right as you were about t flip the page. You resisted the urge to scream, completely and utterly fed up with the public for the day. There was no use in trying to ignore the knocking that already yanked your mind out of the fictional world, and so you left the book on your couch, sticking a piece of paper in it quickly to save your page. 

You swung the door open, expecting to find someone who wanted you to fill out a survey or maybe even someone from maintenance making sure that everything was okay with your apartment. You certainly didn’t expect to see your beautiful neighbor with a pie in his gloved hands and a pink flush on his face. 

  He spoke first. “Hi, I live across the floor,” he pointed towards the door that you knew he lived behind. “I was just coming to bring you a welcoming gift.”  

  You were stunned. The man who stared you down and didn’t even say a word to you was at your door with what looked like a homemade pie, and wow, was that a turn of events. It was something straight out of that cheesy romance section that you were in at the bookstore. “Wow, thank you. You made that?”

  The pink on his cheeks graduated to scarlet. “I-yeah, I did.” 

You couldn’t contain the grin that stretched onto your face. “That’s really kind of you, thank you. I’m sure I’ll love it.” You gently took it from his hands and smiled up at him. 

  “It’s also an apology, for staring at you like that when you were leaving.” You noticed his subtle accent and fought the urge to swoon. He was so adorably shy. “No one’s lived in this one for years, and I didn’t notice you moving in. Kinda scared me.” 

 “You didn’t see the moving truck?” You asked teasingly.

You saw the small grimace on his face, and your smile faltered. “I don’t really go outside much,” he said vaguely, and you felt that you hit a nerve. 

  You shrugged with the pie still in your hands, lips turning upwards at him. “It’s okay, I don’t, either.” 

  You were both smiling now. 

“Well, um,” he started to say, and you nodded your head at him, already knowing that he was about to go. “I have to finish something. I’ll see you later?” 

 “There’s a pretty good chance that you will,” you said, and he gave an awkward wave before turning around and walking away, right into his apartment without another look back. You cursed softly when he shut his door, and you looked down at the pie. 

You didn’t even get his name.

§§§

You realized after five days of nothing (and cleaning out the pan of delicious pie by yourself) that you weren’t going to see your neighbor by chance. You hoped that you would, more than you hoped for anything else before. But he was right. He didn’t go outside much. The doors in the building were all so loud that it was nearly impossible not to hear them opening or shutting, and you never heard his once. 

You had to do it yourself. Somehow, you needed to figure out how to see him again without it being incredibly weird, but you had a plan. In your eyes, it was pretty foolproof. Your mom’s chicken parmesan could never go wrong, and everyone liked to eat. You went to the grocery store without even having to roll the Decision Dice and got started on it the second you got home.

***

When it was done, there was a thin line of sweat on your forehead. You put a note to yourself in your head that the kitchen got insanely hot when you cooked, and you vowed to remember it next time. You took off your fancy apron and the chef’s hat that you wore for fun when you cooked and set it on the countertop. Now, the hard part came.

How were you supposed to get brave enough to bring a plate over to his place? Were you supposed to hope that he hadn’t eaten yet? Or, were you supposed to let him in to eat? Shit, that sounded too much like a date.

With all those thoughts in mind, you walked up to his door, C6, and knocked on it. You realized last minute that you forgot the plate on the table, so dinner was over at your apartment by default unless you did an awkward dash across the hall. The sound of boots coming towards the door were loud and clear, and then the door opened, barely giving you enough time to swallow your anxieties. You got a panging irrational fear that he wouldn’t remember you, but were relieved when he smiled down at you.

“Hi,” you said, sounding more like a telemarketer than a neighbor. “I made chicken parmesan.” It was silent for a few seconds as you both tried to make sense of what was happening, and you kicked yourself on the inside. “I made a plate for you because um, I wanted to thank you for the pie. It was really good.”

His face lit up, and it was like you were given a new burst of life and hope simultaneously. “Oh, thank you! That’s really sweet, thank you,” he repeated, his words getting slightly jumbled up the more and more he spoke. He was so cute. 

You realized that the both of you were just staring at each other, standing with smiles that were increasingly leaning towards more than polite by the second. “I can, uh, bring it to your door if you want.”

“I can come over, if that makes it easier.” Both sentences were spoken at the same time, and it caused you both to apologize once again at the same time. “No, no, I’ll come back with you,” he said when you two finally spoke your own sentences. 

You tilted your head. You were sure that he was shy, you could have bet money on him wanting to eat alone. “Are you sure?”

“Of course,” he gave you a small smile and stepped out of his apartment, and suddenly, you were aware of how he smelled like a bakery. Flower, sugar, apples, cinnamon, the whole nine. Your eyes widened when you smelled more of it when he shut his door. It smelled amazing. You didn’t want to be greedy, but whatever he had in there, you wanted a slice. 

   Your apartment smelled good, but in the opposite way. It smelled like sauce and spices and chicken, like a good kitchen. You almost laughed when you saw his eyes widen after he caught a whiff. His eyes scanned the table that was already set up for one, and he saw all the food in the middle and only grew more surprised. 

 “You did all of this yourself?” 

You didn’t think it was a big deal. You knew how to plate food and you knew how to cook it fine, but it wasn’t too special, in your opinion. It was second nature because of your mother, but you could always go for a nice compliment. “Yeah, I have fun cooking.”

  “It looks amazing,” he said softly, and you smiled at him. 

“Let’s hope it tastes as good.” 

It felt oddly domestic. You got his plate for him and watched him make his first because he was the guest, and you warned him about touching the hot pan, even though he didn’t seem worried about it with his gloves on. You asked him if he wanted wine, water, or soda, and he got his own glass of water after saying that he felt bad making you do it. By the time you sat down and started twirling your fork in your spaghetti, you were starving. 

 You heard him take his first bite more than you saw him do it. “Holy-” he put his hand in front of his mouth. “You made this here?” 

You laughed. “Mhm.” 

“Are you a chef, or something?”

You were flattered. “No, but my mother is,” and man, was she a cook. She could cook anything and make it taste good if you gave her a flame. Always, she had pressured you into knowing how to make a meal, because making a meal meant providing for yourself and everyone else in your family. You watched him cut into a piece of chicken and put it in his mouth, smiling when he gave you the “food look”. “She taught me everything I know.” 

“Well, I’m about to call her and thank her,” he joked, and you giggled, twirling your own fork and getting some spaghetti in your mouth. You tilted your head. It was pretty good. 

  “And what about you? You can bake,” and there he was, all shy again, and you loved it. “Where did you learn?” 

“My father’s a baker,” he said, and a slow smile spread across your face. 

“Well, would you look at that,” you said, nodding your head in thought. He smiled back. 

 “Would you look at that.” 

For a second, just like the two of you had done many times before, you were stuck in a world where there wasn’t anything else, not even the food. It was just his smile and yours, and the fact that somehow both of you knew that the moment was genuine. 

  “I’m so sorry, what’s your name?” He blurted, and you frowned. 

“My name?” A flame of embarrassment and shame shot through you. You were fawning over a man that you didn’t even know the name of yet. You sister would be disgusted with you. “Oh, have we really not said our names yet?” 

 “I guess not...” he said, voice trailing off at the end. 

“Well, good thing names aren’t that important.” 

He gave you an intrigued look. “Names aren’t important?”

“They can be, but sometimes they don’t mean a thing. You can learn so much about someone before learning their name, and when you do, nothing changes what you already know. I cook and I like spending money in book stores, and you bake and stay inside. That doesn’t change after we learn names.” 

 He looked like he had just reached cloud nine. “You like books?”

“Of course I do,” you said, and your eyes trailed over to the book that was sitting on your couch. “I actually took that little name bit from what I learned from a book, so I won’t take credit for that.” 

  “What book was so in depth and interested with names?”

“I don’t even think that the main focus was the name, I think it was the opposite. His name didn’t matter because all that mattered were the emotions that came with him.” You took a second to think. “And I also think that saying his name made it real for the main character, so the dude’s name didn’t come up until he was in mid conversation.” 

  At first, you were worried that you lost him. But you hadn’t. “He was in love with this person?” 

“Madly. But he was his best friend.” You were so excited. You were really talking to a man who liked to read? And one who liked to analyze what he read? This must have been heaven. “For a while, all we hear about is how amazing the person is that he fell in love with and about how he struggled with loving him because he was a man. We knew everything about him before his name was even said and before he was even present, and that’s probably what I like most so far about the book.” 

   Through your rambling, you failed to notice that he was looking more and more panicked. “Um, what’s the book called?” 

   “Here, I’ll just go get it,” you said, standing up and walking over to your couch, pulling it off and walking over to him. You set the book down, and watched his eyes grow so wide that he looked cartoonish. “Have you read it?” 

  He blinked at the cover. “Y-yeah, I’ve read it.” He looked at his watch, swore so emptily that you swore it was acting, and then gave you an apologetic look. “Um, I have to go. I’m sorry.”

  So, you did scare him off. You hid your frown with a polite smile, and tried to remind yourself that even though it felt like one, it wasn’t a date. It was you paying him back for making you something in his own kitchen. “Oh, alright. I hope you liked it.” 

 Maybe he heard something in your voice that you didn’t, because he stopped frantically putting his jacket on to look you in the eyes. “It was amazing, I mean that. And it was very sweet, thank you.”

  This is crashing and burning. What the hell happened? It was going so well! “Well, I’ll see you later,” you called out, and you watched him wash his own plate with a shocked look on your face. “Thanks,” you whispered, and he nodded at you, a tight smile on his face as he wrapped a gloved hand around the doorknob and left. 

***

Maybe you hadn’t scared him away, after all. 

You had full intentions of leaving him alone until he came to you, if it was ever even going to happen. You only left for work and debated on finding something simple to bake for him to extend another olive branch, but then you decided that you would let the universe control what happened, if anything was even meant to happen in the first place. There was a knock on your door, and there he was, with a pan of cupcakes that had blue icing perfectly swirled on top. 

  Alright, so you hadn’t. 

He gave you the cutest smile, and you couldn’t help but to give one back. “Hi, I’m Bucky.” You gave him your name, too. 

From then on, you two were practically attached at the hip. If you weren’t at work, he was over with you, watching a movie and talking about foreshadowing or how good the book version would have been if it came first. He was also one of the only people you knew who had actually read Tarzan, and you got a kick out of it. You got so close that you even met his little quartet of friends, Steve, Natasha, and Sam, who all liked you after the first meeting. You fit in with them like a glove. 

 Speaking of... “Why do you wear gloves?” You had asked him one day, and he stiffened up like a board. 

“I get cold easily on my hands,” he explained coolly, and you let it go. 

There were little things about him that you questioned every time after he went back home. You questioned how he never left his apartment but made enough money to keep it. You asked yourself how he was so busy in there, and what exactly he did. You wondered why he got so funny when you mentioned the book, and how nervous he was to talk about it when you finally finished it. All of those things slightly worried you, but they had nothing on the one, huge thought that loomed over all the others. 

 You were falling hard and fast for Bucky Barnes. A part of you could admit that you were already on the ground. 

  If started off slowly. You admired his mind and his smile and the way that his eyes shined when he taught you how to bake a perfect cake without all the fancy, expensive supplies. You loved the way that his cheeks glowed when you complimented him or touched his hair or his nose. You loved that he started calling you “darling” and the way that his Brooklyn accent left out the last letter. You loved the way that things with him already felt so natural, like you cooking dinner and him helping you wash and dry dishes after. You were in for the long haul before you could even reach for the door handle of the speeding car, and you didn’t really want to. 

   There was a knock on your door out of courtesy, and you called out for him to let himself in. You were way past knocking, but he was polite. You were tapping away at the keys on your laptop, humming to yourself as you looked into Jack Pendleton. 

  “Watcha doin’, darlin’?” He set down the items you two needed for homemade lasagna and his father’s recipe for some simple pumpkin bread on the counter. 

“I’m trying to find more books by Jack Pendleton,” you muttered, sighing when nothing else came up. “I can’t find anything.”

 “Why do you like that book so much, anyway?” You were far too into your laptop to hear the tremor in his voice. 

 “Because it was raw, and real, and it hurt my feelings.” 

Oh, and it had. Bucky witnessed the result of you finishing the book first hand. He walked in right as you got the first sob out and looked like he wanted to sink into the floor, but he came to you anyway. How were you supposed to know that the therapist, an equally important person in the main character’s life, was going to pass away not even days after he and Will got their happiness? 

  You remembered how he held you the whole time, and that for some reason, he whispered a very heartfelt, “I’m sorry.” 

  “If it hurt you so much, why would you want to read something by him again?” 

“It was brilliant, that’s why, cowboy.” You said, looking up and pointing at him with your fancy little stylus. He broke out into a smile at the name, like he always did. You called him that one time because you caught him watching The Longest Ride, and it stuck. 

  There was a stretched, tense moment as the sound of your typing filled the room. “I don’t think he has anything else out right now, darlin’.” 

“And how would you know, rancher?” 

He gave you that same deer in headlights stare that he gave you when he first saw you in the hall, only less confused. Then he sighed. “What’s in a name, anyway?” 

 You rolled your eyes, but you both knew that you were on the edge of laughing. You could never be serious with him. He was just so full of light. “You’re not going to get me quoting Shakespeare right now, I just asked you a dire question.” 

 He inhaled deeply, his face already boasting a rich scarlet. “How would you feel if I told you that I wrote that book?”

  Your world crumbled beneath your feet. You knew he wasn’t lying, because you knew that he had no reason to lie. His aversion to talking about Jack Pendleton and everything surrounding it made you believe what he told you right as you heard it. You gasped, and then saw him grimace. “Bucky, Jack stole your work?” 

  His face fell. “What?”

“Have you taken legal action yet?” 

  “No,” he said slowly, and then he took in another deep breath, preparing from something. “I don’t need to, because I am Jack.” He said slowly, a small and guarded smile resting on his face. You noticed that he looked the least comfortable you had ever seen him. “It’s a pen name.” 

  Different kinds of humiliation were coming in large, mean waves, and you bit your lip to prevent from talking. You had really gushed over a book right in front of the author the whole time? It was so horrible and embarrassing that you couldn’t even stop thinking about it. You felt like an idiot. “Why didn’t you tell me to stop talking?” 

There was a quick, hesitant intake of breath between the both of you. “Because I don’t want anyone that I know in real life to know about that.” 

You froze. There was no way that he was implying that what was in the book actually happened, right? 

 He took off both of his gloves, and beneath one of them was a silver appendage, very clearly a prosthetic. He was breathing heavily, like he had just lifted a weight off of his chest that was double his own size. You looked at it with a wild expression of your own, trying to make sense of what was happening. 

 “Almost everything in that book really happened.” You closed your mouth. “Some things are exaggerated, but nearly everything happened. Elijah is based off of me.” 

  Oh, fuck. That meant that he was actually bisexual, that he actually fell in love with his best friend, that he actually got his arm amputated after getting a grenade launched at him. His therapist actually died. You had no idea what to say. “I’m so sorry.” 

 “The main thing that didn’t really happen was the semi-happy ending for Elijah and Will. He and I broke up years ago. This all happened years ago.” Your heart broke again for him. “I put it under a fake name because it’s something very personal to me, but I felt like it should have been shared. Thought that it would maybe help some other kid who was going through it.” 

You knew exactly what it was. You had gone through it yourself. If you had read the book when you were much younger, you were sure that you would have been able to find some sort of peace in the turmoil that you caused yourself. Now, you were much better, and you loved the fact that you were part of the LGBT community, but that didn’t mean that the book didn’t mean something to you. 

The book was so raw that you should have known that it was real. There wasn’t a word that didn’t mean something, not a sentence that wasn’t thought out. It was such heavy material with realistic ups and down that you caught yourself relating with Elijah, not knowing that the real “Elijah” was right in front of you the whole time.

“But, um, I write science fiction under my real name, though.” You were too busy thinking about how you gushed about someone’s actual life story, and how that someone just so happened to be your super cute neighbor that you fell in love with. You gushed about his terribly sad life story right in front of him. “That’s why I’m always inside. I’m a hermit writer.” 

You didn’t even get into the science fiction aspect of the conversation. “I would have never read it in front of you or talked about it in front of you if I knew that, I swear.” 

“I know.” He slowly took his jacket off, and then you were seeing his arms in all their glory. It truly was a beautiful prosthetic, and from how much he used his hands, you knew that it was reliable and practical. “I just needed to tell you that.” 

You could sense his unease, and it made you feel wrong. It felt like you were taking steps back. “If this is about you being bisexual, I don’t care about that. That would never bother me.” 

 For the first time since his confession, there was a ghost of a smile on his face. “I know. And I know you are, too.”

“Really?”

“I’ve seen the bookshelf in your room. No straight person reads that many books written by and for the community. And you cuff some of your jeans.” You shrugged, a small smirk on your face. He got you there. “I need to tell you something else.” 

You didn’t know if you were ready for it, but if he was, then there was no way that you were going to stop him. “Of course, go ahead.” 

“First, I should start off with telling you again that all of that,” he pointed towards her computer, “was about eleven years ago. I’m not healing, not recovering, none of that. Yeah, I’m sad about my therapist every once in a while, but I don’t feel anything for the man that Will is based off of anymore. That’s all gone.”

You swore at yourself for feeling butterflies of hope. You squashed them all down and made yourself pay full attention to Bucky, even though your mind was starting to have stupid little fantasies about picnic and stargazing with him. This is what you got for reading romance novels. “Okay, Buck.”

“I’m telling you all of this because I’m pretty sure that I’m in love with you.” Your mouth hung open, and before you could even get a word out, he was all over it again. “I have been for a while now, and I think now is the best time to tell you.” There was a pause for you to cut in, but you couldn’t form a word. “It’s okay if you don’t feel the same way or if you’re weirded out by my story-” 

“I love you too.” You blurted, watching his face become shocked. “I’ve been dying to tell you that, you know?” 

He sputtered, trying his hardest to form a coherent sentence. “Now I know.” 

You felt a smile slide onto your face as both of your racing hearts stilled to a normal, content rate. In that moment, you swore that if someone came and checked, that your heartbeats were alternating, taking energy from each other to make one long beat. You just, clicked.

“It- none of that bothers you at all?”

“If anything, I feel bad. I feel like I intruded.”

He scoffed. “You didn’t intrude, Y/N, I’m the one who published it.”

“I’m going to hug you now,” you warned, and then you two met each other half way. Your face was in his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat. You smiled when you felt him gently brush your forehead with his lips, and all felt right.

You stood there together for what felt like forever but two seconds all the same, swaying a bit subconsciously. “Are you- are you sure about being okay with all of this? I know it’s a lot. And I just kind of sprung it on you.”

There he was. The shy Bucky. You knew that he could be insecure, and you knew that he was insecure about being that way. But luckily, you felt for him so much that you could assure him for the rest of both of your days with no complaints. If it took a thousand times a day for Bucky Barnes to know that you loved him and Jack Pendleton and Elijah Harris, you would do it two thousand times.

 “Out of all the books in the store, I unknowingly chose yours.” Your voice was shaky, but you meant every word you said and were about to say. “And out of all the people in the world, I intentionally, without doubt choose you.” 

***

If someone had asked you three years ago where you thought you were going to be in life in the same amount of time, you would have told them that you were probably still going to be working in retail. That wasn’t the case at all.

  Your mother gave you a loan when Bucky persuaded you to take your talent and passion for cooking and turn it into a business. You had a medium sized restaurant that you let your mother in on, and you cooked side by side often times. It felt just like it did when you were back in the kitchen of your childhood home, but now you were getting paid for it, quite a bit. 

  Across the street from your restaurant was a bookstore that held a number of books that were written by Bucky yourself, but your favorite by far was the cook book that was technically a baking book, full of all of the recipes that he felt like giving away. 

  You didn’t expect any of that to happen within three years, at all. But what you hoped to happen most of all did, and it was proven by the simple diamond on your finger that Bucky had given you. You wanted him to think that you were surprised when he popped the question, but you weren’t. 

  After all, you could see the outline of the box that he carried for three weeks straight. 

[wizardcommune]

gundham sfw alphabet

pairing - gundham tanaka x gn!reader

warnings - none!!

word count - 1.8k

a/n - FUCK YEAH GUNDHAM (also i apologize, i got lazy near the end)

a = affection (how affectionate are they? how do they show affection?)

in the beginning of the relationship, he would definitely be very hesitant to show physical or verbal affection since it wasn’t something he was used to. he’d show his love with acts of service and giving, most likely. (giving his s/o one of the devas if he knew they’d be separated for a short period of time, bringing them small trinkets he found like pretty rocks or bones, helping them with homework, etc.)

as time goes on, though, he’d become more comfortable with showing physical affection and would grow to become a huge cuddle bug!!! please hug him for me

b = best friend (what would they be like as a best friend?)

literally the coolest friend ever. especially if you had an alternative fashion sense, he’d be so down to go clothes shopping with you LMAO

if you were okay initiating physical affection outside of a romantic relationship, and were able to make him comfortable with that, he’d totally be That Friend who cuddles with you all the time!! he’d never mention it though, and would die on impact if you brought it up in front of any of his other friends/classmates

c = cuddles (do they like to cuddle? how would they cuddle?)

once he’s comfortable with it, yeah! he’s definitely super touch starved because of him not having friends most of his life, so having someone to cuddle would make his brain go ^^^^^

honestly, he’s good with any position so it’s up to his s/o. he prefers being able to see their face, though

the first time he ever cuddled with them he cried :(( shh don’t tell anyone though

d = domestic (do they want to settle down? how are they at cooking and cleaning?)

man that’s his DREAM!! the idea of just getting to live with his s/o + animals makes his serotonin machine go BRR

honestly, i think he would fucking suck at cooking. baking, however. :))

because of having to clean up after his animals and keep things out of their way, he would naturally be a pretty neat person out of habit!! i don’t think he’d mind too much if his s/o was messy though.

e = ending (if they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

I DIDNT DO THIS ONE BECAUSE IT MADE ME SAD IM SORRY

f = fiance(e) (how do they feel about commitment? how quick would they want to get married?)

gundham already sets up so many walls, and for his s/o to be able to break those down would already mean he’d be willing to commit. i don’t think he would ever just like.... date random people for funsies, so being in a romantic relationship with someone is already so big to him.

honestly, i can’t see him being the type to want to get married. he’d definitely want to settle down! but the idea of having a traditional wedding stresses him out. (of course, that doesn’t mean he’d be any less committed :))

g = gentle (how gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

dealing with small animals like the devas has left him gentle by nature!! he doesn’t even notice it, but he is always extremely careful with his s/o with the subconscious fear of accidentally hurting them/scaring them off :(

emotion wise, i think it’d be the same. when he cares about someone (whether it be romantic or platonic) he’s always cautious of teasing them too much since he knows that it can hurt sometimes. 

h = hugs (do they like hugs? how often do they do it? what are their hugs like?)

HE FUCKINGNF LOVES HUGS

they’re probably SO good too, like he’s the type to give those hugs that make you feel so safe. full on wraps his arms completely around you and rests his head on yours if you’re shorter (since he’d such a fucking giraffe my god)

i = i love you (how fast do they say the L-word?)

it would definitely take a while for gundham to admit it. i can see him saying it on accident, like when he thinks you’re sleeping or not paying attention to him. he’d also need a lot of reassurance afterwards, just because of that initial fear of rejection

j = jealousy (how jealous do they get? what do they do when they’re jealous?)

if he sees someone flirting with his s/o and they’re uncomfortable, he’ll immediately wrap an arm around their shoulder.

“they said they’re taken, respect that knave.”

sometimes he does get insecure that’s he’s too much for his s/o, considering he’s an evil tyrant, and that they might want to leave him for someone who’s..... not an evil tyrant.... (once again, please give him a hug)

k = kisses (what are their kisses like? where do they like to kiss you? where do they like to be kissed?)

like i said before, he’s very gentle when it comes to affection so his kisses are vv soft!! he’ll always hold their chin or one of their hands.

his favorite places to kiss his s/o are probably their forehead and hands!!

he loves being kissed everywhere, but he really likes neck kisses and any kisses around his face :^)

l = little ones (How are they around children?)

he’s great with kids!! he’d tell them stories of how he defeated different warlocks that tried to test him, or giant manticores he tamed.

i think he’d really like kids too, mostly because they’re so easy to impress LMAO

it inflates his ego a little bit whenever one gets really into one of his stories

m = morning (how are mornings spent with them?)

if he wakes up before his s/o, he’d gently pull them into a hug while he waits for them to wake up (sobbing)

morning voice morning voice morning voice morning voice morning v

he memorized how his s/o likes their tea/coffee and will make it really groggily HAHA

n = night (how are nights spent with them?)

okokok hear me out

i think that gundham is a really good singer, so he would 100% sing u to sleep

he’d be embarrassed as hell though LMAOO

he’d probably cuddle them before they fall asleep and talk about each other’s days or just random stuff until they get tired

o = open (when would they start revealing things about themselves? do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

i think a few months into their friendship? he would talk about his childhood randomly, but would prefer if they don’t make a huge deal about it.

he’d open up more if his s/o did first! he would take it as they trust him enough to talk about it.

p = patience (how easily angered are they?)

it depends on the person! with someone like hiyoko, he can get pissed pretty quickly, but his patience is VERY thick with his s/o. generally, it takes a lot to anger him. 

that being said, if they put themself in danger he would get ticked off out of fear.

q = quizzes (how much would they remember about you? do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

especially in the beginning of their relationship when he was hesitant about physical/verbal affection, he would focus heavily on listening to them. he really wanted to show them that he respects them a lot, and remembering small things they mentioned would convey that well.

r = remember (what is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

after coming out of the shower, he walked in to see them asleep on his couch with the devas curled up on top of their chest. he went to go lay down with them and it just kind of.. hit him. that he wasn’t alone anymore and they loved and were there for him. :( 

s = security (how protective are they? how would they protect you? how would they like to be protected?)

he’s very protective!! (especially if you’re in the killing game) the thought of something happening to you is his worst fear. 

t = try (how much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

ALL THE EFFORT

if his s/o asks him to do something in passing, you BET he’s gonna make sure he does his best

he keeps track of anniversaries/important dates religiously because he’s terrified of accidentally forgetting LMAO

u = ugly (what would be some bad habits of theirs?)

sometimes i think he might come off as cold when embarrassed because his persona is so important to him, but if they expressed being upset he would backtrack SO fast

v = vanity (how concerned are they with their looks?)

not very much?? like, i think he would brag about his hair or something sometimes but he’s always joking LMAO

w = whole (would they feel incomplete without you?)

yes and no? if something ever happened to his s/o, he would feel horribly empty for a time. but i also think that being in a relationship could help him not feel so lonely and teach him better ways to take care of himself, so if they were to ever split he would be able to heal after he got over the initial sadness.

x = xtra (a random headcanon for them.)

he’s a Mitski Understander (TM) his favorite songs are crack baby, pink in the night, and i bet on losing dogs, i’m up for debate

and yes i absolutely will be making a gundham playlist

i don’t know if this counts since i’m 90% projecting, but i hc him as trans and ND so like. solidarity if you are too wink wonk

y = yuck (what are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

a/n - just so everyone knows, i honestly think every character would be fine with any type of person since projecting is so important to a lot of us. these are just my personal headcanons, and if they don’t apply to you please don’t take it personally!! <3

i think he would really want a kind s/o. especially with what he’s been through, someone who’s gentle/patient would mean the world to him

also someone who likes animals!! they mean so much to him and were basically his entire life until he met the others, so having someone who shared that interest would make him so happy

z = zzz (what is a sleep habits of theirs?)

it’s not uncommon for him to sleep with his animals!! he mostly just sleeps with the devas though; he would probably place them near his head or on his chest so he wouldn’t accidentally roll on them.

he also really likes cuddling with his s/o when they sleep! he wouldn’t mind being the big or little spoon, either.

[with-my-murder-flute]

by the sword (Nile genfic, 2.6k)

Fic summary: Nile learned fencing and longsword and hand-to-hand fighting long before she ever met Andy's small army. But learning with them is a new form of difficult. Not because they've got thousands of years more experience (though they do), but because this time the practice doesn't stop when somebody gets hurt.

So she has to learn about war and how you balance it out with peace. Figure out how they do it and who she wants to be. And decide which weapons suit her best.

Content notes: Explicit depiction of the injuries Nile gets when training in knife fighting and quarterstaff combat with Nicky and Joe. There are also discussions of the physical damage done by different kinds of weapons, the butchering of animals, and people cutting off their own body parts in industrial accidents. (Oh, and a positive/sympathetic portrayal of Nile as a Christian)

They promised that in March they'd start teaching Nile how to fight with a sword, but when March came, Nicky gave her a knife.

A hauntingly familiar one, even though she'd never touched it before. For a second she thought it was her own, the Ka-Bar she planted in Andy's shoulder the day they met. Instead, as she turned it over, finding it familiar in every groove and contour, she found it an anonymous and identical match to her dad's instead. Not new, with the black paint worn down around the edges of the handle, but not a knife she knew. It could have been used by any Marine in the world except her. Except her father.

"You know too much," Joe explained from the side of the hangar, where he'd tumbled an umbrella stand of swords out onto a tarp and started removing their rust with fine-grit sandpaper. "We're not knights or cavaliers. For them, swordfighting was about honour. There were rules. We don't have any of that."

Nile knew going into this that nothing she knew so far was real swordsmanship. Like yes, she could fence; she'd competed in foil and saber for two years as a teenager. But that was closer to stagefighting than actual combat. It was all so staged and carefully managed. Even in her longsword league they said over and over again, it was a martial sport, not actual combat. They could imagine what it might have been like—could land heavy blows on armour, could mime falling down dead—but that wasn't the reality of it.

It seemed to her that the purpose of beginning with knife-fighting lessons was to go over territory she already knew, and do it for real this time. Nicky said he had something else in mind, some principle of combat he meant to teach. But that wasn't what Nile noticed.

What Nile noticed was that this time, she really died.

The old people argued it over, about how to teach Nile. Andy's example made them newly-cautious, but this was the way they'd always trained: You had to do it through blood and pain, you had to fight when you were still resurrecting. It was the way Andy and Quynh had trained Nicky and Joe.

Nile wondered, in the back of her mind, if being trained like that had something to do with the way Booker... well, Booker. After he'd already had such terrible experience of war that he'd wanted to desert. But that was the kind of thing she didn't air out loud, because they'd only just stopped having that kind of useless, circular, self-flagellating argument. She figured she'd keep her own peace on Booker.

She also opined, after hearing them wrangle over it for a day or two, that she'd rather practice with live weapons and get injured among friends than play it safe and incur a dangerous injury among enemies.

And when the knife fighting started, she was grateful they hadn't moved directly to longswords.

They taught knights how to do this, Nicky said, by having them slaughter and butcher animals. It taught you your way around muscles and tendons and joints. He offered to take her to a bullfight sometime, which she didn't say sounded so barbaric she had to wonder why PETA bothered with picketing rodeos.

He said that after her trachea healed over. She hadn't actually died that time; you had to aim further up or to the side to get the carotid artery. But the horror—not actually the pain, but the horror of feeling the air wheeze through the gash in her throat—had been so overwhelming that she'd barely resisted the pin he got her in. She'd just shuddered with her arms behind her back and his weight pressing her down until it healed, and tapped out of the rest of the afternoon. He'd been understanding when she didn't want to be around him for a bit, and let Joe gather her into a hug and let her cry.

That was when he told her about the bulls. She told him about Chicago's meatpacking district, about the old men she knew who'd butchered hogs every day of their lives for decades. About how they said they got numb to it, until one day one of them cut off his thumb with a machine and didn't feel it, until the guy next to him looked over and noticed all the new blood. About how after you see too much violence, your brain just stops processing it. About how a study on kids in the next neighbourhood over from hers had shown they had permanently elevated levels of cortisol, a sign that their bodies were under stress all the time and didn't know how to calm down.

Those were the kind of conversations Andy couldn't stay in the room for. She slunk off somewhere and got drunk, and you saw her the next morning, maybe. Nile used to judge her a lot more for it, but the day her throat got cut she let Joe and Nicky feed her a red wine as soft as velvet and fell asleep pressed against Joe on the sofa and understood, deeper than words, just how much keeping sane meant feeling anything other than your body shattering into pain.

Nicky braided her hair, the next day. Slow and careful, a little unpracticed, singing ballads in a language that wasn't exactly dead, but only had a few thousand speakers left in northern Italy. Their composer hadn't been good, exactly, but they'd been snowed into a castle with him one winter in the 1680s, so Nicky remembered his entire repertoire. Nile listened to the music and knew he'd refuse if she offered to record it, or write it down. One of the songs felt like the length of a novel (but was, when she checked her phone, more like one hour twenty) and by the end of it she was singing the chorus along with him, and it occurred to her that she could simply ask him to teach her.

"You can't rescue every one you see," she remembered her mom saying, when she found a half-stunned bird on the sidewalk. That was what it felt like with languages.

That afternoon Andy took her to the market. Ostensibly it was for groceries, but Andy didn't do simple errands, especially not when it involved food. She stopped to smell fruit Nile had never heard of; Google told Nile that medlar and quince were related to apples and also, apparently, roses. Nile had to try pine nuts, wild mustard, and three different kinds of yogurt drinks, one of which tasted of roses. Andy protested when she added a bag of potatoes to the load, saying they were bland, but Nile, who'd had enough of turnips, sweetly told her to pay the fuck up.

If you were lonely, and hurting, and didn't have someone to hold you, you could comfort yourself like this. Sunshine and sweetmeats and the steady hands of friends. Something, but probably still not enough. Nile understood it but it made her chest ache. She felt, sometimes, a little glad that Andy would die someday, the way families felt helping someone keep alive from cancer. Of course you wanted them to be alive, but you didn't want them to suffer.

Joe moved her on to staff fighting the next day. It was, he said, not the most useful of weapons in the current day and age, since it was most useful against long bladed weapons, "And who else but us uses those?" But there was some kind of theoretical basis behind the progression of her teaching, from weapon to weapon, and after knife came staff.

To tell the truth, Nile liked it. She'd learned about quarterstaff in her longsword weapons, as something that could defeat a swordsman, but nobody anybody she knew actually practiced it, because while you could wear percussion-resistant cloth and keep safe with blunted swords, there was simply no defending your bones against the percussive strike of a giant whirling stick.

There was something less offensive about getting your skull split or your collarbone broken, compared to getting stabbed. Partly it was because Joe was just a much nicer teacher, slower and more patient, while Nicky would keep stabbing you as you fought to reach your own knife. But also it felt more impersonal, more like an accident that had happened to you.

Okay, and it was also more fun. Knives created small imaginary hemispheres of pain, the angle of the arm as it swept out. Quarterstaves were huge, so long that if you wanted to get around them, sometimes it was literally easier to flip yourself into the air or dump your opponent to the ground instead of getting the staff to move. The first time she managed to run up a wall to get leverage on him, it felt so awesome she didn't actually mind that much that he popped her shoulder out taking her back down.

It was bloody and violent and really would have been impossible if dying had been a significant barrier for them. It made Nile laugh in a high-on-endorphins way, because it felt like she could finally push past the pain and find a place beyond her limits. It felt like being free. Like all her life she'd been wearing a heavy armor of caution, knowing she'd had to keep herself alive, and now she just felt the lightness of taking it off.

There were tears at the back of that laughter, about everything she'd lost because of it, but she pushed that away and went to shower. She and Joe spent the evening on Youtube, watching videos of capoeira and wushu, while the other two made a batch of some kind of pickled egg they thought they remembered from three hundred years ago.

Nile hugged Andy sometimes, because she looked like she needed to be hugged. Andy almost never turned her down.

A long time ago, she thought she remembered, holding a sword had seemed to transport her to some other time. Some other place. Like the sword had been a tangible connection to the past, to a time when things felt... clearer, or truer, or more real somehow. Like the feeling the word "honour" gave her, of something echoing and amplifying through a vaulted space. There was a time when people fought with swords for what they believed in. There was a time when you knew what was right and what was wrong and laid down your life accordingly.

She'd been twelve and believed in fairytales. So sue her.

The swords in their armory spelled out a long story of misery and war. When she held them now, Nile felt like she could feel the bodies that had come into contact with their blades. Curved single-bladed sabers and scimitars, ideally wielded from horseback, meant for a decisive downward chop. Nicky's giant longswords, meant to peel an armored knight like a tin can. (He'd used it, he said, to similar effect on a tank once or twice.) Andy's axes showed her age; before they had the metallurgy to make an entire blade, it was better to use a wood polearm with a blade on the end, and focus the sharp metal to a curved edge, to as small a surface area as possible.

Andy's axes showed her age, but not theirs; they were less than ten years old. Steel, especially steel that came into contact with blood, aged fast enough (and could only take so much of a beating) that the old people knew and had opinions on all the modern replica manufacturers. The oldest blades in the collection were used at Waterloo, only a little more than 200 years ago.

(Nile wondered, as she polished one and rubbed a state-of-the-art hydrophobic finish on it, if the quarterstaff lessons were actually preparing her to fight Booker, should she ever find herself opposing him. It was the kind of thing she couldn't help but think about the logistics of. Surely firearms would be more effective, she initially reasoned, except... guns jammed, guns broke, guns overheated, guns ran out of bullets. And then your gun became a very expensive bludgeon. And you're facing a swordsman who's had 200 years to train. So... why not try a very big stick?)

She knew that even this team could betray her. Even they could fight for the wrong cause. They'd supported revolutions that turned into dictatorships and fought alongside people who turned out to be monsters. There was no promise, no moral certainty, in violence.

So she felt really stupid about it, but the truth was that holding a sword... still brought back that old emotion. That feeling of being capable of doing things. Fighting for a better world. It made her feel taller. It made her feel like her life had a purpose that she'd been heading towards since she was young.

Like God had called her for a special purpose.

Which she'd never say to any of the rest of them, since Andy had been a god and Nicky had been a holy warrior and Joe had broken down completely once, when they let him get too close to a newspaper. They'd only ever hear it with the weight of all the horror they had seen.

So instead she had to carry it as a private conviction, a calling she would have to follow by herself, her own career to make holy instead of horrific. Like when she joined the Marines. Freer, in some ways, but even more out of her depth, not sure she totally understood the situations she was injecting herself into.

The fact that she wasn't sure she ever could walk the path of righteousness and keep herself always on the side of good... was absolutely no inducement not to try. It never had been.

"Picked one yet?" Andy asked, from the door.

"What, you guys weren't gonna pick one for me?" Nile asked, craning her neck around. Andy had her hands buried in the pockets of her jacket, smiling faintly.

"Some things, nobody can pick for you," she said. She picked up one of Nile's polished sabers and admired the sheen along its blade. "Your last-ditch weapon, least of all."

Nile already had a secret favourite of all the swords, but what she found herself saying was, "I want us to do some training in de-escalation."

Andy looked aside from the blade. "Sorry?"

Nile took a deep breath, her heart suddenly pounding like crazy. "That's what I was trained in, aside from combat. De-escalating conflicts. When I was a security guard, we... I got a course on mental health crisis from a guy who does hostage negotiation. I want... we should practice it."

She was ready to be seared by Andy's instant, caustic sarcasm. By a reminder that they were a specialist unit brought in when negotiation failed. Instead Andy looked back at the sword, twisting it to catch the light. "Was it useful?"

"Yeah," Nile said, trying not to let the breath shudder out of her in one long exhale. She didn't want Andy to know how nervous she'd been. "There's a... a lotta conflicts that don't have to turn violent, if you just approach it in..." She ran out of steam for an instant, and shrugged. "If you know how to respond."

"See if there's a webinar," Andy said, which flabbergasted Nile so much—coming from Andy!—that she didn't have anything to say while Andy set the saber down and sauntered back out of the building.

Nile sat for a good long while after that, surrounded by swords on a floor stained with her own blood, and got her breathing under control. Eventually she took her knife out of its sheath and looked it over.

It felt silly, to take a sacred oath on a Ka-Bar knife.

"I swear to almighty God," she said to it, anyway, "that I will use you as my last resort. Not my first."

[lcnelyinthesky]

admiration - tsukishima kei

a/n: okay hi?? im ellie?? heres this??? i worked on it for like four? days?on and off? and its longer than any oneshot ive written but yk shes cute ig. pls be nice pls enjoy... but also my last piece got 2 notes and im really hopin in not shadowbanned here lmao

genre: fluff, angst, rivals to lovers!!

pairing: bisexual!female!reader x tsukishima kei (yes bi reader its a vibe)

warnings: a break up with a beautiful woman i made up myself, swearing

word count: 3.7k (ahhhh!!)

enjoy!! :D

Elementary second year. Your newly-assigned seat was next to a much taller, blond kid. He was smart and bright, rivaling the sun in terms of unbridled joy. Now, none of that can be seen by eight year old eyes, but looking back and comparing, it's easy to spot that he changed. 

Tsukishima Kei was an excitable kid, just as everyone was, but he was still snarky; his arrogance seemed to be something that just festered within his soul, no matter the trauma that brought it out. 

Childlike wonder is still alive and well at eight. 

The teacher you had back then was quite rude. She was pushy and angry, and she assigned way too much homework. Everything she uttered made you huff in disappointment, crossing your arms and hoping for some sort of reaction from someone. The kid next to you was named Koji--or, at least, that's what you called him. He was your best friend, spending every moment with you like you were siblings. You'd be able to crack a joke with the smallest glance and you’d talk constantly. As soon as your handwriting was legible to people of your age group, you'd pass notes back and forth and cackle at their contents. Until, of course,

“Tsukishima, will you switch seats with Kojikata today?” Your teacher sounded exhausted, huffing her sentence out on a sigh before going back to the multiplication tables on the board. Suddenly, your little world was interrupted.

“Y/N, right?” He didn’t look at you, placing his folders down on the desk and pushing his glasses back up as he sat. His words were hushed and quiet, but the class had moved into individual work--he wasn’t interrupting anyone.

“Yeah. Can I call you Tsukki?” You were angry, gripping your pencil tighter in your little hand as you wrote numbers down on white paper. One times one is one. Two times two is four. This is easy.

“No,” he was long doing the same thing, but writing quicker than you. That’s how it is, huh?

Three times two is six. Four times five is twenty. Six times three is eighteen. Five times six is thirty. This is easy-

“Miss, I’m done.” His voice was always so dry. Uninterested. 

Four times three is twelve. “Me too!” Your hand shot up with the paper in it, sending a death glare at the boy next to you.

That's how it is, huh?

This pattern continued for weeks. Tsukishima didn’t move from his seat next to you, as your teacher had made the realization that you worked far harder without friends around. Tsukishima lit a competitive fire under you; everything was now a race.

It started with handing in assignments. Who would go up to the front desk first to have their work checked over? Who would finish this quiz faster? Then it transferred into everything. 

Who would get to class faster? Who finished their lunch quicker? Who could read faster? Who scored higher on spelling tests? Who could run faster in gym class?

And then it was middle school.

Middle school brought in Yamaguchi Tadashi. 

It'd be an understatement to say he warmed to Yamaguchi quickly, but the basis behind that was strange. Tsukishima was never one for friends, even though everyone wanted to be friends with him. He was cool in the eyes of a handful of eleven year olds; letting everything roll off your back seemed to be an admirable trait. Yamaguchi worshipped him, and Tsukishima took him under his wing to teach him the ropes of being a cool kid.

At heart, though, Yamaguchi was kind and attentive. He could tell when things were going wrong, and supposedly it was him that changed the rest of your life.

The rivalry continued just as it had in elementary, just with higher stakes. You'd fight for answering questions first, working ahead of everyone else to just beat him. He’d never bat an eye at it, and sometimes you thought it was all over, but then

“Y/N.” Tsukishima Kei stood three steps behind you, looming over you with the height he was seemingly born with. The hallway was emptying by now, kids walking into their classrooms once again. The white floors rung with the quiet sounds of soft-bottomed shoes and a light above your head flickered calmly.

“Yeah?” You spun around to meet his gaze.

“What’d you get on that lit essay?”

“A 96. Why?”

“No reason,” he smirked and tilted his head up, looking down at you, “I got a 100.”

A huff and a stomp away gave him the answer he needed as he followed you into the classroom, sitting down behind you and next to Yamaguchi just as he did every day. The little shit.

Tsukishima was never better than you, technically speaking. On average and on paper, you were always both roughly the same. You'd fight for being top of the class, the position switching between both of you every day. You excelled in creative things while he excelled at sports, but both of you dabbled in the other. When people in your year began dating, everyone came to assume you two were. It was embarrassing, really, because Tsukishima Kei was a little shit know-it-all who will never beat me at anything ever and people need to stop thinking he will because he won’t I’m better than hi-

“Hey?” Oh right. Friends.

“Koji!” He never left, at least not yet. His nimble fingers tapping on your shoulder brought you back to reality, making you jump and turn around to face him, wrapping your arms around his body for a split second.

“You looked zoned” his face was riddled with concern that was easy to write off.

“Oh, whoops” a small blush heated your cheek as your hand migrated to rub your neck. “Did you want something?”

As you walked into the classroom a bit further, Koji sat on your right; he seemed to buckle down more when you had moved away from each other way back in the day, so there were less mid-class comedy shows. He grew up just as you had, and with the closeness of the two of you people began to think you were dating. At twelve, it was incredibly necessary to date someone--anyone. Theories bounced from everywhere and anywhere and with you it was either your best friend or your biggest rival. Your lack of attraction to either of them became the center of many late night crises. 

“Not particularly,” his gaze switched from you to the board again, beginning to write something down when he turned his head. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah! Of course I am,” you smiled at him, the kind of smile that made your eyes crinkle at the corners, and suddenly it was high school.

-

“Tsukishima is really cute! And he's smart, I heard that Kageyama wasn’t too bright somewhere.”

“But Kageyama’s so much hotter! His being a little dumb sometimes is endearing.”

“Are we not going to talk about that third year setter, Sugawara?”

“No, he’d never go for a first year. Besides, that Hinata kid is more of an enigma.”

“Have you even seen them play?” A howl of angry “yes”s fell over the crowd, trying to prove something. None of them had ever seen them play.

That asshole Tsukishima getting popular felt like a stab in the soul. None of them knew him or how much he sucked, but the amount of girls fawning over him was horrific.

-

There's something consistently poetic about young love, no matter where it comes from. Something extra sweet about holding pinkies in school corridors when no one is looking and seeing them every day, smiling loudly as the sun broke over the horizon all bright and early. The raging hormones and dumb, fake social hierarchies of fifteen make emotions run wild, and only the deeply immature end up helplessly infatuated. Others are more cautious, but there's only so many precautions one can take at fifteen. Sometimes some of us just want to be loved, no matter the sincerity of it.

Cared for, and whatnot. No harm in that, in the long run at least. 

“Y/N, right?” Her name was Mei. She was in your class; 1-4, just like Tsukishima. She was pretty. Long, black hair was preceded by two green streaks at the front. She’d always have those down, making her features look like a photo in a perfect frame. She had a collection of hair clips with small shapes on them that she’d have somewhere on her person at all times. Her more mid-sized body was paler than most, and she was covered in freckles and moles. Her eyes were an unusual shade of blue that looked deep enough to swim in. Her cheeks were always stained with a peachy blush that moved up her collarbones and into her ears, making her look like she was always smiling no matter what her face was doing. Karasuno’s school uniform did wonders for her curves, the skirt swaying up on occasion and making her look so damn perfect.

“Yeah! You’re…” a second of dumbfounded pause felt like years in your mind, coming to the conclusion that she was the most beautiful girl you had ever met. “Ojiro Mei?”

“Yep! I just wanted to tell you you looked really pretty today!” Her voice always had an upward inflection, and was higher than most. It was cute. Incredibly cute.

“Oh.” A moment of confidence fell over you like you weren’t in control of your actions, “you’re beautiful.”

“Thank you very much,” she bounced back on her toes and then rolled back to her heels, hands intertwined behind her back, “You’re too kind, Y/N.” Her sentences were always punctuated with an eye-crinkling smile.

Later that day, you found her on every social media account you could; she messaged you first.

When you don’t know you’re interested in women, it’s hard to notice that they’re flirting with you, but after a handful of supposed gay panic, you asked her on a date.

She was two inches shorter than you, and somehow that persisted no matter what shoes she was wearing. Every small outing with her felt like cloud nine--watching the sunset, small conversation over tea at a nearby cafe, cuddling in your bedroom with only a string of Christmas lights on. She always looked so wonderful in soft lighting, the potential cold of winter disappeared with pale beiges that made her freckles look like stars. Every action Mei ever did was soft and full of care. She could send every single emotion through her fingertips on your jaw, deepening a kiss you started moments before. She was like magic, until she wasn't anymore.

You supposed, when thinking back, that things fell out around month thirteen. The rose colored lenses everything was viewed through faded a bit, and it's easy to notice her pulling away. There were less late night phone calls and less recommended music and less hands running through your hair. Everything has a natural progression to the end, right?

“Do you still feel it?” It was raining. Large drops of water fell down to the floor, smacking the pavement at speeds you couldn’t even try to measure. She was wearing a bright yellow raincoat that looked almost dull in the four pm light. 

“Feel what?”

“Anything, baby.” All of her words ended with a huffed out sigh, like she was tired of something. Lying, maybe. 

You pondered the question, and it seemed like your hesitation gave her all the answer she needed. 

“Ya know, Y/N.” She looked down and grabbed your hands with hers, rubbing her thumbs on your palms as you grabbed around them. “This was fun. We had a good run.”

A solemn tear fell down your cheek at the ending, but there was no use in self pity or anger now. She was so sweet and kind, and it's truly unthinkable how she continued that kindness in the end.

“Yeah. A good run.” The pink in your cheeks grew as you choked out a laugh, pulling her in for one final hug under the dim fluorescent lights on the front door overhang of the school.

Fifteen came and went with love, and when sixteen rolled around you wondered if you’d ever be loved like that again.

-

A spirit can't be broken overnight, and if you’ve spent the last eight years of your life having a strong, consistent rivalry with someone, it won’t leave any time soon. Tsukishima and you were on similar playing fields for most of your life, but you had one thing he didn’t: relationship experience. In that way, you always counted yourself one point higher, like a boy scout badge. 

For a spell, however, your intensity changed. There was nothing more driving you than spite, and there was nothing you wanted more than to beat him. You were well into your second year of high school at this point, and--volleyball notwithstanding--you had wins over Tsukishima. You had seen him play volleyball, every match in his second year, and you deemed he was simply okay. You refused to count his success onto the list of wins for both of you.

June fifteenth. Tournaments were coming up around the corner when it happened, which explained every reason why he was there. You weren’t exactly prepared for the rain, so the best bet seemed to be sitting at the front entrance of Karasuno High School and wallowing in a little bit more self pity before you went home. You were just dumped after all, the tears weren’t done falling. 

The feeling between sadness and shame overflowed you, shades of yellowish green painting the world around you and churning your gut into oblivion. And the tears fell. It felt like a scene in a movie; in a few seconds, a strong, capable man would show up to your rescue.

“Y/N?” what the fuck?

He was sweaty. His face was matte from a light film of saltwater. He had a grey umbrella over his head, keeping himself dry from the still-pelting rain. His six-foot-two frame was covered with a black tracksuit, and he still had his sports goggles on.

Those fucking sports goggles.

“Tsukishima.” you deadpanned, trying to get him away as fast as possible. His words were snarky, as always, but this time laced with concern. Like he actually cared.

“What are you still doing here? It’s almost six,” he stood under the overhang with you, crouching to take a few feet off of his incredible height. 

“Sulking?”

“Ah,” he huffed and sat down next to you, “it’s not great for your posture, ya know.”

“Oh shut up, Tsukishima.”

“Remember when we were eight,” he looked up, studying the moths as they flew around the lights on the ceiling, “and you asked if you could call me Tsukki?”

“Vaguely, but we were eight.”

“Yeah, true” his head dramatically fell to his lap, staring at his knees as he chuckled, “but you can. Call me Tsukki, that is.”

An uncomfortable laugh fell from your lips, and he spoke for you, “this one kid, Koganegawa, the setter on Date Tech, calls me that too. It's not a Tadashi-only nickname anymore.”

“You say Tadashi-only like I wasn’t there first.”

“He never asked.”

“Would you have said no?”

“Probably” he hasn’t actually looked at you yet. 

“Should I not have asked?”

“It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“Okay, Tsukki” you drew out the last letter, giggling at the situation before you had time to think about your emotions.

He noticed that you weren’t crying anymore and helped you stand, grabbing your hand and pulling you up. Tsukishima and you lived closer than you thought, walking the same direction and only splitting up seconds away from your home.

You walked in silence the whole time, but it was comfortable. While he was your rival, he was always a friend. There was nothing scary or intimidating about him, as is with most people when you’ve known them forever; it was almost like his facade just didn’t work on you. You were huddled close to him to stay out of the rain. 

The second you parted ways, you ran home. The rain was more of a drizzle now, but the temperature began a free fall--getting out of the cold as fast as possible was your first priority. Upon entering the front door and taking off your shoes and jacket, leaving everything to sit in the entryway, you took a shower. The rain didn’t do enough to wash away the pain of the day, and warm steam would let the rest evaporate. The expected unrelenting sadness wasn’t really present as much as was expected, though. Everything felt fine. Content. Okay.

-

And it continued that way. He sent you a snapchat asking if you had gotten home safely, which prompted a memory of you never giving each other your phone numbers. After a quick yes, tsukki. no need to worry ;), you sent him your number asking to play some game.

Whatever is meant to happen does, right? Any excuse for falling for him. You didn’t want to, of course, but things happen. Time changes. Thus, the excuses. Thus, the ignorance. Thus, the five stages of grief. 

It started with the denial, because no Y/N you can’t like Tsukishima Kei. He’s so competitive and mean and snarky and horrible and you hate him! Then, the anger, because Tsukishima sucks and he’s horrible and you’re going to punch him in his stupid cute face. Next, the bargaining, because please don’t let this be happening you’ll do anything to lose these feelings, even if it means letting him win at something. Going into the depression, because all you’ve ever wanted was to be free of this assclown and now you’re stuck thinking about him at three in the morning when you’re supposed to be dreaming about anything other than him. And finally, acceptance, when you scowl at him in the hallway because fuck, you like Tsukishima Kei.

The worst bit of acceptance is getting over it. Now you had to confront your feelings. Now you needed to tell him. 

It was roughly five months since he found you sulking on school grounds, and you regretted most days the way you let him text you every morning. It’d always be something stupid, like a joke about the novel you were reading in lit or sometimes he’d tell you, off hand, something dumb Hinata and Kageyama did at practice. Sometimes he’d text you, within the first twenty minutes of the school day, pointing out something little you did with your hair. They were never really compliments as much as comments; he’d say “your socks have a pink ring at the top” and give you nothing to work with from there. A simple yes would suffice, you always supposed, because “yes, tsukki. they do.”

He’d linger at his desk during the break between classes and would stay there if you didn’t leave, but would leave a few steps behind you if you did. He wouldn’t follow you, but he’d watch to know where you were going. Everything he did was concealed though--you'd only notice if you really wanted to know.

Yamaguchi was the only one to notice, even after a while of it. You’ll never know what he said to his friend, but the conversation you had with the aforementioned friend a day later gives some guesses.

“Y/N?” Tsukishima was never the shy type, and you knew him in the days where everyone was shy. He wasn’t loud, but he was bold. His words were always pointed and important. Everything he did always had purpose and intensity behind it.

“Tsukki?” You were sitting under a tree, enjoying the late spring weather of the beginning of your third year. Nothing became intense yet classwork wise, so there was ample time to chill on the school grounds. Overlooking the soccer field was a large oak tree. It was big enough to comfortably have multiple groups of people under its shade, but it was empty at the moment; save for you and the book you were reading.

“I was just wondering if you’d like to maybe go out sometime?” He somehow didn’t pause while talking, but his words came out more something akin to word vomit. You we’re more shocked than you should have been, if you had picked up on the signs. But you were feeling the same as he was, as far as you could tell.

“Sure, when?” You looked back down at your book for a second, placing the bookmark in it and folding the pages shut.

Tsukishima looked dumbfounded, standing there with his eyes bugged out and his mouth slightly agape. He started making unintelligible babbling noises, hoping to get something out that had any meaning at all. You took the reins instead, gaining confidence in his lack thereof.

“I was planning on getting coffee or something today after school. It gets really cold at night now, huh?”

“Yeah, I suppose.”

“Would you like to join me?”

“There's a break before practice today so” he hesitated, letting the pink in his cheeks finally catch up to the beating in his chest. “Sure.”

You wouldn’t have ever pegged Tsukishima Kei as the flustered type.

-

There was never a drop in conversation, as there never really was between you two. A whole life together and you still had things to talk about, mentioning everything from your individual childhoods to recent developments. Turns out he never knew what genre of books were your favorite. Or what kind of music you listened to. Or what any of your hobbies were. 

Turns out you both had more in common than you thought, competitive spirits notwithstanding. Tsukishima Kei was a strange man in every sense of the word. He was arrogant and snarky and disinterested and bright and passionate and smart. He was your rival, smug look plastered on his smug face making your chest bubble in anger just as it had a million times before--or was that admiration this time? The world may never know. 

All that was real right now was the deck of cards on the table, being separated out into a card game both of you learned as kids. The small, round, cafe table shook with every slap of your hands, but the basis of your relationship would always be competition. It's just that now the anger behind that competition was gone. All that was left was admiration. 

[marjansmarwani]

we’re not broken, just bent

7.1k || ao3

When the school year started, Carlos Reyes had not been expecting to fall for the new English teacher. When he met TK Strand, Carlos had not expected to find the love he had always wanted so close at hand. Now that they have each other everything seems just a bit brighter, and a bit lighter. Navigating the twists of turns or life and teaching and relationships isn’t always easy, but if Carlos gets to keep TK Strand in his life, he will do anything to make it work - even if he doesn’t always get it right on the first try. 

Or, Teacher AU, Part 2

Revisiting one of my favorite AUs for Day 6 of Carlos Reyes Week. Find the first part here. 

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

“You would think that by now you would know better than to have your phone out at my table, Carlos Alberto Reyes.” 

Carlos looked, startled, from his phone to find his mother looking at him pointedly while his dad tried not to look too amused from his seat across from Carlos. He blinked, before realizing he must have been staring at his phone for longer than he had thought before hastily sliding it back into his pocket. “Sorry,” he offered sheepishly, “were you saying something?”

His father didn’t even bother to contain his laughter at that and his mother rolled her eyes, “I was, but now I’m more interested to know who this boy that has you glued to your phone is.”

“Who says it’s a boy?” Carlos said defensively, ignoring the feeling of heat climbing up his cheeks. 

“Unless something significant has changed in the past 2 weeks I’d say it’s a pretty safe bet, mijo,” his mother deadpanned. “He must be something special to make you smile like that.”

“I wasn’t smiling.” 

His mom looked unimpressed, but his dad snorted outright, “it’s a good thing you’re a good teacher kid, because you would make a lousy actor.” 

“You know if you guys are just going to keep ganging up on me I might just stop coming over for Sunday lunches.” 

“It’s not wise to make empty threats Carlos, we all know you can’t resist my cooking.” 

“I wonder what it’s like to have nice parents.” 

Both of his parents ignored his jab. His dad returned his attention to his lunch while his mother leaned closer, “you know I have to tease you, Carlos, it’s my job. But if this boy makes you as happy as those smiles seem to indicate, then I am happy for you. I’d also like to meet him,” she added almost as an afterthought. 

“Mom.”

“It’s a mother’s prerogative, Carlos. You should bring him by for lunch one Sunday.”

His mother was looking at him earnestly, but Carlos turned his gaze instead to the food on his plate, “things are still pretty new,” he admitted, “I don’t want to move too fast. He’s still a little gun shy from some past experiences, I want to make sure we go at a pace that works for him.”

He could feel the gaze of both of his parents on him now, but he kept his focus on his plate. It was something that he had been reminding himself of every day. TK had opened up to him, had told him everything and all the ways his ex had hurt him. He had made huge strides and put so much of it behind him, but Carlos was still wary. He didn’t want to push too hard; he didn’t want to risk what they were starting by being too hasty. What they had right now was so good, and if being patient and a little cautious meant he got to keep it, Carlos was okay with that. 

He knew his mother was studying him without even having to see her face. When he did look up and meet her eyes, she gave him a smile, “You have always had a big heart mijo, it’s one of the things that makes you so special. You’ve spent your life always looking out for others, so I just need to ask: is that what you want too? Is that what is going to make you happy?” 

He holds his mother’s gaze, and can feel his father watching them both. They’re waiting for him to answer, giving him time to think about it, but he doesn’t need to: “Yes Mom, he makes me happy.” 

She smiles wide and reaches out to place a hand on top of his, “Then I am sure we will love him, whenever we get to meet him.” 

-----------

“How was lunch with your parents?” 

Carlos looked up from the coffee machine on TK’s counter to see his boyfriend watching him from the table. Carlos shrugged as the pot finished brewing, pouring the fresh coffee into two mugs, “Pretty much the usual, but with the addition of them giving me shit about being on my phone because someone was texting me.” 

“I refuse to be guilted for wanting to talk to my boyfriend,” TK declared as he accepted the offered mug, “besides, if I had to suffer through Mateo’s niece's softball game, I wasn’t going to do it alone.” 

“Good to know I could bring you some comfort in such trying times.” 

TK rolled his eyes at him as he settled into the seat across from him and he grinned. He studied TK for a moment, taking in how at ease he looked. It was a far cry from the man he had met back in September, with walls a mile high and still living out of boxes because he was too scared to put down roots. Looking around his apartment now, you would never know. 

The bookshelves were haphazardly arranged with books and mementos, and the walls were covered in pictures. Some included the backdrop of the Big Apple, but more and more were of his new life here in Austin. There were pictures of TK and his team on trivia nights and bowling outings. There was a picture from the faculty-student volleyball game, and more than a few of TK and Carlos. It was a physical reminder of how far they’d come; a visual representation of their journey together. 

Not that Carlos had forgotten a single moment of it, but it was still nice to see it memorialized. 

That reminded him of his mom’s question earlier, and his answer. He hadn’t needed to think about it and here was the proof: he was happy. It had only been a few months, but being with TK Strand was everything Carlos had always wanted, but had been becoming less and less sure he would ever get. 

“They asked about you, actually,” he finally said, breaking the comfortable silence. 

TK looked up abruptly, surprise written all over his face, “They did?” 

Carlos nodded, “They, uh...they want you to come over for lunch with me some week.” 

“Oh.” 

The response was soft, but it set Carlos’s nerves on end. They were in such a good place, he didn’t want to ruin this. He should have never brought it up, “I told them it was too soon,” he said quickly, “that we were taking it slow.” 

“Oh,” TK said again, voice still quiet, “okay.” 

There was something in his expression Carlos couldn’t quite identify, but before he could dive deeper into it, TK changed the subject. 

“Remind me again why we always seem to save all this for Sunday night?” 

Carlos glanced down to his abandoned stack of papers waiting to be graded and back to find TK looking at him mournfully beside his own stack. 

“Because we are responsible adults who understand time management?” he offered. 

“Sounds right,” TK agreed, turning his focus back down to the paragraph he had been reading. Carlos finished the paper he had been on before he decided they needed fresh coffee and reached for the next one in the stack, only to frown as he read the first line: In the novel Things Fall Apart, the main character Okonkwo…

He doesn’t read the rest, because his classes don’t read Things Fall Apart. He holds it up to TK instead, “I think this is one of yours.”

TK scowled at the offending paper, “Do you want to grade it?” 

“I do not.”  

“And here I thought you liked me.” 

Carlos gave him an unimpressed look and pushed the paper towards him. TK took the offered paper with a dramatic sigh, “I love teaching, I really do, but every time I let the grading pile up I question my life choices all over again.” 

“I guess that is on us for deciding to teach English,” Carlos mused, “I hear other content areas don’t have to grade piles of writing each week.” 

“So you’re saying we should switch content areas? Just show up tomorrow and tell Judd we’re teaching new stuff now?”

“Gym teacher always did sound kind of appealing,” Carlos admitted wistfully, “it would be a lot less grading.” 

“Now that is an idea I can get behind,” TK said appreciatively, running a suggestive gaze over Carlos’s form, “does it come with those little shorts?”

Carlos gave his boyfriend an exasperated look before reaching over to grab a pen, which he threw at him, “Focus, Strand. Work now, play later.” 

“Authoritative too - I’m liking gym teacher Carlos more and more.” 

“You’re incorrigible.” 

“Prepping for your SAT tutoring sessions?” 

“Yes, actually. Which is why I really need to get this done, if you don’t mind.” 

The words had far more bite than he had intended and he regretted them the moment they were out of his mouth. TK’s expression softened as he handed the pen Carlos had just tossed at him, “I’m sorry Carlos, I know you have a lot on your plate right now. I didn’t mean to distract you.” 

“No,” Carlos countered, running a hand through his hair, “you’re fine, I’m sorry for snapping. I’m just a little tense, I think.”

“Can’t imagine why,” TK said lightly, “it’s not like you were asked to take over SAT prep for the entire 12th grade on top of everything you already do or anything.” 

“Not the whole thing, just the English portion.” 

“That’s enough Carlos. And you’re going to do great with it because you're an amazing teacher. And I’m going to help you, however I can - starting with shutting up and getting my work done so you can get some work done, I promise.” 

TK gave him a smile and Carlos watched as he returned to his work, biting on his lip absentmindedly as he read, reaching down occasionally to write something in the margins. As he thought he gently tapped his pen against his mouth and when he went to stretch his shirt rode up ever so slightly, giving Carlos a peek at his toned chest. As all this was happening, Carlos made a decision. 

“One more hour, then we put it away,” he announced. 

TK glanced at him in surprise, “You sure? We still have a lot to do.”  

“Nobody’s going to die if these assignments aren’t graded tonight,” Carlos reminded him. “Besides, I can think of many other things I would rather do on a Sunday night when I have you all to myself, Mr. Strand.” 

TK confused expression melted and a coy grin took its place, “Oh, is that so Mr. Reyes?”

“I guess you’ll just have to wait an hour to find out.” 

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

“Remind me again what we’re doing?” 

“We’re putting up a bulletin board of 9th graders who have been on the honor roll for the first two quarters.” 

“Uh-huh. And why am I - someone who does not teach 9th graders - the one helping you?” 

“Because Marwani and Chavez get too distracted during this kind of stuff and while your boyfriend would usually be my choice, he’s grading essays. And you know how he gets when he’s grading essays. Besides, don’t pretend like you’re hating the chance to get to see some more of my face, Reyes.” 

Carlos rolled his eyes at Paul as he handed him the next stack of papers to be stapled to the bulletin board in the front entry of the school, “That is blatantly false, I object.” 

“Then maybe it’s the fact that you’re too nice to tell me no.” 

“I am not too nice to leave you stranded here with no help Strickland, don’t tempt me.” 

“It always does my heart good to hear the dulcet tones of inter-grade level cooperation,” a new voice said wryly and Carlos twisted around to see Judd Ryder approaching. “Do y’all need a babysitter or can you play nice?” 

“I think we can handle it,” Carlos assured him, “but if not I’ll let you know.” 

“Please try not too, I have so much paperwork to catch up on.” 

“Ah, the glamorous life of an administrator,” Paul noted as he stapled more student names up onto the board, “next you’re going to wow us with tales of your endless meetings.” 

“You laugh now, but give it a few more years and you might just decide to give it a try yourself. I think you'd have a knack for it - both of you.” 

“But if we took you up on that you’d be down two teachers,” Carlos pointed out, “better not risk it.” 

“Besides,” Paul added as he climbed down from the chair he had been standing on, “I greatly prefer only having to deal with misbehaving teenagers. You can have all the problem-causing adults, thank you very much.” 

“I’d try to argue, but you’re right. Sometimes I miss the days where the kids were the only ones I was responsible for. Since I’ve got you here though Reyes, I wanted to check in - how’s the SAT prep going?” 

Carlos shrugged, “we’re having our first session tonight, but the signup sheet makes it look like there should be a good turn out.” 

“Good. Thanks again for taking on the extra work, I know it can’t have been easy.” 

Carlos shrugged again, “if it helps them then why not? It’s only a few sessions, not a big deal.”

Judd nodded and gave him a smile, “Still, I really appreciate it. I do actually have stuff to do so I’m going to head back to my office, try to behave yourselves out here.” 

With a wave to them both he was gone, and Paul turned to Carlos with raised eyebrows, “It’s only a few sessions, not a big deal? Man, talk about brown-nosing: you have been a walking stress headache since you took that on.”  

“Yeah, but that was all the prep work. Running the actual sessions should be fine.” 

“Either you’re Superman or you’re lying to yourself.” 

“How are things going in the 9th grade wing? I’ve been so busy I haven’t had a chance to stop by in a while.” 

Paul’s look clearly stated how much subtlety Carlos lacked, but he answered regardless, “Pretty good. No major drama for the past few months, thank god. Just a lot of the typical teen drama.” 

“Then I guess they don’t change all that much because that’s pretty much how the Seniors are, with the added bonus of college applications. How’s Seth doing?” 

“Better. He’s been doing some one on ones with TK and I think they’ve really helped.”

“I think they’ve helped them both,” Carlos admitted, “I think being able to see his past as something to help someone else has been a good thing.”

Paul smiled sadly as he began to gather up the extra supplies, “I’m happy for him. I hated seeing him so ashamed about it, and no amount of saying it was fine ever seemed to get through to him.” 

“Are you calling TK Strand stubborn Paul?” 

“Perish the thought.” 

Carlos laughed as he helped Paul gather the last of the supplies and they turned back towards the 9th grade wing and Paul’s classroom. They walked in silence for a bit before Paul spoke, “Are you sure you don’t need any help with these extra sessions? I don’t know how much help I would be with the actual content part as a science teacher, but if you just want another body in the room or something all you have to do is ask.”

Carlos shook his head and gave the other man a smile, “I’m good Paul, really. Besides, TK has already offered at least 6 times.” 

“Still, if you need anything...” 

“If I need any help with a bulletin board, I’ll know exactly who to call.”  

Paul rolled his eyes but made no comment as they neared his classroom. As they walked by the door to TK’s neighboring room Carlos paused. TK was walking through the room, glancing at student’s papers as they worked. As Carlos watched he paused and crouched down next to a student desk, looking at something on their paper, listening as the student asked their question. He answered, but as he was getting back up he looked towards the door and gave Carlos a smile that warmed him from the inside out. 

Carlos smiled back, hoping that even a fraction of the affection he felt for the other man showed in the simple gesture. He lingered for only a moment more before he stepped out of the doorway, hoping he had left before he was spotted by any of his boyfriend’s students. The last time they had caught him in the doorway they hadn’t stopped teasing TK for a week, which meant that Carlos had gotten to hear about it for a week. 

Paul noticed his hasty retreat and snorted, “Scared of some 15-year-olds, Reyes?” 

“Not willing to deal with my annoyed boyfriend if said 15-year-olds drive him nuts for a week.” 

Paul shook his head as he unlocked his classroom door, holding it open so Carlos could follow him in. They dropped the supplies on a table in the back before Carlos glanced at his watch. 

“And I have a class starting in 3 minutes. Guess this is goodbye then.” 

“Yeah, but try not to be such a stranger. I know you may not like us all as much as your boyfriend, but we’re still here you know.” 

“Who are you again?” 

Paul rolled his eyes, “everyone’s a comedian,” he muttered. 

Carlos grinned, but paused right before he stepped out the door, “we should try to do something as a group after school, soon,” he amended, and Paul smiled at him. 

“Apology accepted Reyes. Now get lost before you’re late for class.” 

--------

At the end of his first SAT prep session, Carlos gathered his bag and headed out of his room, locking the door behind him. It had gone better than he had expected because, despite all his insistence that it would be fine, he had been nervous. But it had gone well, really. Yes, the extra prep work wasn’t ideal and it did cut into his free time, but now that the first one was done he realized that he had actually enjoyed it. Which was certainly not a realization he thought he would be having today. 

If he was being completely honest with himself, he had been hesitant from the moment Judd had approached him. He wasn’t a fan of the concept of the SATs as a whole to start with, but like them or not they were a part of the college admission process, as Judd had reminded him. More than that, there were scholarships that were dependent on SAT scores. They were a necessary evil their students who were applying to college needed to face, and while maybe some could afford private tutors, most couldn’t. 

Looking at it from that perspective, of trying to give students a leg up in an unfair situation, had helped to justify the extra time spent to himself. Now after their first session, he realized that he should have done it regardless. This was nothing more than kids wanting to learn, and he could never say no to that. 

He left his room but instead of heading towards the exit, he turned towards TK’s classroom instead. He had told him that they could meet up after he was done, but TK has been insistent that he would wait for Carlos, that he had more than enough work to keep him busy while Carlos was working. Objectively Carlos knew that was true, but the thought that TK had wanted to wait for him to continue their habit of leaving together each day even when his day was significantly longer than usual filled him with such affection he couldn’t even put it into words. If he had to though, he would say it felt a little bit like love. 

But he quickly abandoned that thought process. They hadn’t said those words yet and Carlos didn’t want to push. Slow and steady was their pace, and Carlos was loath to do anything to jeopardize what they had. 

When he turned the corner into TK’s hallway to find the lone light of his classroom shining into the dark corridor, he was surprised to hear voices coming from the room. He approached quietly, peeking his head into the room and surprised to find his boyfriend sitting at his desk alone. 

TK looked up at the sound of his footsteps and smiled at him, holding up his phone so Carlos could see that it was on, and on speaker. There was an unfamiliar voice coming over the line and TK indicated for Carlos to wait a moment before he turned his attention back to the phone, “Dad, I’m going to have to go now, but I’ll talk to you soon.” 

“Okay, kiddo. Love you.”

“Love you too, Dad.” 

With that TK hung up the phone and beamed at Carlos, “Hey babe, how’d the session go?” 

“It went really well, actually,” Carlos admitted as he entered the room. 

“I told you it would, but I’m still proud of you.” 

Carlos smiled even wider at that, “Thanks, TK.” He watched as TK got up from his desk and began to gather his papers and begin piling them into his bag. “How’s your dad?” 

“He’s good,” TK said absently as he searched his desk for something. He made a triumphant noise as he found it, placed it in his bag and zipped it, hiking it up on his shoulder as he turned to face Carlos, “He’s coming to visit.” 

“Oh?” 

“Yeah. He has a good amount of vacation time saved up and figured escaping a New York winter for a bit might not be such a bad idea.” 

“Any idea when?” 

“Three weeks from now.” 

“Wow, that’s exciting,” Carlos said, but really all he felt was panic. He didn’t know how they were supposed to approach this. He wasn’t sure if TK was ready to cross the “meet the parents” bridge, and he didn’t know how to ask. He also wasn’t sure how to avoid it if he wasn’t. 

His anxiety spiral was interrupted by TK crossing to him and taking his hand before leading the way to the door. “He can’t wait to meet you.” 

“Oh,” Carlos said, unable to hide his surprise, “is that what you want?” 

TK froze at the doorway, turning to face Carlos with a furrowed brow, “Of course it is. You’re one of the most important parts of my life, of course I want you to meet my dad. Why, do you not want to?” 

“No!” Carlos said hastily, “No, I don’t mind. It’s just, with the whole taking things slow and everything I wasn’t sure…” 

He trailed off and TK’s expression softened as he dropped Carlos's hand and instead reached up to cup his face, “Carlos Reyes, you are somebody I am proud to be with, and I cannot wait to show you off to my dad.”

The intensity of his expression took Carlos’s breath away and they stood like that for several long moments: TK’s hand on Carlos’s face as they stood alone in the evening silence of the empty high school. 

All too soon TK lowered his hand and gave a lighter grin, “Besides, think of all the embarrassing secrets you’ll get to learn, if you want to come that is.” 

Carlos reached out and took TK’s hand in his own and gave him a warm smile, “Well, how could I possibly turn down an offer like that?”

---------

“Are you sure it’s not too soon though?” 

“Carlos,” Michelle said, exasperation evident in her tone, “it’s been 3 months.” 

“Yeah, but-” 

“But what, Carlos? It’s been 3 months, you guys are solid, his dad is coming across the country to visit him and he wants you to meet him. It’s not that complicated.”

He scowled at Michelle who turned her attention back to her salad, jabbing at the arugula with more force than strictly necessary, “You’re mean today.” 

“I am not mean, you are insane. He likes you, Carlos! He wants you to meet his dad! It’s not weird so stop trying to make it seem like it is!”

Carlos groaned and ran a hand across his face, “It’s just that we agreed to go slow, because he wasn’t sure if he was ready for anything else and meeting the parents seems like it might be surpassing the ‘going slow’ plan. I already got around it with my parents and I wasn’t expecting it to come up on his end.” 

“Your parents want to meet him?” 

“Yeah, they mentioned it at lunch a few weeks ago.” 

“Did you ask TK about it?” 

“I mentioned it.” 

The look Michelle gave him was withering, “I would throw something at you right now but I don’t think anything in my salad would make enough of an impact.” 

“There’s no need for violence, Michelle.” 

“There’s no need for someone as smart as you to make such idiotic decisions either, but here we are.” 

Carlos gave her a baffled look and she rolled her eyes before setting down her fork to explain, “When you mentioned that your parents wanted to meet him, what did he say?” 

“He didn’t. I mentioned it and he looked kind of like a deer in the headlights, so I told him that I had already told them it was too soon.” 

Michelle stared at him for a moment before dropping her head into her hands with a groan. When she looked up again a few seconds later her voice was measured as she spoke, “Did you even ask him if he wants to meet your parents before you made up your mind?” 

Carlos held her gaze for several long seconds before he admitted, “No.” 

“Carlos Reyes, I love you, but sometimes you can be an idiot.” 

---------

Carlos rang the bell and waited anxiously outside the door of TK’s apartment, twisting the paper bag in his hand nervously. TK had texted him that they had gotten back from the airport and that he had picked up stuff for dinner, so logically he knew everything should be pretty much normal. But there was also a huge addition that made everything seem so far from normal Carlos could barely wrap his head around it. That was probably his anxiety talking, but the fact remained. 

The door swung open to reveal his boyfriend but rather an older man with a striking resemblance to his boyfriend. Their eyes met and after a moment of confusion Owen Strand - for that had to be who this was - stepped forward with a smile and an extended hand, “You must be Carlos.” 

Carlos matched the man’s smile and took the offered hand, “Yes sir.”

TK’s father stepped aside to let him in and waved off his formalities, “Please, call me Owen.” 

“Well then Owen, it is a pleasure to meet you.” 

“Likewise, Carlos. What do you have there?” 

“Oh,” Carlos said, suddenly remembering the bag in his hands, “Biscuits from Olamaie - a local restaurant.” 

“You didn’t have to bring anything,” Owen assured him, “but judging by the smell of those I think I’m glad you did.” 

Carlos smiled at the older man, who stepped further into the apartment, clearing the entry hall for Carlos could enter as well. As he steps into the main room his eyes find the kitchen, where TK is pulling a stack of plates from the cupboard, “Hey Carlos, I’m just getting dinner together. Why don’t you and my dad get settled at the table.” 

“Are you sure you don’t want any help?” he asked, partially because anytime TK stepped into the kitchen it was a cause for concern in his experience, and partially because Carlos dreaded the idea of having to make small talk with his boyfriend’s father. 

TK paused long enough to roll his eyes, “it’s already cooked, all I have to do is warm it up and get it on plates. Pretty sure I can handle that.” 

“Okay, but if you change your mind…” 

“Go,” TK said with a laugh and Carlos grinned before heading to the table and joining Owen. He sat down and looked at the other man, who was clearly appraising him. “How was your flight?” he ventured, not sure what else to say.

“Good, it was good,” Owen said with a vague nod. Carlos nodded too and they lapsed into silence. He was searching his mind, trying to come up with something to say, wishing he had done a google search of “conversation starters with your boyfriend’s parent” before he came when Owen broke the silence. 

“Listen, Carlos,” he said, glancing over at the kitchen where TK was still intently assembling dinner, “I know we just met, but I wanted to make sure I got a chance to say thank you.” 

Carlos frowned, he had absolutely no idea where this was coming from, “Thank you for what?” 

“For being there for TK, for helping him find himself again. He wasn’t in the best place when he came down here, but I can tell from our phone calls and now seeing him again that he is happier than I have seen him in far too long. And I know that a good part of that is because of you, so thank you.” 

“I’m happy you think he’s happy with me,” Carlos countered, “but I didn’t do much. Everything he did, all the healing and growing, is because of what he did, not anyone else. I was just in the room when it happened.” 

He wasn’t sure what reaction he expected from the older man, but a beaming smile was not one of them. “I really am so glad that you found each other,” he said, voice thick, “and I am so glad he has someone like you.” He paused and gestured to the pictures lining the walls, “having my only kid move across the country has been hard not only because I miss him, but also because I was worried about him. Coming here and seeing this, seeing you with him, makes me feel so much better. So thank you, really.” 

Carlos doesn’t know what to say to that, but he is saved by the arrival of TK bearing a platter of food and a stack of plates. He jumps up to help him carry them to the table and sits down with him. 

“What have you two been talking about?” TK asks as he serves food onto plates for everyone. 

“Oh, just getting to know each other,” Owen responded breezily, “and I think I like this one TK.” 

“That’s good dad,” TK quipped, meeting Carlos’s eyes, “because I like him too.” 

Carlos smiled back at him and as the food was passed around, the conversation morphed. Soon enough it was Owen holding court, filling Carlos in on all of teen TK’s antics while TK grimaced from his seat. 

“And then,” Owen was saying, already laughing, “he decided…” 

“Okay!” TK interrupted, face going red, “I think that’s more than enough for one night. Pace yourself dad, you’ve still got a couple more nights here. Wouldn’t want to use up all your material.” 

“Oh, don’t worry kid: I have no intention of leaving any stone unturned or any story untold.” 

“Great,” TK deadpanned, “remind me again why I was excited for you to visit?” 

Carlos chuckled and TK turned his attention to him, “And you are enjoying this far too much.” 

“I would say I am enjoying it the appropriate amount, actually,” Carlos corrected. 

TK narrowed his eyes at him but Carlos just laughed before glancing at his watch, “it’s really late, I should go and let you two get some sleep too.” 

“See you tomorrow, Carlos?” Owen asked as Carlos rose from the table. 

“Count on it,” Carlos assured him, “there are so many more stories I still need to hear.” 

“I’ll walk you out, you traitor,” TK said with a roll of his eyes. 

Carlos waited until they were at the door before he spoke, “I really like him.”

“You only like him because he provides you with premium blackmail material.” 

“True,” Carlos mused, “but I also like him because he’s a lot like you. Besides, when you meet my parents it will be exactly the same, I assure you. I’m just enjoying this before the tables are turned.” 

TK's gaze was piercing as he studied Carlos, “When I meet your parents?”

Carlos nodded, “When. As in, whenever you are ready. I realized I should have asked you if you wanted to before just assuming you didn’t. So the ball is in your court: if you want to, I’d be honored to bring you home to my parents.” 

TK smiled and leaned in to kiss him. When he pulled away - far too soon for Carlos’s liking - he smiled, “I’d like that a lot, and I think we should. Maybe next week, after my dad leaves?”

Carlos nodded, “consider it a date, Tyler Kennedy.” 

“Oh he did not tell you that!” he exclaimed, throwing a glare back to where his father was still sitting. 

“I like it.” 

“And you’re lucky I like you, not everyone can get away with using that and live.” 

“Oh, so I’m special?” 

He said it as a joke, but the way TK held his gaze nearly toppled him. There was so much more intensity in his eyes than Carlos had been expecting, “You’re very special to me, Carlos Reyes.”  

They head each other’s gaze in the doorway to TK’s apartment in the late hours of the night and Carlos could practically feel all the things going unsaid between them. Now wasn’t the time to say them yet, but maybe, he thought, that time could be soon. 

----------

Carlos checked the clock on the wall above his desk. 8:01, the exam had just started. He leaned back in his chair with a sigh, running a hand through his hair. He knew that there was no reason to be here, he knew there was nothing more he could do. He had spent 5 weeks preparing these kids though, and had offered to come in early on the Saturday of the exam for any last-minute questions and pep talks. There had been more than a few takers but now they were all in the gym, opening their test booklets and Carlos was left with nothing more to do but wait. 

Logically he knew he could wait and worry just as well from home, but somehow being here made him feel a little better. He pulled a stack of papers from the turn in tray on his desk on the pretense of grading them while he waited, but he knew that he wouldn’t get anything done. He was just considering maybe attempting to organize something instead when there was a soft knock at his door. He looked up to see TK, standing in the doorway with a tray holding two paper cups, a bag, and a warm smile, “Hey you.” 

“Hey yourself, what are you doing here? Not that I’m not happy to see you,” he added hastily, “I just wasn’t expecting you.” 

“Why, because it’s Saturday before 9 am and you're in your classroom?”  

“More or less, yeah.” 

TK grinned as he entered, setting down the bag to drag one of the chairs up to Carlos’s desk so he could join him. 

“Usually you’d be right,” he admitted as he pulled two foil wrapped burritos out of the bag and handed one to Carlos, “but I knew you would be here, and I knew you’d spend the whole time worrying. So I figured you should at least have breakfast while you worried. And coffee,” he added pressing one of the cups into Carlos’s hand. 

Carlos was too stunned to say anything, so he took a sip of the coffee. It was perfect, exactly the way he liked it. He set down the cup and studied TK, who was sipping his own coffee. 

“You’re perfect, have I ever told you that?”

“Maybe, but a guy can never get too sick of hearing it.” 

“So modest too.” 

TK rolled his eyes but smiled as he settled into his seat at the corner of Carlos’s desk, unwrapping his burrito. 

“Thanks for coming, I appreciate it. I could really use the company.” 

TK nodded, “I figured as much. Besides, I kind of like spending time here, it makes me a little nostalgic.” At Carlos’s questioning look he explained, “this is where we had our first real conversation, and where I decided that you were someone I should risk getting to know, even though I was afraid of it ending up exactly where it did.” 

“Oh, so you were scared of me?”

“Eh, I was,” TK said dismissively, “turns out you’re not that scary. And,” he added, voice going more sincere, “it turns out I wasn’t as broken as I thought. I just needed someone to help me see that.” 

Carlos smiled at him, but soon enough his eyes were pulled back to the clock. It was 8:05 now. 

“Okay, spill.” 

“What?” Carlos asked, looking over at TK with a bewildered expression. 

“Spill. I know you’re nervous, but maybe if you tell me why, I can help.” 

Carlos took a deep breath and let his eyes wander to the clock one more time before turning his focus back to TK, “I know I’ve done everything I could think of, but this is still an important test. Most of the kids taking it today are taking it again in hopes of raising their scores so they can qualify for more scholarships. There’s so much riding on this; it could determine some of their futures. And, I just don’t know if I did enough - if I was enough.” 

“Carlos…” 

“There are so many other people in the department TK, I don’t know why they asked me. I’m not anything special, and this whole time I keep thinking that someone else could have done a better job. I’m worried that I let these kids down.” 

“Carlos,” TK said again, more forcefully, “you are special. Don’t ever say you’re not again. You were asked because you are an amazing teacher. Don’t deny it,” he said when Carlos opened his mouth to interrupt, “because I’m right. I’ve seen you with your classes. They don’t only respect you, they trust you. They feel safe enough to ask you questions, to show that they don’t know something. And you have never responded to any question with anything less than understanding and compassion. You always find a way to help. That’s why they asked you - because you are the best at this. Sure, maybe someone else might be better with the technicalities, but no one can hold a candle to Carlos Reyes when it comes to helping students grow. It’s one of the things I love about you.” 

Carlos could already feel emotions building within him at TK’s words and the sincerity with which he said them, but his last sentence froze him in his tracks. He was pretty sure his brain was short circuiting; it kept playing the last sentence on loop: It’s one of the things I love about you.

“Carlos?” TK asked, expression furrowing in concern, “are you okay?” 

“Do you mean that?” Carlos asked instead. 

The look he gave him in response was truly baffled, “mean what?” 

“You said ‘it’s one of the things I love about you.’”

TK’s eyes widened for just a second, before he smiled, “Yes,” he said softly, “I do. I love you, Carlos Reyes, because of all of that and because of so many other things.” 

Carlos blinked rapidly, trying to clear the tears that had tried to sneak out without his permission. This was everything he had ever wanted; TK was everything he had ever dreamed of. He had wanted this for so long, and he had felt the same way for TK for months now, even if he had been denying it. To hear that his boyfriend felt the same way meant more to him than he could ever possibly say. 

So he settled on the next best thing, “I love you too, Tyler Kennedy, more than I have ever loved anyone. More than I thought I could ever love anyone.” 

TK rolled his eyes, but it did nothing to detract from his beaming smile, “You just had to use the full name, didn’t you?” 

“Unfortunately for you, I love it because it’s yours; and I happen to love everything about you.”

“You are a sap Carlos Reyes.” 

“Yeah, but that’s one of the things you love about me, right?” 

“Definitely,” TK agreed, before glancing at the clock. Carlos followed his gaze; it was 8:15 now. 

“We still have 3 hours,” TK noted, “I think that might be time to get through some of the other things, if you’re interested.” 

Carlos leaned forward to give him a quick but tender kiss. He took a moment to rest his forehead on TK’s, savoring the feel of the contact for another moment before he pulled back and grinned at him, “I’m interested in anything, as long as it’s with you.” 

-----------

The next afternoon Carlos pulled into the driveway of his childhood home. He put the car in park and turned to look at his passenger. TK was fiddling with the collar of his shirt and anxiously smoothing it for imaginary wrinkles. Carlos reached over and grabbed one of his hands. 

“Hey,” he said, “stop worrying, you look perfect. They’re going to love you.” 

“Are you sure?” TK asked and Carlos’s heart hurt to hear his voice so small and full of doubt, “I can’t imagine that too many parents would love the idea of their child dating an addict.” 

“What matters is that you have overcome it,” Carlos said firmly, “and that I love you. That’s all they need to know, and it will be enough.” 

They had said those words roughly a hundred times since TK had first let it slip in his classroom yesterday morning and each time Carlos could feel his heartbeat just a little bit faster. He loved TK Strand and he was loved by TK Strand. Nothing in the world had ever felt so good. Now he was going to take TK inside to meet his parents where he would undoubtedly learn all sorts of embarrassing stories and become that much further entrenched in Carlos’s life and in his heart. He couldn’t think of a better possible next step than that. 

He leaned over to press a kiss to TK’s lips, smiling when he felt some of the tension melt from the other man. When he pulled away he met TK’s gorgeous eyes and squeezed the hand he was still holding. 

“It’s going to be fine and I’m going to be right beside you, no matter what.”

“Promise?” 

Carlos nodded with a smile, “Yeah, I promise. There’s nowhere I’d rather be.”