#thing necessarily. but he needed someone looking after him when he was younger and ten needs him now. okay then.

[quietwingsinthesky]

the human au doctors are all ambiguously from Not Great Home Situations but i think twelve specifically was having a terrible time as a foster kid and decided this little gang of weirdos would be his new family

[cevansbrat0007]

An Afternoon with Minerva

Summary: Ari finds himself finally ready to admit the truth about his feelings for you...

Warnings: Mature Themes, Slight Angst, Ari Being A Menace, Mentions of Death, Cancer, Dead Mothers, Brief Mentions of War, Cursing, Minors DNI

A/N: This story is part of my Sweet Renegades Series. Not beta'd. Not beta'd. All mistakes my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.

Somewhere Four Hours Outside of Bell’s Creek, Texas

“Shit!” Ari hisses when he almost slips in the middle of trudging up the muddy hillside. It had been raining pretty much non-stop since he’d made it out of Dallas and it hadn’t shown any signs of slowing down. 

But that hadn’t been enough to stop Ari Levinson – not today anyway. Today he was a man on a mission. And that mission involved a meeting with a very special woman. The very first love of his life, and he’d almost missed it. 

What kind of son forgot about his own Mama’s birthday? Not him. Otherwise he would’ve never heard the end of it from Evelyn and Marcia. 

He knew without having to call them that his sisters had already been by with their families earlier in the day. And the last thing he needed was them throwing a fit over his absence, no matter how justifiable it might’ve been. 

The Bounty Hunter nearly stumbles again as he weaves his way through the numerous memorials and monuments. He tries to move carefully, doing his best not to disturb the tributes dedicated to others’ loved ones who’d all gone too soon, regardless of how much time they’d spent on this earth.

And his sweet Mama was no exception. She’d left him just shy of his 21st birthday. He’d been by her side, holding her hand as she took her last breaths. Which seemed only fitting since she’d been there holding him on the day he’d taken his first. 

Cancer had done his Mama dirty. But while it had robbed her almost everything – her hair, her ability to walk, and ultimately her life – her fighting spirit had remained. Minerva “Minnie” Levinson had gone out swinging, leaving him behind to see after his two younger siblings. 

A sixteen-year-old Evie had been so angry back then. So small, but so unbelievably pissed at the world. Meanwhile, sweet baby Marcie had clung to him so tight he’d damn near had a fight on his hands whenever he wanted to take a piss by himself for longer than two minutes. That ten-year-old might as well have been his second shadow. 

He’d honestly had no idea just how much he missed her following behind him until he’d been deployed overseas during his first tour. But they'd needed the money and the benefits. And he’d needed an enemy – someone or something that could help him channel all of the rage and anger and hurt that had been simmering beneath the surface. 

So he’d left them behind to help fight another man’s war. But not before entrusting his sisters’ care to his friend, Vicky Gunther. And at the time, the fact that she’d also been his highschool sweetheart had felt like an added bonus.

It hadn’t necessarily mattered that his mother had never been too crazy about the woman. But what had mattered was that the girls had someone he knew to look after them while he was out risking his life.

Ari’s grip tightens on the flowers in his hand as he finally finds himself nearing his Mama’s grave. Evie and Marcie had picked it out, all he’d done was sign off on the check. They’d assured him that it was exactly what she would’ve wanted, right down to the quote etched into the granite, which read: “Always keep them guessing.”

That had been Minnie Levinson’s favorite phrase whenever they pulled up in a new town. When you’d grown up being on the run, staying one step ahead of your opponent was an absolute must. Especially when that opponent happened to be your own damned father. Growing up the son of Rex Levinson meant always having to look over your shoulder.

Because you never knew where he might be lurking. He could be states away or, more likely, right around the goddamned corner. Waiting to strike when his poor, terror-stricken family least expected it.

So they’d had to learn to always expect it. Even now, the only reason Ari felt any peace was because his Daddy was currently enjoying an all-inclusive, taxpayer funded 15 year stay at the James Crabtree Correctional Center in Helena, Oklahoma.

Thankfully, Rex still had a few years left on his tab before society deemed his debt to them finally repaid in full. Once he was released, he’d deal with it then. But right now…

Now it was time to see about his Mama. And this chat that they were about to have was long overdue. 

A smile finds its way to Ari’s lips once he’s finally standing in front of his mother’s memorial. He pauses briefly before crouching down to place the bouquet he’d brought with him next to the offerings left behind by other members of his family. Although he wasn’t surprised, he was happy to see that they’d all brought daylillies, which had been her favorite.

“Hey. Happy birthday, Mama.” Ari whispers, allowing his fingers to brush along the cool granite. “I made it. Just like I told you I would.” His eyes flutter closed as a light breeze blows by, gently ruffling his chestnut locks. 

It was a sign from Minerva herself, letting him know that she was there with him too. Just like she said she would be. And his Mama had never been one to lie to him. Not even in death. 

“I see the girls have already been here. I’m surprised they haven’t blown up my phone.” He stands then, grimacing when his left knee cracks as a result of the movement. It seemed like that old injury only bothered him when it rained. Shit sucked. 

“I’m sure Evie brought by baby Micah for his first visit. He’s cute ain’t he? Little chubby-cheeked shit machine.” Ari chuckles at that, scrubbing a big hand over his heart. “And I’m not being rude. First time we met he had a blowout in his diaper that was so bad we both needed a shower.” 

He laughs harder at the memory of him desperately trying to hand off his incredibly messy nephew to first his own Mama, and then his sister. They’d swerved him so fast, claiming that it was about damned time he learned how to change a diaper. 

He’d been mighty pissed at the time. But even so, he and baby Micah had stomped off to the bathroom, determined to handle the stinky situation like a couple of real men. And when they’d emerged from said bathroom forty-five minutes later, they’d been the ones to have the last laugh.

Okay, not really. Micah’s mother, Evie, had been too busy napping on the couch to notice much of anything, her body buried beneath a sea of half folded laundry. And Marcia was playing Go Fish with their four-year-old niece Isobel. But Ari hadn’t allowed the lack of fanfare to take the wind out of their sails.

He’d just grabbed a bottle of milk from the fridge and retreated to his sister’s bedroom, intending to teach the kid about the importance of football until they’d both dozed off. And he still had the picture Evelyn had taken of them both that afternoon, fast asleep in the bed. The baby rocking a Dallas Cowboys onesie, and him wearing her lavender bathrobe.  

“They were just jealous, Mama. There I was being a good uncle, bonding with my nephew, and they were playing paparazzi.” That breeze kicks up again, the smell of wet earth filling the air. 

“But I’m sure you already know that. You were there. You saw everything. Those two were picking on me like they always do.” Ari pouts then, jamming his hands into his pockets. “There’s just something not right about those girls. Everytime I’m around ‘em, they pinch and poke and prod. Always asking if I’m seeing someone.” 

“It’s annoying is what it is. Makes me feel like a damn pincushion or somethin’.” The Bounty Hunter grumbles, nudging a tiny weed with his foot. “How am I supposed to tell ‘em anything if I haven’t run it by you first? Especially when it’s…when it’s…” He trails off as he searches for the right word. 

“Real.” He sucks in a breath as his head dips to his chest. “It’s real and it’s right and it’s new. It’s all those things, Mama. And I don’t know what to do with any of it because it’s like I spend half the damn time fightin’ with myself and the other is spent fightin’ her wanting to fly away on me.” 

One hand leaves his pocket to rest on the back of his neck. “And I know what you’re probably thinking, Mama. But that ain’t the issue. This woman, my little Bird…she ain’t Vicky.” He rocks back on his heels, careful not to slip in the rain soaked grass. 

“And I know you didn’t much care for Vicky. I already told you that I made a mistake with that one. I thought I was doing a good thing leaving the girls with her…” A harsh sigh leaves him as a fresh wave of bitterness rises in his throat. But he swallows it down, refusing to let it choke him. 

Because there was more to be said about the woman in his life today. His woman. His sweet Bird.

“Bird is everything I thought Vicky was. But it’s more than that. She’s the best part about that godforsaken Bell’s Creek. And something tells me that she’s wading knee deep into a pile of shit with this fuck, Martin, and these assholes, the Prescotts. It’s all one big mess that I normally would be chompin' at the to get rid of…”

Ari’s head drops again as he prays for another gust of wind, wanting another sign from his Mama to let him know that she was still listening. He doesn’t speak again until he feels it on his skin. This time it’s a loving caress, a gentle reminder that he’s not alone. 

How could he be when he had Minnie Levinson by his side?

“I haven’t had a single nightmare since I met her. I’m not saying I’m fixed or anything…” He shrugs his broad shoulders. “But maybe I’m not quite as broken as I thought I was. At least she sure doesn't seem to think so. She just tells me I am an ass.”

The sound of squirrels playing in a nearby tree is enough to distract him, albeit briefly. Once they settle down he quietly forges on.

“Ma, I swear this girl is really something special.” Ari whistles, running a hand over his beard. “Sweet, funny, absolutely gorgeous – and did I tell you she runs a bookstore? Can’t go and leave that part out now can I?” 

By now the rain has stopped, with the sun finally beginning to emerge from behind the clouds. He welcomes the warmth it brings. His Mama deserved to enjoy a little sunshine on her special day. 

“She – we fight like cats and dogs sometimes - my Bird and I. But that’s not really my fault. I mean I consider myself to be plenty damn agreeable with most things. But my woman…let’s just say I’ve met mules less stubborn than she is. But even so, it’s…it’s like I can’t get enough of her.”

Ari blows out a comforting breath before closing his eyes, his fingers going to the bridge of his nose. “She’s…she’s making me wanna stay. Got me wantin’ to plant roots and build her a house, complete with the white picket fence.”

“I’ve been lost since the moment I laid eyes on her, Mama. And nothing feels right unless I’m with her. When she’s not around it’s like I can’t think – I’m off balance and…” He swallows thickly. “Like even now, I’m here with you and there’s a part of me that is just itchin’ to get back in my truck and haul ass all the way back to Bell's Creek. I mean, I suppose I could’ve brought her with me.” He cocks his head to the side as the thought strikes him. “She would’ve come, but I couldn’t...”

Ari goes back to awkwardly bouncing on the balls of his feet. “I couldn’t bring her here because I needed to talk to you about her first. Introduce her properly so that I could tell you myself that I…” He swallows again, fighting the lump in his throat. 

“I love her, Mama.” 

There. He’d gone and said it. Not in his head. But out loud to the air. To the world. To his Mama.

“And that sweet little spitfire makes me work for it every day. I’m telling you right now that she needs a damn keeper. And I need her to keep me…balanced.” 

A grin spreads across his features as he feels the weight he’s been carrying suddenly lift from his shoulders. “I’m gonna introduce her to the girls, okay Ma? I know they’ll love her like I do. But can you do me a favor and tell ‘em to be nice? You know they never do anything I say.”

Ari bends down to let his fingers graze over his mother’s headstone one last time. “And when the time is right, I’ll bring her here to meet you too.” He murmurs, wishing for a moment that they were actually speaking face to face instead of like this. But unfortunately, that couldn't be helped. 

“Until then you rest easy, alright? Because me and the girls are doin’ just fine.” He takes a tentative step backwards. “I love you, Minnie Levinson. And I’ll be back to see you real soon.” Ari turns on his heel, preparing to navigate his way back to his truck. 

Halfway through the maze he pulls out his phone, thumbing through his contacts until he lights upon your name. He taps the entry before holding the device to his ear. The sound of your voice on the other line is enough to ease the subtle ache in his chest. At least for now. But he also knew from experience that it wouldn’t go away until he had you in his arms again. 

Just four measly, lonely hours until Ari Levinson felt whole again. 

END

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[codename-mom]

The boiler breakdown

Summary: It's winter, the boiler in Hotch's appartment is down and there is no repairman available. Jack has to sleep with his father and as a sleep-talker, he has an interesting point of view on all the members of the BAU team

Characters: BAU team (Blake era) and Jack

Contents: this text is part of a self-challenge on the theme "It's cute but...". So, it's supposed to be funny and/or cute with a slice of bitterswitness. Hope you'll enjoy it!

TW: well, I think it's just fluff on this one. :)

PS : English is not my mother language so they are necessarily mistakes. Sorry about that.

___

“I'm cold!" moaned Jack, curled up in a ball under his comforter.

He gave his father, kneeling beside his bed, a pleading look, surely hoping that this would be enough to solve the problem that was plaguing him. Aaron stroked his hair tenderly, his heart aching to see his son shivering under his nose.

“I know, buddy, but the repairmen aren't available right now.”

The day before, the apartment's boiler had failed, leaving all its tenants at the mercy of winter's torments. Outside, the snowflakes were falling merrily on the sidewalks or crashing into the windows of homes. A time that the child would have loved under normal circumstances, if the temperature in the home hadn't dropped drastically during the previous night. Warm at school, he had spent the evening glued to his sire, sniffing loudly to remind him how cold it was. The BAU director, for his part, had taken advantage of his office hours to try to contact specialists, but had been offered appointments on unlikely dates, when he had only managed to reach someone.

“Why don’t you do the repairs?”

“Because I don't know how to do that, he confessed. I never learnt. It’s a very specific job. But I can bring you another blanket if you like.”

“No. It won't be enough," decreed the boy, tears welling up in his eyes.

Hotch couldn't decide whether he was really that cold, despite the thickness of his blanket, or whether he was just putting on an act to get his point across. He admitted that it wasn't exactly heated within these walls, but the sweater on his back did the trick for the time being. However, he also knew that children cooled down faster than adults, so it was quite possible that he was really struggling to warm up.

“Okay, he sighed, defeated. Come with me.”

“Where are we going?" Jack asked right away, looking much less unhappy.

“In my bedroom.”

“Is it hotter?”

“No, but you'll be less cold if you sleep with me.”

“Okay.”

The kid flung himself into his arms, a smile up to his ears, and Aaron got up to take him to his own bed. As soon as his little feet were on the quilt, the boy made a strategic withdrawal underneath it and pulled as much fabric as possible back to him. His father watched the strange caterpillar form its synthetic cocoon with unabashed amusement but remained standing by the bed base. Then Jack's disheveled head popped up from the soft mass and saw Hotch's fleeing movement.

“Where are you going?”

“I've got to start the dishwasher, prepare the breakfast table, your schoolbag and a couple of other things," he said as he read the time on the clock radio.

It wasn't even half-past ten yet, so he was a long way from being finished for the evening. In addition to the necessary tasks, he hoped to be able to take advantage of his son's absence around him to manage chores that required a bit of calm.

“Okay, agreed the toddler, very serious. But come back soon.”

“I’m in a hurry.”

He turned his back on him and left the room just after, leaving the door slightly ajar to let in a trickle of light. Despite being seven years old, Jack still needed his nightlight to fall asleep, and would wake up immediately if you had the misfortune to turn it off. Hotch heard some parents boasting that their offspring, sometimes younger, were already sleeping in the dark, "like grown-ups"; but he wasn't the least bit concerned. He knew plenty of adults who wouldn't fall asleep without a light source in their room, and a number of people he'd put behind bars had been forcibly locked in the dark. A punishment that had bruised the shaky psyches of these fragile children. It was out of the question for him to deprive his son of this source of comfort, even if he preferred to sleep in the dark. And he wouldn't push him to follow so-called societal norms that still too often did more harm than good. As long as it didn't endanger his health, he did everything in his power not to traumatize him any more than he already had been through his own fault.

                Back in the living room, he did as he said he would, trying to make as little noise as possible, then took a few moments to himself before brushing his teeth and putting on a T-shirt and pajama pants. A shiver ran down his spine. Without the thick mesh, the cold of the place was more biting. He left the bathroom, checked that all the doors and windows were closed and that the lights were off, then returned to the darkness of the bedroom. A comforter ball stood motionless in the middle of the mattress. The traffic on the nearby road made it impossible for him to hear Jack's breathing and determine whether or not he was already asleep. Reassembling the box spring on his side, he lifted the still-accessible eiderdown and slid underneath. The creature next to him unfurled at once and little hands pounced on his shirt. Clinging to his arm and torso, Jack shivered.

“You’re still cold?”

“Yes.”

“You'll be fine in a few minutes, reassured his father, placing a kiss on his wild hair. Now close your eyes and try to sleep.”

“Good night, Dad.”

“Good night, champ.”

As expected, the child drifted off to sleep less than a quarter of an hour later, gradually loosening his grip on his top. Pacified by his descendant's slow breathing, Hotch fell asleep soon afterwards. Silence fell on the icy apartment. After two hours, the silence was broken by Jack's high-pitched voice.

“Dad?”

Aaron's eyelids opened almost on the spot, and his attention promptly focused on the little being beside him. However, he soon realized that the boy's breathing was still that of a drowsy person, and the glow of the nightlight – which he had brought from the next room – allowed him to see that his eyes were closed. He smiled. He hadn't had much opportunity to welcome his son into his home after his separation from his mother, but the latter – once they'd mended their differences – had confirmed that their creation was the talkative type, even if unconscious. And since taking care of it himself, he had witnessed more than once the curious but harmless phenomenon of nocturnal logorrhea.

“Yes, Jack," he answered without raising his voice too much.

“I love you, Dad.”

“I love you too.”

“Can ‘ have a cookie?”

The FBI agent held back a burst of laughter that could have snapped his son out of his trance and took a few breaths to quell his hilarity. It wasn't the first time he'd had a conversation of this kind with Jack, but their dialogues had always taken an unexpected turn. Tonight was no exception to the rule. Recovering from his emotions, Aaron hilariously replied:

“Sure. Here.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

The child closed his mouth to chew his imaginary cake and quietly went on with his night, as if nothing had happened. Hotch, amused, shook his head, and soon went back to sleep.

                A few days later, the team was called to the other side of the country for a new investigation. In the jet, the agents proceeded as usual, discussing the details of the case in hand and the deployment of each of them once on site. But this time, a smile split Aaron’s usually impassive and serious mask as he completed the casting.

“What are you smiling at? This case isn't particularly amusing,” pointed out a puzzled Morgan.

“It isn't, indeed, he confirmed, before confessing; I was just thinking about something.”

“Something funny, obviously, stressed JJ, curious. May we know what it is?”

“It’s… it’s a thing Jack did.”

“Is he all right?” immediately worried Garcia, who had stayed on the line to ask Spencer something.

“Yes, yes, he reassured her on the spot. It's just that, currently, the apartment's boiler is on the blink.”

Unwilling to open up normally about his private life, Hotch nonetheless threw himself into it, because the cause of his temporary elation was, in truth, the people sitting around him.

“Is that supposed to be funny?” Blake raised an eyebrow, confused.

“Of course not. It's freezing cold in the apartment, but I can't find a technician available, he complained wearily. The first slot I've been offered is in March. It's almost as if all the boilers in Virginia broke down at the same time.”

“Remind us when this is supposed to be fun,” the former liaison agent turned profiler asked, a mocking eyebrow raised in his direction.

“I’ll be there. Jack is too cold in his room, so he sleeps in mine while we wait.”

“Is it warmer there?” said Reid, wide-eyed.

“No. But he's apparently too small to generate enough heat to keep himself warm in bed. Which is paradoxical because it's a real hot water bottle.”

“You must have restless nights," laughed the blonde in a cross-legged dress.

Three years earlier, just after the tragedy, Jack had spent more than one night sleeping in his father's bed, and the latter had had to deal with the little boy's boundless energy in his sleep. Although barely a third of his size, the kid took up a considerable amount of space under and on the comforter, alternating every conceivable position without ever worrying about the presence of his sire beside him. Aaron soon stopped counting the number of times he had been savagely dragged from his dreams by a slap, an uppercut or a kick from his little roommate.

“Well, he wiggles less than he did a few years ago, he noted with some relief, but he still talks in his sleep. And here’s where it gets fun.”

Early on, he and Haley had noticed that Jack made sounds in his sleep. What sounded like gurgles at first became more and more intelligible as the boy learned to articulate words.

“They say people who talk in their sleep can't lie," announced Spencer.

“It’s true, said his superior with a smirk. Which makes for interesting conversations.”

Hotch had remarked that these unconscious gibberish were neither systematic nor very sensed when he let the boy rant on his own, but the situation changed completely when someone came into communication with him at that moment. The child was then curiously able to respond to solicitations in a rather clear manner.

“Like what?” wanted to know the former police officer, intrigued.

“The first night, he started saying that he was loving me.”

“It’s cute!”

“Wait for it, the giant tempered. I tell him I love him too, and he follows up by asking me for a cookie.”

“It wasn't interested at all,” JJ realized while the others laughed.

“Not at all.”

“What did you do?” inquired the youngest of the group, very attentive.

“I said, "Sure, here." He thanked me and went on with his night.”

A good part of the group burst out laughing as they imagined the scene. Others simply smiled.

“You pretended to give him a cookie?" said Derek, a hint of reproach in his voice.

“Obviously, he had one in his dream.”

“It's cute and, at the same time, a bit devious.”

Penelope had a special affection for her supervisor’s son – the BAU’s first-born – and the latter had to curb her ardor regularly to prevent her from literally drowning Jack in gifts. In fact, he understood that she was less appreciative than the others of the trick he had played on his offspring.

“And what else does he say?" continued Alex with her usual serenity.

“As Reid pointed out, people who talk in their sleep can't lie. So, out of curiosity, I asked him for his opinion on each of you.”

“You did that?”

“Don't worry, Morgan, he said you were a cool big brother with great muscles and that when he grew up, he wanted the same arms as you.”

This time, the hilarity was general.

“The arms still need a bit of work.”

“A little bit, yes, smiled Derek, who regularly maintained his musculature. But I’m fine with that.”

“Me? Me?” leapt the analyst from behind her webcam.

“Then he said, "I love Penelope so much! She's so funny, she's so the best and the superhero of the BAU."”

“Oooooh! Is it possible to have this engraved on a plaque that I can hang on my door?”

Her colleagues laughed heartily, and Hotch imagined how Strauss, his superior, would look if he agreed to her request. Already criticizing him for letting the young woman flood her office with toys and photographs, each less professional than the last, he couldn't imagine what she'd say if she came across a sign engraved with this quote. In the back of his mind, however, he noted that it might serve as a gift idea for her, perhaps in the form of a T-shirt.

“In case we haven't already told you, your son is an angel, sir. And I love him so much too.”

“I’ll tell him.”

“What about me? What did he say about me?" said Reid impatiently.

Despite his lack of social skills and aversion to physical contact, the doctor of criminology and other fields got on quite well with children. Surely helped by his still childish mind on many subjects, he had no difficulty talking to them and they naturally trusted him. Jack was no exception. In his own way.

“Spencer, he looks like a giant noodle, but with brain like no other!”

Morgan, Garcia and JJ immediately chuckled, while Blake and Rossi smiled in unison. Aaron tried to hide his when he saw the annoyed look on Reid’s face.

“A noodle?” he repeated, obviously disappointed.

“With a brain like no other," Dave reminded him, not quite able to regain his composure.

“I didn’t say it was always grandiloquent. Or positive.”

He kept to himself the fact that he found the description rather realistic. The young agent was taller than he was, which wasn't noticeable at first glance, since he was usually stooped or lanky, his arms and legs undulating around his scrawny torso. That was for the noodle side. For the rest, those five doctorates and his eidetic memory spoke for themselves.

“Did he say anything about me?" pursued Alex, sitting on the bench next to the square.

Blake had recently joined the BAU, replacing Emily Prentiss, who had left to join Interpol's London branch. The newcomer taught forensic linguistics, but her instinct and natural clairvoyance made her an excellent profiler. Gentle and caring, she quickly took the youngest member of the unit under her wing, and the two got on wonderfully well. An understanding that was echoed by the other members of the team, who rapidly made room for her among them. Hotch, who was very close to her own age, liked her very much and had already spoken to Jack about her, showing him shots of her with the rest of the group.

“He doesn't know you very well, but he said you had a good air. And that you had a pixie side.”

“Pixie?”

“In his vocabulary, that means "mischievous".”

“Perceptive," she said with a wry smile.

“Not that much, I hope.”

The teacher added nothing more, contenting herself with a mysterious pout that did nothing to reassure her supervisor. Apart from Rossi, who was older than him, all the other agents under his command were between ten and twenty years younger than him, and some days their mental age seemed to decrease so much that he felt he was running a day-care center. By hiring someone from his own generation, he had hoped that this new recruit would give him a chance to catch his breath. But that might not be the case.

“What did he say about Dave?”

“Ah, Uncle Dave, Aaron sighed, repeating the nickname Jack always attributed to his mentor. He said, and I quote, "I'd like him to come every day and cook, because with you it's no good."”

This time, eyes widened and mouths dropped open in amazement at the little boy's reflection. Hotch guessed the giggles that threatened to cross some people's lips.

“I admit, it's a double-edged sword, he confessed, remembering that he'd had the same reaction that evening. And he’s not completely wrong, to be honest.”

Indeed, the agency director may have been good at many things, very useful for his work, but he had the peculiar gift of being unable to make anything remotely edible when he tried to cook. It wasn't for want of spending hours listening to his mother explain how to make this or that preparation, but nothing helped. Regularly, he tried his luck again, as soon as something clicked during the night, but to no avail. Jack was clearly doing better than his seven-year-old self.

“I'll make you some boxes," said the novelist pityingly.

“Thank you.”

“And JJ?" went on Derek, who had just remembered that one of the team hadn't yet gone through the toddler's sieve.

“I fear the worst.”

“No, it’s okay, announced Aaron. He said you'd make a great model for Kung Fu Barbie.”

Caught off-guard, everyone hesitated for a moment before laughter erupted from all sides. Evidently, the father had told his son that the slender blonde trained regularly in the martial arts and had no trouble knocking down men of her stature, if not more.

“Oh, my God…” JJ hiccupped, crushing a tear in the corner of her eye.

“If I find one in a shop, I’ll buy it for you.”

“I can’t wait.”

The hilarity began again, then gradually subsided as everyone caught their breath.

“Does he remember anything about the next day?” Blake questioned, concerned.

“Absolutely not. I, on the other hand, remember, he said, before adding. Yesterday, he pointed out that I was no good at DIY, but that he loved me all the same.”

“Honor is safe," joked Rossi as the giggles resumed.

“You know what?”

“What?” answered Morgan.

“I wish all briefings were like this. You have to admit, it's a lot nicer.”

Everyone abounded or nodded in agreement, and the flight continued unhurriedly, the cabin for once bathed in a light, festive atmosphere.

___

An happy new year to all of you! /o/

Thanks a lot for the attention you give to my works. Don't hesitate to leave a comment, I'll be more than pleased to answer it.

[davidxhall]

It all came down to this. Well – not necessarily… but this meeting was probably the main reason why he had come to the Haus this time around. No offense to the workers there or anything – David was still determined to enjoy his stay – but this was the primary motive while he was at the Haus this time around. He had barely spent any time outside his cabin since his arrival, not only running this encounter through his mind time and time again ( how do you just tell someone you’ve never met before that you were their brother ), but also due to the simple fact that David was absolutely chaotic when it came to directions. The last time he had been at the Haus, he had gotten lost more than once, and that was when all they had was a nice, top-of-the-line mansion. How was he supposed to navigate himself on an island? With his tendency to get lost, chances were that he would end up shark food rather than at the nearest dinner. Nevertheless, he was anxious. The flyer with the available staff members rested on a nearby table, with Jonah’s picture being in the middle alongside the other workers of that place. David had seen pictures of him before – the ones their father had secretly stashed at his office but none of them appeared to be current. David’s first impression was that Jonah had their father’s eyes. Maybe even the smile but that was something he could not judge before meeting the man in person. How the hell was he supposed to tell someone that they were their brother? And how on earth did Jonah end up working there of all places? According to their father’s background check, he graduated from college – so he should have a nice and steady job rather than… David shook his head. The last thing he needed was to have the mental image of his brother having sex with men for cash. When the doorbell rang sometime after his request to see Jonah, David took a particularly deep breath and counted to ten in his mind. He had no idea how this was going to go. If Jonah would be happy to see him – after sharing that they were related – or if the mere idea of having a brother there would disgust him altogether. The politician checked himself in the mirror yet again. For some reason, he wanted to look good. Not in a sexual ‘don’t-you-wish-your-boyfriend-was-hot-like-me’ way but first impressions were important. And this would be the first time he would see his half-brother face-to-face ever since learning of his existence months ago. “Suck it up, Buttercup. You can do this.”

Adjusting his shirt and brushing a non-existing spec of dust from his jeans, David made his way to the door and once he opened it and saw Jonah in the freaking flesh before him – it was impossible for him not to stare or even smile. He really does look like dad when he was younger.. “Jonah? Uh… Please! Come in.” David stepped aside to let the other man enter his cabin, feeling his heart truly pounding inside his chest. “Uh… Make yourself at home? Mi casa es su casa?”

Mr. Hall is requesting your presence at his cabin at your earliest convenience.

Mr. Hall...? It wasn't a name Jonah recognized, at least not from anybody he'd crossed paths with at the resort. It wasn't a terribly uncommon name, and possibly he'd read it once or twice back when looking into the Haus, but he was fairly certain he had not interacted up close with whoever this mystery client was. However, that wasn't a bad thing, most likely. It was flattering that he'd seemed to catch someone's eye from afar, and Jonah was more eager than ever to make a good impression. After all, ever since his encounter with Blackwell at the party (and then, the much different encounter in the man's cabin), he was determined to put himself out there and actually show he was good at this job. He could still be the sweet, kind person he was, while embracing that he was employed at a brothel.

Not knowing this Mr. Hall and his preferences, Jonah decided not to overdo it too much with the sluttiness, but to try and be sexy nevertheless. He opted for some tight, short shorts, hanging low enough to show the strap of his staff jock and flaunting the curves of his ass, paired with a light tanktop that he was certain would come off fairly quickly anyway. Smiling with enthusiasm, he made his way to the client cabins, ready to show Mr. Hall just how good and eager he could be.

@davidxhall

[adoringhaikyuu]

when their teammate has a crush on you

characters: kageyama, kenma, oikawa, tanaka

warnings: nothing, just some pouty boys and possessiveness

notes: i stumbled upon @kageyuji​‘s take on this while i was writing! so i thought i might as well give them a shoutout! 

kageyama:

you already know this boy speaks up with no shame

and he will glare at anyone who gets in his way or on his nerves, especially when they do anything to you

so when hinata doesn’t even try to hide that he likes you, saying boldly “well why should i lie?” 

you could only imagine the rage that kageyama is feeling

he doesn’t even want you in the same room as hinata sjkdfghsdj

he will pick either you or hinata up and take you away, depending on the situation

or he’ll take hinata’s face in his hand and just throw him away

but the boy always bounces right back, somehow unharmed and you’re grateful for that 

but anyway it���s not that hinata is necessarily trying to break the two of you up, it’s more that he’s genuinely confused as to why you’re with kageyama

“how could you possibly like this bully? is there something wrong with you?” 

he got chased by kageyama immediately after saying that––

your eyes widened as you saw a flash of orange jump in front of you as you walked towards the gym, ready to meet kageyama to go home. “y/n! y/n! could you please throw some balls for us?! yachi had to go home but we really wanna practice some more!” 

you stepped back and your boyfriend came out of nowhere, practically smacking the other boy out of the air, leaving him to crouch on the ground, clutching the top of his head as he scowled at the dark-haired boy. “calm down you idiot! y/n doesn’t have to if they don’t want to! they’re probably tired anyway and just wanna go home.” he turned to you and gave you a small smile. “you wanna go?” 

you looked between the two. “i mean...i can help you guys practice for a little bit.”

the other boy sprung up again. “oh! thank you! thank you!” 

your boyfriend bowed his head quickly. “thank you.”

you smiled up at him and he felt his cheeks redden. “of course, tobio.” a smile spread on his face as well but it was short-lived as hinata spoke up, suddenly inches away from the two of you. 

“what’s up with your face? why do you look like that?” 

kageyama scowled down at him. “nothing’s wrong with my face! what’s wrong with your face?!” 

“why are you yelling at me?!” hinata turned to you, “he’s so mean! how are you with him?” he looked down and mumbled to himself, “i wouldn’t treat you like this...”

kageyama’s eyes widened with rage. “what was that?!” 

“n––nothing!” the smaller boy backed up, eyes wide with fear. 

“you know what? we’re leaving.” kageyama stormed into the gym and quickly got his things, ignoring hinata’s pleas.

“aw what? why?! come on kageyama!” he turned to you, “y/n please––”

suddenly you were facing your boyfriend’s back as he stood in front of you to glare at the other boy. “don’t even think about it. we’re done for today.” he turned to you and grabbed your hand, tightening his hold when you waved goodbye to a pouting hinata. 

when you were almost off the premises you looked up at kageyama. “you know you’re kinda hot when you’re jealous,” you smirked up at him and he stuttered in shock.

“what–i–you––”

you laughed and kissed the back of his hand softly, immediately giving him a nosebleed. you handed him a tissue which he gratefully took, glaring at you weakly. 

“you know i’m yours, right?” 

he swallowed and blinked a couple times before nodding once. 

“then you have nothing to worry about, okay?”

he started muttering to himself, the only words you could make out being “idiot” and “dumbass”. you placed your hands on his cheeks and he stopped and looked down at you, eyes wide. 

“okay, tobio?”

he nodded. “okay.” he paused. “but that doesn’t mean i’m going to be nicer to that idiot––”

you laughed. “yeah baby, i know.” 

kenma:

let’s say you’d been dating kenma for a while now, a little lowkey 

and everything is fine, everything is going really well

kenma likes it when you hang around the team, the team likes you

you’re like a part of the squad

and kenma’s feeling great about it 

until lev comes along––

kenma already doesn’t like this boy, he doesn’t even know how to hit a ball properly––

but when kenma notices the way the tall boy blatantly stares at you during practice, the way he always tries to butt into your conversations and show off to you...

kenma’s practically radiating angry chihuahua energy, the air around him red and he looks like he’s two seconds away from biting––

if lev interrupts your convo w him sometimes he’d just stare at the boy deadpanned and go back to his conversation with you, “anyway–”

or he’d take your hand and lead you away

or he’d literally just say “go away, lev.” and the poor boy would just pout and whine, “aww what? why?” 

one time lev tried to tag along on one of your dates and you had to step in front of kenma so he wouldn’t kick the boy in the shins or something

lev really wasn’t trying to do any harm, he was just a big lanky puppy who had a little crush on you

but still, kenma wasn’t having any of that

kuroo leaned on the wall next to where kenma was leaning against it, sipping his water during their ten minute break. he smirked down at his friend teasingly, “so what are you gonna do about your new competition?”

kenma wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, putting the bottle on the floor as he practically snarled. “shut up.”

“woah,” kuroo smiled, raising his hands up in mock surrender. “put your claws away, man. i’m just asking.” 

kenma simply grumbled in response, making his friend laugh.

“well you should think fast cause it looks like he’s getting real close to y/n right now––”

kenma’s head snapped up immediately and his jaw clenched when he took in the sight across the gym. lev was lying on the bench, practically half his body folded, his legs bent on the ground, his head on your lap, his eyes closed. 

kenma huffed and stomped over to you two, some of his other teammates jumping out of his way when they felt the almost deadly aura around him. he stopped right in front of you and you looked up at him.

he blinked. “why is lev on you?”

you shrugged, “he said his head was hurting and then just plopped his head in my lap.”

said boy finally opened his eyes and perked up, “oh hi kenma! my head’s been hurting from all this hard practice so i thought i’d rest a bit.”

your boyfriend’s eye twitched. “on y/n?” 

“yeah!” the boy smiled, somehow completely oblivious to the setter’s rage. “they’re real soft, you know––”

“yes.” kenma interrupted, blunt as ever. “i know.” 

noticing the increasing tension, you spoke up. “hey lev?” he looked at you happily. “your head’s feeling better now, right?” 

“well i guess so...”

“maybe you should go get some water and some fresh air then, yeah?”

he pouted, “but maybe i should stay for just a little longer–” kenma was about to pop a blood vessel. 

“trust me,” you guided him up gently. “this is what’s best for your health.”

as soon as he agreed and walked away from you, you looked up at your boyfriend with a smile on your face and pat your thighs. he eagerly took lev’s place and looked up at you with a furrow in his brows that you were quick to smooth out with your thumb, smiling when he visibly melted at your touch. you ran your fingers through his scalp to calm him down and he purred, leaning into your hands. 

“stupid lev...” he mumbled to himself and you laughed, leaning down to kiss his forehead, making him blush immediately.

“you have nothing to worry about, okay? i’m yours.”

he blinked, trying to calm his heartbeat, a small smile on his face. “good.” 

oikawa:

alright let’s switch things up a lil bit and mention someone i’ve personally like never seen mentioned in this scenario

let’s say mad dog likes you

oh boy

so at first oikawa thinks he’s seeing things

but once he notices how kyoutani opens the door for you, the way his eyes linger on you a little more when you come to practices or to the games, the way he gives you a small smile every now and then––

kyoutani doesn’t smile for anybody!!––

oikawa’s eyes narrow and he gets a bad feeling in his gut 

otherwise known as jealousy

now he knows you’d never leave him or anything like that, but the fact that you start getting closer to the walking time bomb and you become the only other person that he listens to besides iwaizumi––

oikawa doesn’t like that at all

he’d get all pouty and would literally drag you away from your conversations with the younger boy, almost whimpering when he glares and practically growls at him

“where is y/n-chan??” oikawa asked to no one in particular, his hands on his hips. 

kindaichi stopped and picked up one of the stray balls on the floor, “oh i saw y/n outside with kyoutani.”

“what?!” oikawa pracitcally shrieked, making the younger boy jump. he mumbled to himself, “i swear we need to get mad dog a collar with bells on it––” he stomped over to where the two of you were, a strained smile on his face as he noticed you laughing, kyoutani’s cheeks slightly pink.

“well what do we have here?” he said forceful but cheerful. 

you looked to your boyfriend with a smile and kyoutani simply glared at him, but then again, that was just his face. “oh we were just getting some fresh air. are you done practicing your serves?”

“i sure am.” he smiled, pulling you close to him by your waist and pressing an obnoxiously loud and wet kiss to your cheek which you immediately wiped off with a grimace, which he did not appreciate. “y/n-chan!” he whined, “that’s not very nice!” 

“well don’t make it so wet next time,” you rolled your eyes. 

noticing the other boy still hadn’t made a move to leave, your boyfriend spoke up. “shouldn’t you be leaving now, mad dog?”

you smacked his chest and he yelped. “don’t be so rude, tooru. he was keeping me company while you did your extra practice, you know.”  

he pouted and looked to the ground.

“i should be getting home, anyway.” the blond spoke up gruffly. his eyes softened almost imperceptibly as he looked at you. “see you, y/n.”

you smiled, “bye kyou.” 

“bye mad-dog!” your boyfriend practically sang, as he looked over his shoulder at the boy leaving. he turned back to you and you pursed your lips at his behavior, making his shoulders droop in shame. 

“you’re such a big baby, you know that?” although you insulted him, your voice was soft and he couldn’t help but smile at the way you cooed at him, your hands holding his cheeks. “but you’re my baby, okay? stop worrying so much about kyoutani.” 

he nodded. “okay...” his eyes widened hopefully, “can i get a kiss please?”

you smiled and shook your head, before leaning in. he really was a baby sometimes.  

tanaka:

you already know this boy is loud

and he likes to show off what’s his because he’s just so proud that you’re his and he loves to fawn over you

so he’ll always have a hand on you, an arm around you and he’ll always shower you in compliments whenever he sees you

a total simp

and that’s just in general

so when his friend likes you ??? bruh

let’s just say nishinoya thinks you’re kinda cute,,, okay really cute and his crush only (unwillingly) grew for you after you started dating tanaka and hanging out with them all the time

he’d be really excited whenever you were around, a pink tint covering his cheeks, a smile glued to his face

he’d try to show off during practice and games, looking to you after he lands a successful rolling thunder

and tanaka would be growling in the corner sdfghj

he’d literally try to one up his friend immediately and would scream to you in the stands “I LOVE YOU BABY THIS ONE IS FOR YOU!!”

after they win he’d pull you into a crushing hug and give you loud kisses all over your face 

he’d do the most and then he’d smile all smug making sure everyone including nishinoya saw 

you laughed as noya jumped several feet in the air to high five you after winning their game, a bright smile on his face. “did you see that last receive i did y/n? did you?” 

you nodded, laughing. “yes i did noya, it was really impressive.” 

his cheeks turned pink and he ducked his head, scratching the back of his head nervously as he waved you off. “ah it wasn’t all that...it was pretty good though, huh?” 

before you could respond, you saw a flash of movement in front of you before you were suddenly being hoisted into the air. you gasped and wrapped your arms and legs around your boyfriend, “ryu!––” 

“hey baby!” he practically yelled, smiling up at you and not so subtly walking away from his best friend with you in his arms. “did you see me hit that last spike? your man looked pretty good out there, huh? better than everyone else right?” 

daichi who was walking by the two of you quickly hit the back of tanaka’s head in warning, hearing his words. “watch it––”

tanaka turned his head, “uh i mean you looked great too captain! couldn’t have done this without you––”

“yeah yeah,” he walked away, rolling his eyes and you laughed yet again, grabbing your boyfriend’s attention. 

he looked up at you with wide eyes, squeezing his arms around you tighter and you smiled, putting your hand on his cheek. he nuzzled into your touch softly and you pressed a kiss to his lips, making him blush immediately. “of course i was watching you, and yes you looked very very good out there. i’m so proud of you.” 

he smiled wide but tried to act oblivious when you went on, “you know you kinda interrupted my conversation earlier with––”

“well anyway! i think we should get going now--” he spoke far too loud, walking faster from the gym, making you shake your head at his adorably possessive behavior. 

you leaned your head on his shoulder fondly, “you know you can be ridiculous sometimes ryu...”

he huffed quietly, “well you still love me right?”

you smiled. “always.” 

[nctsjiho]

If You Want Me To

cw: (requested) the boys Jeno seem a bit controlling but they're just worried; super vaguely suggestive, but I'll still mention it in case || era: July 2022

❀ JiHo gets a big opportunity from her company, but the boys seem very wary about it

“Awesome, you guys!” the dance teacher yelled out as the music came to a stop. The two idols breathed heavily in their ending poses, faces closer to each other than they probably realised. “It’s coming along nicely. We’ll see when your schedules align again to plan another practice.”

JiHo took a step back from her dance partner, uttering a breathy “thank you” with a big smile on her face after he complimented her dancing. “You’re a way better dancer than me,” he said, causing JiHo to quickly deny his words. He was her senior after all, and one of the most respected idol dancers in the industry. “Yah! Taeyong, your kids are all so talented! She’s good!”

Although hearing that made Taeyong proud of JiHo, he couldn’t help the forced smile on his face. “Ah yes, hyung. JiHo’s really good,” he laughed awkwardly, but luckily Kai didn't seem to notice as he took his leave with a wave in his general direction.

It came as a complete surprise when JiHo’s manager told her that the company wanted a couple dance between her and Kai — the singer she had pretty much idolised for years. Of course, as years passed, JiHo looked at Kai more as the person he is and her senior, but she still respected him all the same. Their family concert was coming up and she couldn’t believe she was getting a special stage with the other idol, her members couldn’t believe it either.

“JiHo.” JiHo heard someone call out for her carefully. She hummed to let Taeyong know she acknowledged him and he could continue speaking. “Aren’t you a bit uncomfortable?”

The girl’s ears perked up at the question and she turned around with a raised brow. “Why would I be?” 

“The dance, it’s a bit… sexy,” he whispered the last word. “Wouldn’t you prefer dancing with someone you know better? With someone you’re more comfortable with?”

At first, JiHo didn’t even notice the other boys behind their leader, but sure enough, some of the younger members were also standing there, patiently awaiting an answer from her. A short amused scoff left her lips before she answered, “someone like any of you guys?”

Although Taeyong wanted to deny it, Shotaro, Jisung and Jeno had already absentmindedly nodded in agreement. “I— I mean, not necessarily, but I agree with Taeyong hyung. You’re pretty close to Kai sunbaenim during the dance and you might feel uncomfortable with it…” Jisung tried to explain in his flustered state.

“I’ll tell you one thing, I’m very comfortable with it.” The boys knew JiHo was just trying to tease them, but her playful smirk didn’t sit too well with them.

It wasn’t the fact that the dance was on the sexy side — something the company wanted to get a reaction from the fans — but the fact that it was Kai she would be dancing with. Or, rather the fact that it wasn’t any of them she’d be dancing with. Especially when the news arose that Kai possibly wouldn’t be doing the collaboration stage with JiHo and she could choose another member to dance with. However, JiHo chose to wait for confirmation about Kai’s unavailability rather than choosing one of her members.

“You taught someone dances years ago and she doesn’t even consider doing a special stage with you,” Ten sighed, walking away from the group. “It hurts my heart, honestly.” Instead of commenting on it, JiHo decided to roll her eyes instead.

“Hyung, that’s why they say there’s no need in raising children. They’ll only bring you more pain and problems later on,” Jaemin explained to him.

Hearing Jaemin side with the boys made JiHo gasp. “I thought you said you weren’t interested in doing the stage with me. You said you didn’t want to dance.”

“You asked him?” Jeno’s eyes widened when Jaemin nodded affirmatively. “You asked him and not any of us?”

The few pairs of eyes staring at her were a bit intimidating, but JiHo answered as if she wasn’t affected. “Yeah, Jaemin was there when I got the call about sunbaenim possibly not being able to do it so I asked him. And Jaemin said no so I kinda didn’t bother asking anyone else.”

Sungchan and Shotaro shared incredulous looks. “And I thought I was her favourite dance partner,” the Japanese mumbled softly but JiHo clearly heard it.

“Okay now you guys are making me feel bad,” JiHo huffed as she looked at the boys who looked like a litter of abandoned puppies. “But you—”she pointed at Taeyong”—you aren’t allowed to complain because you chose to do a stage with Mark during our tour even though I asked you if you wanted to do one with me.”

Taeyong’s mouth fell open as he tried to come up with an explanation but nothing seemed to come out.

“It’s fine,” Sungchan stated even though his tone sounded defeated. “If noona prefers Kai sunbaenim over us, we’ll just have to accept it.” He patted Shotaro on his shoulder trying to seem serious, but as soon as he made eye contact with the older boy he couldn’t force the grin away from his face.

The other boys tried not to smile too hard as JiHo let out a loud sigh. “Sungchan, you hang out with Haechan and the other dreamies too much. You’re becoming too much like them. Stop it,” she warned, earning a bright-smile and nod from the boy.

Jeno was the only one who was still hyper-focused on JiHo’s “betrayal” and let out a loud whine. “No but—”he moved closer to her”—I still don’t like it.”

JiHo eyed him a bit surprised at his words and realised that the matter must really have been bothering him. “I’m sorry Jeno, I’m sure we’ll get other opportunities—”

“No,” Jeno growled but now in a hushed tone so that the others couldn’t hear him that well. JiHo signed to other members to move back without Jeno noticing. “I know Kai sunbaenim is just doing his job, but why does he have to touch you? Why does he need to hold your hand or your arm, or even your leg? Even I get uncomfortable seeing someone hold you like that.”

JiHo subconsciously mirrored the pout on Jeno’s lips as she started to realise the real reason for Jeno’s “jealousy”. The other boys might’ve been jealous as well, but it was mostly playful. Jeno — and Taeyong a bit as well to be fair — wanted to be sure JiHo actually felt comfortable knowing she didn’t like and wasn’t used to physical contact like that.

“I know, Jeno.” Her tone was soft as she spoke to him. “I admit that it did feel a bit weird at first, but after a few practices I’m used to it. And this is Kai sunbaenim we’re talking about. He’s just doing the choreography we are given, nothing more. And I’m close to our teacher, we revised the dance to the point I’ll be comfortable doing it on stage. So don’t be worried.”

“It used to be worse?” JiHo chuckled, finding it a little funny how that was the only thing Jeno had seemed to pick up on. “Yah, don’t laugh! I’m serious. Can’t you ask someone for a change of partner? I think the fans would also feel weird seeing you do such a dance with someone that’s not a member. It feels unnatural.”

JiHo hummed, taking a bit of time to think about it. “You think so?” Jeno nodded reluctantly as a response to the question. “If that would make you happy then I’ll ask if I can change my partner.”

“Really?” The two 00 liners refocused their gaze to see Jisung standing behind Jeno, a sheepish grin painting his features the second he realised they caught him eavesdropping. “I mean—”

JiHo laughed, “yes, I’m serious. If you guys really don’t want me to dance with sunbae, I’ll ask for it.” She said it loud enough so everyone could hear.

“Would you be okay with that?” Sungchan asked unsure.

“Well, I’d be a bit disappointed and I’m a little unsure of how sunbae or the company would react, but I’d do it if you want me to,” JiHo explained truthfully.

Ten took a step closer and squeezed Jisung and Jeno’s shoulders comfortingly. “No, don’t do that. Listen kids, JiHo’s old enough to make these kinds of decisions and it’s a cool opportunity for her. After how many times SM has screwed her over—”JiHo’s gasp at his brazen comment cut him off, causing him to laugh. “She deserves this, to be honest she should be getting a solo stage for all that’s worth, but…

“It doesn’t matter guys, one day JiHo will have a boyfriend and that would not compare to any of those risqué touches—”

“Yah!” Taeyong walked up behind Ten and slapped a hand over the boy’s mouth. “My child will not have a boyfriend on my watch!” he warned.

As the leader pulled Ten away to scold him, JiHo just chuckled with a roll of her eyes. In front of her stood a bright red-faced Jisung, in shock from his elder’s words. “Hey, don’t listen to him okay? Well, besides the fact that this doesn’t matter as much as you guys think. I’m completely fine. If we have time one day, or if I decide to finish another choreography we’ll just do a dance video together, okay?”

When all the boys nodded — although Jeno a bit hesitantly — JiHo turned to grab her bag. But one of the boys decided to push himself into her side. “Hmm? What is it, Jaemin?”

“Am I still allowed to be sulky about this whole thing? I like it when I can annoy you.” JiHo turned to the boy with a look of distaste, but didn't turn his request down — not that she agreed either. “I think you’re especially cute when you are annoyed at us.”

The girl had to suppress the urge to slap the stupidly wide grin off his face. Instead she poked his side causing him to flinch a few steps away from her. “Don’t mess with me, Na Jaemin,” she sang.

In response Jaemin scoffed, “and you tell us we hang out with Haechan too much. Huh?”

---

masterlists: main masterlist || jiho.writings masterlist

[sunkissedpages]

instead of you [part eighteen]

pairing: [best friend’s brother] tom holland x college!reader

summary: you didn’t expect to spend your summer pretending to be your best friend’s girlfriend- then again, you didn’t expect to fall for your best friend’s brother, either.

warnings: swearing, mentions of +sex

word count: 2k

series masterlist

“Sam and I will take the bunk beds.”

The room was a decent size. It was definitely bigger than Sam’s dad had made it sound. A large window on the back wall flooded the space with natural light and offered a view of the city below. By the door was a small fridge and a countertop with a sink and a couple of burners built in so that guests could cook their own meals. There was a queen sized bed jutting out from the western-facing wall and built into the adjacent wall were two twin-sized bunks, one on top of the other, making the room feel... cozy.

Harry and Tom traded looks with each other.

“Kidding.”

The boys visibly relaxed and chuckled awkwardly.

“If I ever have to share a bed with Tom again it’ll be too soon,” Harry sighed.

“Is that any way to treat your big brother?” Tom scoffed.

“I’m taller than you.”

“For now.”

“The fuck’s that supposed to mean? You’re twenty-five, you’re done growing.”

Tom shrugged. “Yeah, but I could always make you shorter.”

“Oh, what are you going to do, cut my legs off?” Harry challenged.

“I never said that.”

“Jesus Christ guys,” Sam said, finally cutting in. “Can we not threaten each other until we’ve had at least a few hours of sleep?”

“Whatever,” his twin grumbled, kicking off his shoes by the door.

Tom slung his backpack onto the top bunk and pulled his sweatshirt off over his head, exposing a strip of his stomach in the process. You looked away instinctively, hoping that you hadn’t drawn any attention to yourself while doing so.

“You always get the top bunk,” Harry whined.

“Yeah, because I’m older.”

“That’s not fair!”

“My brothers are actually ten years old,” Sam explained to you, raising his voice so that you could hear him over the bickering.

“No, I think ten-year-olds know how to take turns,” you said dismissively, not missing the glares from the other two Hollands.

“You’re right,” Sam agreed. He pushed his hair out of his eyes and sighed. “Reminds me of the family vacations we used to take. The six of us used to share one hotel room when we traveled.”

“Four boys... I don’t know how your mom did it.”

“None of us do.”

“I thought we were going to sleep,” Harry muttered from where he was already laying down on the bottom bunk, clearly irritated.

“Give us a minute to settle in, dude,” Sam shot back before dropping into a whisper. “It’s going to be a long week.”

You shook your head, putting your hands on his shoulders. “Everyone’s just cranky because they’re tired,” you reasoned. “We’ll get some sleep and then grab some food and then maybe they’ll be in a better mood.”

“You don’t know them like I do,” Sam warned.

“That’s true, but won’t they tone it down since I’m here?”

Sam snorted. “Wishful thinking.”

You rolled your eyes. “Whatever, I’m going to hop in the shower. I feel gross after being on a plane for so long.”

“I’ll go after you,” Sam replied with a nod. “Let me know if you need anything.”

You thanked him with a kiss under the watchful eyes of his brothers who both groaned in protest.

“Oh, fuck off,” Sam growled against your lips.

“By the way, sharing a bed doesn’t mean you get to mess around because I don’t want to hear that shit.”

“Harry!” Sam and Tom shouted, Tom going as far as throwing a pillow at his younger brother from the top bunk.

“Just being honest! We heard you going at it like rabbits when you had your own room, and I didn’t say anything about it then-”

“Harry.” To your surprise, it was Tom who cut him off, raising another pillow in warning. Thankfully, Harry took the hint that time and shut up, crossing his arms over his chest in annoyance.

You smiled to yourself with the knowledge that your little Easy A stunt had worked, and looked over to see that Sam was wearing a matching smirk. He winked at you before turning to glare at his brothers.

“On that note, I’m going to shower,” you said, mostly to Sam, and made your way over to where you had dropped your suitcase by the door.

You gathered a set of pajamas to change into and then wandered into the bathroom, quietly closing the door behind you. It was one of those rolling doors so you had to be extra careful not to knock it off its hinges or the track and cause even more noise than necessary. You set your change of clothes on the counter next to the sink and began to undress, leaving your worn clothes on the floor.

The shower was kept in a room separate from the room with the sink and vanity, something you had read was common for Japanese washrooms. Inside the second room was a bathtub with a complicated looking panel next to it. With a closer inspection you determined it was used to fill the bath with water and customize the temperature. The showerhead was secured to the wall just to the side of the tub which meant you would have to hold it while you showered, but you didn’t mind. You were used to holding the showerhead for... other reasons.

Your shower was quick. You didn’t want to take too long when you knew other people were waiting for it. You were drained too. Even as you dried yourself off with a towel you could feel your arms start to get heavier.

You wrapped your hair in your towel and put on your pajamas shortly after, trying not to cringe at the way the fabric clung to your still-damp body. Usually you wouldn’t get dressed in the bathroom right after taking a shower because it was always so humid and sticky, you’d go out in the bedroom to do it, but as Sam’s girlfriend the latter wasn’t an option. So you dealt with the discomfort and ventured back into the main room.

It was dark now. Someone, you assumed Sam, had pulled the blackout curtains shut so that the daylight could no longer stream through the window. Harry was already fast asleep, but Tom and Sam were still awake, scrolling through their phones on their respective sides of the room.

Sam was perched on top of your bed, resting comfortably. He wasn’t underneath the covers, probably because he knew you didn’t like to share a bed with someone who hadn’t showered.

He smiled when he saw you and pushed himself up onto his elbows.

“Shower’s all yours,” you said.

“Thanks.”

You watched him rifle through his suitcase for pajamas and then eventually disappear into the bathroom before finally flinging yourself onto the bed. You still needed to take your hair out of the towel and brush your teeth, but you took a moment to just. Lay there.

Tom didn’t acknowledge you, hadn’t so much as looked at you since you came out of the bathroom, but you still found yourself looking over to him.

At the airport he had seemed at least a little concerned that he would have to share a room with you. Even in the cab to the hotel he kept sneaking glances at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention. But now he looked completely relaxed and you were second guessing yourself. Maybe you’d been projecting. Maybe he hadn’t been anxious at all.

You, on the other hand, felt like you hadn’t been able to exhale since Dom had announced that you’d be sharing a room with Sam’s brothers.

It had dawned on you as soon as you stepped into the hotel room that you’d never be able to let your guard down. Before this point you had at least been able to take breaks, retreat to your hotel room with Sam and be yourselves without worrying that one of his family members was around. You hadn’t needed to keep up the act 24/7, but now you had no other choice. It was only for a week, but you knew it was going to be exhausting. You weren’t even sure that your current performance was believable, and that was without all of the more intimate interactions couples had in private. The good night kisses, the cuddling in bed together, falling asleep in each other's arms, the good morning kisses, all things you’d have to take into consideration. Most couples you knew moved in harmony, like they were one person, half of a whole. You and Sam were more like the hands on a clock. You were always moving in the same direction, and once in a while you’d overlap, but more often than not you were facing each other on completely opposite sides of the clock. It was what made you such good friends. Best friends. But what would make you terrible lovers.

To be fair, a lot of people misunderstood your dynamic, which you had been using to your advantage. They assumed that since you were always together you were basically the same person- and they weren’t necessarily wrong. You and Sam spent a majority of your time together. You knew each other well enough to finish each other’s sentences, to voice aloud what the other was thinking before they even said it.

The vibration of your phone next to you disrupted your train of thought. It was a text from Sam.

Can you come here rq? I need help lol.

Confused, you pushed back the covers and stood up. You dropped your phone back on the bed and walked over to the bathroom, keenly aware of the way Tom stiffened in his bed.

You rolled back the door and found Sam standing in his boxers next to the tub.

“What is it?” you asked, shutting the door behind you.

“How did you figure out the shower? I can’t get the water to be hot.”

“This is what you called me in here for?” you said, exasperation dripping from your voice.

“Yes! I don’t want to take a cold shower.” He said it like it should’ve been obvious.

“Did you try messing with the knobs? That’s how I figured it out.”

Sam’s cheeks turned a faint shade of pink as he pursed his lips, thinking about how to answer.

“Not all of them,” he admitted.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Sorry?”

“It’s the one on the left, dumbass,” you said and twisted the knob for him.

“Thanks,” he mumbled sheepishly. “I just didn’t want to fuck up the shower or anything.”

Men, you thought to yourself shaking your head.

“I’m going to bed,” you told him. “Before your brothers think I’m in here giving you head or something.”

“Let them think what they want,” he said, shrugging it off.

“I want to preserve what little amount of respect they have for me, thanks.”

Sam just chuckled and thanked you again as you let yourself out into the room with the sink. While you were there you hung up your wet towel and brushed your teeth with your finger and the toothpaste the hotel provided. You were too lazy to go get your toothbrush out of your bag.

“That was fast.”

You jumped, hand racing to your heart when you realized it was just Tom. He was still in his bed, but had rolled onto one side so that he could talk to you.

“You scared the shit out of me!” you hissed.

“Sorry.” He didn’t sound very sorry. “What did my brother want?”

God damn it, Sam.

“Why do you ask?”

Tom shrugged. “Just wondering.”

“He needed help figuring out the shower,” you explained.

“Glad he has you for that.”

You narrowed your eyes at the boy in the top bunk. He was trying to get under your skin. Why?

The ball was in your court. You could be the bigger person and let it go, or-

“He has me for a lot of things.” You pushed your tongue against your cheek so that there was a visible outline and brought your fist up to your mouth, moving it back and forth subtly so that he’d get the idea without being too obscene. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?"

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[akaashisupremacy]

Fated

Summary: You’re dating your ex-fiancee Gojo again, but your relationship hits a crucial crossroad. Do you stay or do you go?

Gojo Satoru  x reader

Multi-fandom Masterlist || HQ Masterlist || Ao3 version

Genre: fluff, angst, exes to friends to lovers   

“You’re hiding something from me.” Gojo Satoru confronts you as you step onto the hallway for spare rooms in Jujutsu Tech.

He is in your way. You try not to get irritated.

“No, I’m not.” you snap. It’s been a long day. You don’t need this. You push him aside and keep walking. Gojo is irritably good at sniffing things out.

He swiftly appears before you again and blocks your way, “What is it?”

“I missed my period.” You stop and cross your arms, “If you really wanna know.”

“Oh.” He mumbles softly. He looks incredulous, as if he is yet to be sure of what he just heard. You walk past him.

“Oh.” he repeats again, eyes widening as the weight of your words dawn. He turns to you.

You leave him standing there, arrested and head to your room. You’re too tired for this.

Gojo watches you enter your room and lie down. He tries to offer you something to eat since you look so pallid under the fluorescent light of the room.

“I’m not hungry. Just sleepy.” you yawn, waving dismissively.

Gojo feels obligated to stay. He looks at you quietly from the door, unable to leave.

“This really isn’t the most opportune of times,” he breathes in, “but are you seeing anyone else?”

“No.” you murmur, “I don’t have the time.”

He walks in to sit beside you, making sure to close the door behind him. You roll over to the other side of the bed away from his gaze.

Gojo knows he is not an easy person to be with. He’s your ex-fiancée for one thing, and he struggles with monogamy for another.

Being able to be intimate with you again was a chance only the gods could’ve intervened. And now that chance is starting to fade. He lies down beside you, his eyes towards the ceiling. At the start of your relationship, it was him who was hesitant. Things are reversed tonight.

“I don’t want to talk. Go away.” you cut in before he says anything, “I’m seeing a doctor soon to make sure.”

He nods understandingly and quietly, but slowly pads out of the room. The weight of the floor lightly creaks under his footsteps. The silence between the two of you dominates the hall.

————————————————————————————

There was a time when you were younger that you would visit Gojo in his family home. After dinner, you’d sneak outside to his family garden to capture fireflies in paper lanterns.

That was a much different time of course. Since then, you’ve been arranged to be married, broken up and begun precariously seeing each other again after ten years.

“Why are you wading around in the darkness?” he asks, sitting on a pile of rocks, his hands inside his pockets.

Neither of you are really kids anymore, but your fondness for fireflies remains. On your occasional stays in Jujutsu Tech for your sorcery job, you like to spend your down time in the gardens at night.

“I need a break from people.” you comment succinctly.

You’re both quiet from a moment. Gojo becomes too impatient for you to start the conversation.

“So what did the doctor say?” Curiosity overcame him.

You lower your lantern by your side, making sure to face away from him as you reply, “She tried to ask if I was married and if my family knew.”

You turn around quickly, waving your hands before he can react, “You don’t need to worry. I’m considering not keeping it...it’s too much time and work…and it made me think about us. I think we should just end things…whatever this is.”

Gojo knew that this day would come. Deep down, he already prepared himself for when your relationship would end. Yet instead of acceptance, indignance rises in his chest.

“How could you let me go so easily? How are you done with us?” he finds himself saying.

He knew his disinterest in monogamy would come to bite him back someday, but he hadn’t imagined himself in a deeply romantic and emotional relationship with you when it happened.

You shake your head. The sounds of crickets and cicadas keep the silences from being too empty.

“Every year I used to wait to see if this was the year we reconciled. If this was the year we would fix things, not necessarily be lovers, but to just be back in each other's lives.” You look to the stars, sitting in a large rock beside him, “I waited maybe 11 years to see it happen even if I didn’t know if it would come at all. And I can wait another lifetime to try again. But I think in this life, our time has to end. This isn’t going to work out, Satoru.”

Gojo feels as if his lungs will collapse. It hurts him even more to know that you do love him but you’d rather he be out of your life.

“Why would you wait another lifetime for me when I’m here now?” he murmurs.

“I can’t have you to myself.” you say simply, “I can’t take this anymore. Even if I’m not pregnant, I want to be the only one in your life.”

“You are the most important person in my life.” he grabs your hand to reassure you. You don’t resist.

You face him, tears running down your eyes, “Then I don’t understand how you can say that and still need someone else.”

Gojo feels his chest crushed with heaviness. The weight spreads to his back, his arms and neck. For the first time in years, he feels helpless.

“We knew this was coming.” you mutter, pulling your hand away to make your exit out of the garden.

Gojo does not chase after you. He notices his bandages are wet.

————————————————————————

Gojo walks around in a daze for the next few days. People always say that he is a man who has everything, but for now he is the man with only questions without answers.

How can he make you stay?

“Gojo,” Utahime nudge, “GOJO!”

She sharply jabs a finger by his side to bring him back to reality. He jerks back, accidentally hitting the wooden walls of the hallway with a resounding thud.

“Are you even listening to me?” she hisses. He hasn’t been paying attention at the school meeting and her temper is rising. How can he go around doing the bare minimum and still be so praised. She was ready to throw a fit.

“Well…we’re kind of expecting…but we might not keep the baby…and ahh…” he uses his full concentration to string together his thoughts.

Utahime stops in her tracks and rubs her temples. Every other conversation she has with him always sends her reeling.

She crosses her arms together, “Let me guess, one of you wants to keep the kid and the other doesn’t?”

“OMIGOSH YES!” Gojo raises his hands as if someone finally gets him, “How did you know?!”

Utahime looks slightly alarmed at his expression. Protective of your privacy, she looks left and right to see if anybody is nearby. She shrugs.

Gojo continues, “These past few days have made me realize how badly I want a family with them. I really want this! Except it made them realize they want a family with someone else…and I’m not sure there’s anything I can do to make them feel the same way.”

His voice softens towards the end of his sentence as he slowly sinks back into his thoughts.

Utahime takes a moment before dispensing her bit of wisdom.

“Having a child with someone is an incredibly huge sacrifice. If you really want this…then you have to make a sacrifice equal in weight. Whatever that will be…” she sighs, adjusting her kimono. “And I have a feeling you haven’t properly explained to her what an open relationship is.”

She peers at him from the side of her eye. His guilty expression confirms her suspicions.

Every now and then, Utahime feels envious of his power. However, today is not one of those days. He has some hard choices to face she would not want to deal with.

—————————————————————— “Hey!”

A week after your last conversation, Gojo spots you in the school and immediately rushes towards you.

In panic, you shove yourself into an empty meeting room and try to shut the door. He jams his foot between the ledge and determinedly peers you from the door crack.

“Oh no, you are not shutting me out. We are going to talk like proper adults.” he insists.

Your instincts kick in. You kick his feet and push him back. You bolt the door shut and slump down behind it. You’re safe for now.

“You can’t keep running away.” he breathes out from the other side, “We need to talk.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you quickly rebut, “Gojo, I have no family. There’s no one to help me. I’m going to be alone if this kid comes out of me.”

Your voice fades hoarsely as you utter the last few words.

“You have me.” his soothes in a contemplative voice.

You want to laugh. This relationship was doomed from the start. You were such a masochist for even trying. You must have been consumed with your attraction to him.

Gojo was no different though— he couldn’t help himself. You both want each other too much and now you both were paying the price.

You shake your head, “You’ll just leave me when things get tough. I’m tired of cleaning after your mess. Why can’t you just let me have my way?”

Gojo has no time to be taken aback.

“Because I don’t want a family with anyone else. I’m desperate to make this work with you.” he pleads, “ Don’t push me away. I have my own doubts about myself, and I understand where you’re coming from but I wish you believed in me more.”

You pretend not to hear him.

“I’ll be here for you and our baby, even if it's not always romantic.” he adds, his voice pleading, “I know you’re terrified that I’ll just leave you but…”

You interrupt him by opening the door. As if on instinct he hides his vulnerability from you. His posture leans back coolly, waiting on your next move.

“Gojo, I’m just frustrated to always be at the mercy of your choices. Don’t you understand?”

His lips part slowly, “If you’re not ready for a family, it’s fine. But don't you want to make this last longer?”

——————————————————

“Oh, Satoru, what have we done?” you quietly murmur, staring at the ceiling of his room.

It’s your first night in his faculty dormitory. You’ve never really been before. His room is too close to the principal’s for a casual date night visit.

Gojo’s long switched off the lights but neither of you can sleep.

“What do you mean? The baby or the wedding?” he chuckles.

You shrug, “Both?”

You shift around the sheets, the linen ruffling under your movement.

He crosses his arms and turns to you, “Well, we’ve established that the first one was an accident. The wedding—well—it’s mostly so you and the baby will be under the protection of the Gojo clan.”

Gojo promised to close his open relationship status until your kid is one and you take his word for it. It is perplexing that the wedding was his idea too. However there was something about his sincerity that you could not refuse

“How long till we regret all this?” you half-murmur, half-sigh.

“Honestly, probably every time we hit a rough patch. But we’re not meant to always be happy anyways.” he sighs lying on his arm. It’s an honest enough answer.

You sit up and put your arms around your waist, “Such optimism you have there. So tell me, oh all powerful Satoru, why are we here then?”

“For me, it's to be able to find and meet you.” he says simply.

He catches you off guard with the tenderness of his words. You reach out to touch the side of his face and gently rub your thumb on his cheek. He presses your hand on his cheek.

“If things fell apart again and you had to wait another ten years for us to fix it, would you?”

He asks so quietly you almost don’t hear him.

Your face flushes under the cover of darkness.

“…Yes, I love you too much. This was never going to be just an arranged marriage for me even when we were younger…then again, I think you already know that.” you admit in a shaky whisper.

Now that you've married him, you've given yourself permission acknowledge your true feelings to yourself. You have always been in love with him. And being apart did not changed that.

Propping himself up by the elbow, you realize his face is so close to yours. You can almost feel the wisps of his long lashes on your cheek.

“I know this isn’t your ideal wedding, but this is more than just a shotgun marriage for me too. You are my fated. And you are the only being I want to go through this with—sorcerer, curse or otherwise.”

You try not to giggle at the mention of curses.

“Through this life and the next?” you said with a small smile.

“Through this life and the next.” he assures firmly, squeezing your hand.

You smile widely and he looks at you fondly. These are your favorite moments with him, when you’re at the brink of losing each other in your gazes.

Gojo breaks your shared reverie.

“Can you kiss me?” he grins cheekily, “As your new husband…”

You kiss his forehead without skipping a beat. He flips over, still propping himself by his stomach.

“So what shall we do on our wedding night? Try for twins?” he smirks.

You roll your eyes extra hard to make sure he sees it. Gojo only laughs.

He shuffles out of bed and tosses you your coat, “Well if you really can’t sleep, we might as well go out and see the fireflies. They look bright tonight.”

You put on your coat and smile.

Another lifetime is too far away.

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

I wrote this as a follow up for another Gojo x reader fic who used to be engaged. Check out the other parts!

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5 || Part 6 || Part 7 || Part 8 

A/N: When I first wrote the original four chapters, I had already know that this was how the series would end (even though I didn't plan to write it all the way here). I don't know if I will continue writing. I have some extra material, but I don't really know if I'd like to write it out. If I ever make up my mind to do so, you will see me pop up in your notifs. 

If not, I guess this is the end. if you've gone through all 8 chapters, thank you for joining me in this wild, heartfelt ride! Comment or message to be added to the taglist! Or write down some comments about your feelsssss

Series Taglist: @tokyo-love-hotel@samkysnks@herownescape@cherrianne192@shamelessdonutsludgebanana@kageyamakock@shirostrbl@luvang3l@cloudsinthecosmos@httpjungoo @saturnki  @itstheee-ha-chan@gucci-froggy@soy1melk @dora-the-grownup @cherryonigiri @fiona782 @a--nonymousse @naturakaashi

If you’d like to continue being part of my taglist (JJK or Haikyuu), please let me know! I also write oneshots for both fandoms and soon I’ll be doing BSD too!

[ericspinkhair]

wedding fun

pairing: dom!eric, dom!sunwoo x sub! reader (no gender specified but has a vagina)

word count: 2.7k

synopsis: it’s Changmin’s sister’s wedding and his younger sibling gets super drunk and loses their virginity to Eric and Sunwoo

a/n: please send in requests!

y/s/n = your sister’s name

pt. 2

masterlist + requests

Tears were welling up as you saw your beautiful sister walk down the aisle, holding onto your dad’s arm. She looked absolutely stunning with her dark hair in a fancy updo and the silver makeup shimmering on her face. Her eyelids were painted a lovely purple and the exact same color could also be found on all the bridesmaids’ dresses. After all, it was her favorite color.

Y/s/n took the hands of her very-soon-to-be-husband and looked him deep in the eyes. Everyone in the room could see the love these two had for each other. You were wondering whether you would ever be able to find this kind of love in your life. This far you had been unsuccessful and being alone scared you. But being an idol also made having a significant other very difficult so you love would not be an option for a long time.

Immersed in your own thoughts, you were taken by surprise when you heard “I do’’ already coming out of your sisters mouth.

“And do you, Kim Hanseob, take y/s/n as your beloved wife and promise to stay by her side until death do you part?’’ The room was filled with anticipation as everyone waited for him to answer. You swore to god if he didn’t say yes you’d haunt him down and make sure to kick him there where it really - “I do,” he said and before the priest could continue he had already cupped your sister’s face and planted a passionate kiss on her lips.

You could feel tears running down your cheeks and tried to wipe them away. Your eyes met your brother's, Changmin, who also appeared to be crying and he flashed you a big smile. You grinned back.

Then your gaze fell onto your fellow members who were applauding loudly and cheering. Both your and Changmin's group were invited to sing later. That's why Changmin was sitting with his ten friends/co-workers/members in the audience and, on top of that, six girls were waiting for you there as well. You stood up there in your purple dress near your sister as you had the honor of being the bridesmaid (ever since you were little you had made it very clear that that position would be yours and threatened your sister with various horrifying scenarios in case she chose someone else).

After everyone gave heartbreaking speeches, it was time to dance and get wasted. At least that was what seemed to be planned for you. During your sister’s speech, she told everyone to get you drunk. Apparently that was her biggest wish for the night and only after that could she truly be happily married. You had turned twenty not even two months ago (Korean age) and are now a legal adult who could do adult things like drinking. The first glass was handed to you by Changmin who would not answer what kind of liquor it was and maybe half an hour later you felt quite tipsy.

Y/s/n had requested you to sing ‘Always By Your Side’ (her favorite b-side of your group) so that’s what your group performed. After that The Boyz sang ‘Break Your Rules’ and, surprisingly, Changmin’s friend Sunwoo seemed to be the most into it. Maybe it was the alcohol but you couldn’t stop staring at his luscious lips and pretty smile. His positive energy spread like a virus and the corners of your mouth wouldn’t go down.

Just as you had finished your seventh glass, another one was held right in your face.

“Having fun?” Eric teased you as you took a couple of big sips and smiled contentedly. You had never realized how beautiful this man was. His sharp jawline and divinely carved nose seemed to catch your attention. Gosh, has he always been this attractive? Noticing the slight blush on your cheeks, Eric smirked at you.

You danced a little bit together and just jammed out to the music. You tried not to look at him in fear you might not be able to take your eyes off of him. You had always sworn that Changmin’s friends were off limits. Especially his members. But it wasn’t your fault that he had decided to look so damn fine in his suit today.

Suddenly someone tapped you on your shoulder and when you turned around you saw a fine as hell looking Sunwoo smiling brightly at you two. He was holding a tray with shots and handed them to you. Y’all linked arms and downed the liquor. Since you've had multiple glasses already, you didn’t even really feel the burn in your throat anymore.

You did silly dances like the floss or copied the point dance of ‘Shine’ by Pentagon. Then the music took a different direction and suddenly ‘Whiplash’ by NCT127 was blasting through the speakers. Now you had to adjust your dancing accordingly. Eric and Sunwoo came a lot closer and you could feel their breaths on your face and neck. Not really caring anymore you gave in and moved your body to the rhythm. One of the boys was grinding from the front and one from the back and you could feel something hard poking you from both sides. You ground your body on the two boys and were enjoying how their breathing became heavier and heavier.

Only as Sunwoo started placing wet kisses on your neck did you become aware of your surroundings again. You quickly looked around to see if anyone was staring but the rest seemed to be equally as drunk and immersed in their own stuff. Changmin was having a dance contest with one of your members and Kevin was twerking on the side.

You let out a moan as Eric sucked a hickey on your collar bone. Not wanting them to stop but also being kind of embarrassed at being in a public space, it took you all of your restraint to groan out a “we shouldn’t be doing this here.”

“Wanna go somewhere more private?” wasn’t necessarily the response you had expected. The suggestion had come from Eric who was now caressing your sides while coming dangerously close to your chest. At this point Sunwoo was humping your butt from behind. Your panties were soaked and you were rubbing your legs. Your whole body was screaming to say yes and leave with these two sexy men.

“I know a perfect place here where we can take good care of you. Do you want us to spoil you, baby? We can make you feel so good. You’ll be screaming our names all night. Do you want that?” Sunwoo whispered into your ear. At this proposition you nodded eagerly and the alcohol in your system made your head spin. The triumph was visible in Eric’s face and he took you by your hand and led you away.

As soon as the door to the hall closed, Sunwoo spun you around and crashed his lips onto yours. Your inexperience was overpowered by your intoxicated state of mind. The alcohol seemed to take over and your mouth and tongue moved on their own.

“As much as I would like to join you, we need to go quickly before someone sees us,” Eric urged you and you parted in dismay. The venue your sister had rented for the wedding was huge and you found yourself locked in a room on the fourth floor, far far away from the rest (most importantly from Changmin).

The beautiful purple dress was now lying somewhere in a corner (but you made sure they took it off carefully) and your bra was nowhere in sight. Pressed against the wall both of your nipples were being taken care of by the two boys. Someone was biting, someone was licking and it all felt like heaven. Sunwoo’s thigh in between your legs prevented you from rubbing your legs together but you still got a good amount of friction and rubbed yourself on his muscle.

“Who knew that y/n could be so horny? My leg is completely wet from your pussy.”

“Then take your pants off,” you contered, not knowing what exactly came over you. Sunwoo, as well as Eric, wasted no time in discarding their pants and underwear and left you staring at the two most beautiful dicks you had ever seen. And also the first ones. You didn’t move, not really knowing what to do. They must have noticed too as they each took your hand and led it to their cocks. They slowly guided your hands up and down their shafts. After a while they let go and you rubbed a bit quicker, enjoying the effect you had on them.

The logical next step was to suck so you knelt down. First, you let your tongue taste Sunwoo’s tip and he let out a heavy sigh. Feeling more confident, you started by licking up his shaft before wrapping your mouth around the head. It was big and tasted a bit salty but it felt so good knowing that you were bringing pleasure to this pretty boy.

“Baby, do you want to taste me too?” asked Eric and you switched. Now you were sucking Eric’s length and stroking Sunwoo. Eric let out small moans and grabbed your hair tightly. You looked up at him and admired his physique (you hadn’t noticed that they had taken off their shirts).

They took turns using your mouth and even started gently thrusting and you were a bit overwhelmed with how thick they were. Eric’s pumps were getting quicker but suddenly pulled out. Did you do something wrong?

“Fuck, y/n! You’re going to make me come already. We haven’t even shown you the real thing.” Sunwoo helped you stand up and then pulled your panties down. He picked you up and lay you down on the bed. Before you could register anything happening, you suddenly felt something very wet connecting with your heat. Sunwoo had licked a strip up your pussy. Your body arched as he sucked on your clit, the sensation feeling overwhelming.

“Look how sensitive y/n is. I wonder how our baby will react when we put our dicks inside.”

“I’m a virgin!” you suddenly blurt out. You weren’t sure why you told them but it probably wasn’t wrong to let them know.

“That’s okay, baby,” Eric responded while Sunwoo began fucking you with his tongue, “We’ll take good care of you.”

Sunwoo moved to the side and Eric took his place in between your thighs. He then planted a big kiss on your lips as he pushed one finger inside. The sensation felt a bit foreign. Of course you had fingered yourself before but having someone else do it was very different. Instead of going super fast like you had expected, he took his time. It was easy to adjust and soon you felt another finger at your entrance.

Your pussy took the second digit in as well but this time the discomfort was more noticeable. Apparently it was also visible on your face because Sunwoo began exchanging wet kisses with you and massaged your nipples as a distraction. He mumbled soft praises against your mouth, telling you how good you were being.

“I think y/n is ready,” Eric said after a while. You had been approaching your climax and felt a bit disappointed.

“You do have condoms, right?” you asked a bit panicked, remembering that you were not on the pill. Sunwoo stood up and picked out condoms from their pants. He held them up while smirking at you. Seems like they came prepared.

Once you felt more comfortable, you gave him a nod and he started moving. Sunwoo began very slowly but as you started showing signs of pleasure he increased his speed. He was placing hickeys all over your collarbone and neck and you were tugging at his hair. Out of the corner of your eyes you could see Eric watching you while stroking himself, patiently waiting for his turn. Slowly Sunwoo’s breaths and thrusts started becoming sloppier and then, while moaning out your name, he came hard in his condom.

Sunwoo rolled the condom over his hard penis and aligned himself at your entrance. He stroked your face.

“You have nothing to worry about. Try to relax.” You tried to give him a reassuring smile as if to tell him that you were going to be just fine. He kissed you deeply as he pushed in. The sensation felt overwhelming so you grabbed onto Sunwoo’s arms. He held still while trying to distract you with kisses.

He was trying to catch his breath but Eric left him no time and pushed him aside. Without any hesitation, he shoved his dick right into you and began pumping. He started with an already high speed so you felt quite a strong sensation from the start. He held you by your hips and kept a fast pace. Your eyes were rolling back in pleasure as he was fucking you hard. It didn’t hurt, it was like waves of pleasure were running over you. Since he had already jerked off when Sunwoo had had his turn, he didn’t last as long as the other boy did.

“Can I come on you?” he asked you as he picked up the speed even more. Barely being able to respond you slightly nodded and he suddenly pulled out. He took off the condom, stroked his throbbing length a few times and then shot his load all over your body. Some landed on your belly, some on your tits and some even on your face. Eric let out stuttering groans as he unloaded his cum onto you. Thinking you were done, you tried to get up but was quickly pushed back down onto the mattress.

“You didn’t come yet,” Eric stated matter-of-factly. He lowered his face to your heat and started lapping. You felt very sensitive and gasped in surprise when you felt Sunwoo playing with your clit. Damn, these boys definitely knew what they were doing. Like this, you came closer and closer to your high. At this point you were sure that you were screaming a lot but didn’t know whether anyone could comprehend your words. Feeling that you were almost there, Sunwoo and Eric picked up their pace and, not long after, your eyes rolled back into your head and darkness took over.

Your orgasm was very intense and wet. After your body had finished, you felt very weak and exhausted but satisfied. Not really being able to open your eyes again you just lay there. You barely noticed the boys cleaning you up before sleep overtook you.

You woke up feeling extremely sore in between your legs. Opening your eyes was tough but when you did you wished you hadn’t. You couldn’t believe what you were seeing. First of all, you were completely naked and so were the two boys next to you. Even worse was that these were your brother’s members, the only people you had sworn to avoid any romantic (let alone sexual) contact with. Your head was also hurting and you felt like throwing up. So this is what alcohol did to you.

Sunwoo and Eric seemed to be still sleeping so you just quickly dressed yourself and ran out of the room. How do you even deal with this kind of situation? Now you had to avoid Sunwoo and Eric for the rest of your life and also had to keep a big secret from Changmin. If he ever found out you’d be dead but what would happen to the two guys who had fucked you seemed to be an even worse fate. You felt kind of dirty having been used by two men but at the same time it had felt so good. You even came and that amount of pleasure was something you had never felt before. Sadly, this kind of scenario could only ever happen again in your dreams.

[asocial-inkblot]

Sad Possibilities for Maiko

Imagine: Zuko and Mai do end up marrying for their own reasons and making a girl, who they name Izumi. However, instead of how most fanart and fanfics seem to depict them—that is, as a super cheerful, fun-loving picture-perfect family—they’re actually...none of the above. 

Mai in show comes across as aloof and very, very introverted (it’s possible to be too much this just as it’s possible to be too extroverted), though at times in a comical and maybe typical-teenager way. The Beach didn’t actually contradict this as much as it attempted to give some sort of reason behind it. How do you think those personality traits would affect her as a mother, assuming she never got counseling for them or ‘grew out of it’? Would she allow Izumi to be open with her feelings like Mai wishes she’d been allowed to be, or would she shut Izumi down every time she tried, like what was done to her as a child? Is Mai even capable of comforting anyone she’s not apparently head-over-heels for? Maybe...she would regret having a baby days after giving birth. You know, since babies are always a handful and a require a lot of patience, attention and care. In a way, raising one demands that you stick to a routine. Getting bored is not an excuse to neglect them, even if someone else is around to do the care-taking for you. She’d also likely be a teen mom and probably wouldn’t have a compassionate adult to model her idea of parenting off of.

As for Zuko, oh goodness. Do I even need to say it? His birth family is in absolute shambles by the end of the series and a huge reason why is his own behavior! He definitely has no idea what a happy, healthy family looks like and his time with the Gaang couldn’t and wouldn’t change that. His idea of fatherhood at most would come from Iroh, which definitely wouldn’t be a good thing for multiple reasons. (Parenting is more than giving a kid some advice once a month, and I guarantee you Iroh didn’t do much child-rearing when he was a younger man and Lu Ten was still alive.) He’s extremely selfish and self-absorbed, impulsive, hot-tempered, explosive, dim, offensive, quick to snap, often lacking in basic common sense, etc. etc. That alone gives us an idea of how he’d be as a father. Mai even once (and only once unfortunately) called him out on his crap. Similar to his partner, he’d be a teen dad and wouldn’t know the first thing about comforting another person. He doesn’t even know that there are healthy ways for him to cope with stress without bringing others into it and hurting them. Maybe he wouldn’t bother with parenting either. Isn’t that what servants are for? What’s a parent’s job again?

Also...how do you think the both of them would react to having a girl child, especially one that actually grows to look a lot like Azula, but with a longer, more ovular face and slightly lighter-hued eyes? I think Mai might react with guilt to it, knowing how her 8 to 9 year long friendship with Azula ended.

Zuko on the other hand might short circuit over needing to parent a girl that looks and maybe even sounds and acts similarly to his, perhaps, estranged sister who he hasn’t seen since she escaped his rule many years before. I bet on more than one occasion he’d project his unresolved trauma on poor Izumi. 

Even taking LOK into account, this all could be true. Zuko having a personality like his from ATLA isn’t necessarily a good thing and we don’t even see Mai, who might have abandoned her family years prior. If we’d gotten to know more about her, would she be close to or distant toward her mother and or father?

[capseycartwright]

for the kiss prompts: buddie + 44 tentative kisses given in the dark.

Sharing a bed with Buck wasn’t necessarily unusual, in of itself. Eddie wasn’t sure you could be as close as they were, have your lives as intertwined as they were, and not ever share a bed – they’ve passed out drunk together, before, and shared a bed after a bad call when neither of them wanted to be alone, but not like this. No, they’d never shared a bed like this.

It had been a bad call. A five alarm fire – Eddie’s first, since coming back from medical leave – and it was a doozy. The building was so far below standards it was actually laughable, and the whole thing had gone up like a powder keg – shitty insulation, cheap framing wood, and a dozen other things making it so the place had burned brightly all night. Eddie hated those fires – hated the heat, the desperation, the way they were working against a clock from the moment they stepped on scene. Some fires, you could see how you could contain them, how you could secure the building and beat the flames down – these kind of fires, they were the kind of fires you just had to try and pull everyone out of, and let the building burn.

Bobby had called it, around 3am – everybody out, he’d ordered. The building was going to collapse.

Except – except Buck was convinced he’d heard a dog, of all things, and he was going to go back in, and they were ten metres from the door and Eddie just completely freaked out.

“Buck, you don’t need to be a fucking hero all the time!” Eddie had screamed over the roar of the fire, grabbing at his best friends sleeve.

Buck yanked his arm out of Eddie’s grasp. “Eddie – that’s the job description!”

“No, it’s not,” Eddie had argued back. “Buck, you don’t have to risk your life for everyone and everything else – not when, not when….”

Buck had looked confused. “I’m not going to stop doing my job, Eddie.”

“I’m not asking you to stop doing your job, Buck, I’m asking you to use your goddamn brain and only take the risk when its your only choice – because if you ever force me to watch you die, Evan, I won’t survive it.”

“Eddie,” Buck’s voice was a broken whimper, quiet amongst the noise of the fire.

“I love you, you stupid bastard,” Eddie said, grabbing Buck’s sleeve again, Buck letting himself be dragged out of the fire, that time.

They hadn’t really spoken, after the fire – Buck had seemed shell-shocked, and by time they knocked the fire down and packed up their trucks, and got back to the station, their shift was over. Eddie had taken longer than normal, in the shower – and okay, maybe he was catastrophising about how he might have ruined the best thing in his life because he hadn’t thought about his words properly – but Buck was sitting, waiting for him in the locker room.

He hadn’t said anything then, either – just wordlessly waited for Eddie to get his gear, getting into the passenger seat of Eddie’s truck, quiet as they drove though the still-dark LA streets. Quiet, as they got inside, and quickly ate some cereal together. Quiet, as Eddie had tugged Buck toward his bedroom, forcing the younger man under the covers before he could protest.

They had shared a bed before – but never like this.

It felt like all their secrets were sitting between them, now, out in the open and needing to be addressed – as though Eddie’s outburst at the fire had opened a box they couldn’t pack away, again. Not this time.

“Did you mean it?” Buck’s voice sounded impossibly loud, after so much silence. He was lying on his side, facing Eddie, and even in the dark of Eddie’s bedroom, he could tell that Buck’s brow was furrowed – with worry, maybe. Confusion, definitely.

Eddie swallowed thickly. “Yes,” he confirmed, because why would he lie, now? It was out there – Eddie Diaz’s biggest secret had been put out into the world and now he had to own it. He loved Evan Buckley.

“Can you – can you say it again?” Buck asked, a tiny smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Maybe be a little less angry about it, this time?”

Eddie couldn’t help but snort. “Shut up,” he said softly. “Buck – I love you. I love you and I need you to come home to me.”

Buck was quiet for a second, before he spoke. “I love you too, Eddie,” he said. “I – I’m sorry I didn’t say it back, the first time.”

Eddie shrugged. “I just – I need you to hear me, when I say this, Evan – you have a family to come home to, and you have someone who loves you so much they wouldn’t know what to do if you weren’t here. So just – stop treating your life as though it’s worth sacrificing. It’s not.”

He felt tired, the exhaustion a physical ache in his bones and the mental exhaustion just as heavy – but Eddie couldn’t help but lean in, and kiss Buck softly, tentatively. It was dark, and the angle wasn’t quite right, and Buck mostly tasted like stale cereal and sugar, and it was definitely not one of those movie-style, swoon worthy kisses that knocked you off your feet – but it felt like home, and that was enough, for now.

The rest could wait until after sunrise.

send me a prompt from this list or this list

[songbirdstyles]

sparks

summary: you’re a music journalist assigned to covering one of harry styles’ gigs, and he’s absolutely smitten with you. (part one.)

warnings: slight fluff, excessive liberties taken about music journalism; smut in later chapters, angst in later chapters

word count: 8.2k

inspo.: almost famous - cameron crowe; sparks - the who; hello, i love you - the doors

You’d never truly gotten a big assignment before - sure, you’d gotten a few pieces here and there detailing local LA bands that you knew would never live to see more than 100,000 monthly listeners on Spotify, and they mostly ended up buried by your higher-ranking coworker’s higher end stories on the front covers - and, for the most part, you’d honestly been fine with it. You’re fresh out of college, the newest recruit to your company and your colleagues who are sent out to tour with big bands and artists have been here for years, some even decades, and you suppose they deserve the opportunities more than you, don’t they?

You work your way up, your boss had told you the first day you’d started working, following him around like an eager puppy as he showed you the office. Eventually - if I’m impressed with you - you’ll get something big.

It’s enough for you. Small bands playing in hole-in-the-wall clubs and restaurants may not be the exact thing you’d envisioned when you’d set your sights on being a music journalist but it’s worked out well for you so far, hasn’t it? You’ve made friends - even dated the lead singer of an underground rock band who cheated on you hardly two weeks into the relationship - and your portfolio is slowly building, stacked with exposés and detailed recounts of small gigs that you’d watched from backstage. Eventually, you’ll leave this company and move on to something bigger, like Rolling Stone, and your career will take off until you’re practically the face of music journalism.

And, really, those dreams have carried you through college and the first year of your career, putting your all into every article and every piece just so your boss can tug you into his office one day with a rarely-seen grin to finally tell you -

“I want you to write an article on Harry Styles.”

You furrow your eyebrows, shifting in the cushy office seat that your boss has for guests in his office. It’s a facade that you’ve learned to acknowledge, because, no matter how much he makes it look like he appreciates guests in his office, you know he regards you as nothing more than an interloper, even if he’d invited you there to begin with. “Harry Styles?”

“You’ve heard of him, haven’t you?” Mike asks, light shining off his bald head, and your mouth opens and closes a few times uselessly. 

“Of course I have!” You push yourself to sit up straighter in your seat, staring up at your boss with shock written in every feature of your face. You, writing about Harry Styles? God, you nearly want to pinch yourself to see if you’re dreaming. “Write an article about - about what?”

Mike scoffs in that pretentious way that makes you hate ever having to talk to him, and you resist the urge to roll your eyes at him. “He’s coming to do a few shows along the West Coast. You can go to one or two - talk to him a bit, talk to his band - you’ve done this before, haven’t you?”

“With small bands, sure - Tacocat and - and the Mystery Lights -” You swallow thickly, and Mike stares down at you in your seat like he’s unimpressed with your enthusiasm, or lack thereof. And it’s not that you aren’t executed - but, Christ. Going from bands performing in underground clubs to Harry Styles is like going straight from crawling to flying a fucking plane and you’re not sure if any of your experience with the musical locality in LA could prepare you for that. “I mean, that’s huge, Mike.”

“It is huge,” Mike confirms, crossing his thick arms over his chest, leaning against the desk before you as though he’s immune to sitting in his seat behind his desk like a normal boss. “Do you not want to do it? Because Melissa, you know - she’d love to, was going on and on about it last week -”

“No!” Your cheeks flush at the volume your voice raises to, and if you didn’t know better you could swear you see the ghost of a grin on Mike’s face. “I want to, Mike, I really want to - it’s just crazy.” There’s a pregnant pause between the two of you, your boss nodding smugly down at you as you struggle for words, before you ask the question burning the tip of your tongue with its desire to be heard. “But - why me? I’m sure you have people more qualified for it -”

“Easy,” Mike says, cutting you off and you’d be annoyed in any other instance but you’re too desperate to hear his answer. “Look, Harry’s a young guy. Younger than anyone else our people have interviewed - I think he’ll respond more to a young, pretty girl like yourself than someone older than him.”

Well, that makes sense, you suppose. The only coworker even close to you in age is Melissa, and she’s pushing 30 as it is. You’re 23 - graduated college just over a year ago, and by far the newest recruit this company has taken in years - but you had always imagined that was the main reason you wouldn’t get many big articles, and here it’s the main factor in you getting what will surely be the highlight of your portfolio once you apply to Rolling Stone. An interview with Harry Styles - God, they’ll probably foam at the mouth when they see it, and a grin spreads across your face as you think of it.

“Is that a yes?” Mike questions, blonde eyebrows raised high and nearly disappearing into his scalp. 

“Of course,” you respond without another moment of hesitation, and you push yourself to stand, office chair rolling behind you with the force, and it hits the wall behind you with a soft thump. “Yes - of course - of course.”

“Great.” And he crosses to the other side of his desk, pushing aside a few loose papers and folders on his desk, and you clutch your hands in front of your stomach as you watch him, practically bouncing up and down with uncontained joy and fear bubbling inside of you. The last time you’d felt like this was the first time you got a real assignment - more than just ranking songs and discussing new album releases - and you’d been sent to a strip club to cover a gig from an up-and-coming band. Back then, you’d never expected to ever feel more excited over anything in your life, and yet, here you are, eight months later, fighting back the urge to burst into joyful tears. “They come in a week - I’ll send you the address - if you need help with your questions -”

“I’ll ask Francine,” you finish the same advice he gives you every time you’re assigned an article, referring to your oldest coworker - a little old woman who’s been with the company since the 70s. She’s always been more than willing to help you with your assignments but this - you need to do this by yourself. “Thank you so much, Mike, this is - this is great.”

“Don’t let me down,” he says, pointing his finger at you, and you nod furiously. “I’m trusting you on this - it’s a big opportunity.”

“I won’t disappoint you,” you promise, holding up your crossed fingers just to show him how much you mean it, and you know it’s the truth - you’ll make this piece the best damn one this company has ever seen if it’s the last thing you ever do. 

 ~~

 The night begins a bit - rocky, to say the least.

For one, you couldn’t decide what to wear, even after spending nearly a half hour trying on every variation of clothes in your closet and tossing them onto the floor of your studio apartment when they didn’t satisfy your needs. In the past you’d worn to gigs what you’d wear if you were a simple concertgoer, albeit a bit more modestly, but you can’t decide what you would wear to a Harry Styles concert if you got the regular chance to - and you’d never even dreamt that it would happen in the first place -

Well, you peruse your closet intently and land on a pair of patterned flare pants and a long sleeve sweater. It only seems fitting for the chilly weather outside, and you fold a shirt into your bag in case you need to change if it gets hot backstage. You’re not dressed to impress, necessarily - you’re dressed to get a job done, as Mike would always say, but how could you be expected to not attempt to impress Harry Styles? It’s a preposterous idea. You’re sure anyone would understand.

Journalism pass - phone - keys - deodorant - when you’ve checked your bag over three times to ensure you have everything necessary you finally leave, locking your door shut behind you and ordering an Uber to take you to the concert.

You hadn’t anticipated Uber and Lyft being absolutely overloaded with patrons due to the concert just a half hour away and you need to be there by 6:30 at the very latest to ensure you get in and can at least talk to Harry before he goes on - a quarter of your questions are geared towards how he feels pre show and you can’t get pre show questions after the show - that’s barbaric. But the minutes inch closer to 5:30 and your Uber driver is still ten minutes away and your heart beats so fast against your chest you think you might vomit right into the street in front of your building -

You’re in the car by 5:45. It’s not ideal, and you know you’re cutting it close, but hopefully you’ll be there before the soundcheck ends. It’s always an ideal time to take photos, watching the band warm up and check mics, and with a piece like this, you need all the opportunities for pictures you can get.

And traffic is horrible - you suppose that’s also to be expected, and your Uber driver curses in a language you can’t recognize as cars cut him off on the highway and if you were a different person, you’d recommend a shortcut he takes, but he doesn’t look like he wants to hear a single word come from your mouth. He had given you a dirty look when you entered the car, and that’s enough to make you shut up and pray for the entire car ride that you make it on time.

6:27. Mike would piss himself if he knew how close you cut it, and you hop out of the car with a speed you didn’t even know you could muster, pushing past the buzzing crowd standing in front of the main entrance. The hoard of people seems to have a steady heartbeat, pulsing with excitement much like your own, and you can’t help but smile as you make your way around the group, goosebumps cropping up over your skin as your teeth chatter in the coldness. For a moment you fear that the directions to the backstage entrance that Mike had given you were total bullshit - but then you see the door, blocked by a burly security guard that glowers at you as you walk up to him like you’re something sticky beneath his shoe.

“Hi!” you call, breath exploding in a white cloud in front of you in the cool night air. The security guard smells so strongly of booze that you need to try harder than you’d care to admit not to scrunch your nose - you cough softly. “Let me - um - find my pass - I’m with Autoamerican, the magazine?”

Fingers grab onto your journalism pass, deep within your bag, and you tug it out, flashing it to the security guard with a slightly nervous grin. All of the gigs you’d been to before hadn’t even had backstage doors - to get backstage, you just had to climb onto the stage and walk behind the wings - but this is a fucking stadium, not just a measly club, and a big one, at that. In your youth you’re sure you could recall your dad watching a football game that occurred in this very stadium - funny how life turns out, sometimes.

“Autoamerican?” the security guard questions, bringing his face closer to your badge as the wafting smell of alcohol increases, and he raises his eyebrows with a scoff. “Never heard of it.”

“Oh.” you pause, feeling your teeth beginning to chatter in the cool February air. You’re not quite sure what to say - you’d assumed Mike had called to arrange the entire thing, hadn’t he? And this is the time you’re supposed to be here - “well, we’re not as big as Rolling Stone magazine, but - we’ve done interviews with The Cure, The Smiths - even Zeppelin, at one point -”

Your voice trails off into silence. He doesn’t care. He’s looking at you like you’re some innocent teenage girl, trying to bribe your way backstage so you can bombard the artist and not a fully grown woman here on business, goddammit. And you’re not sure what to say - he doesn’t believe you, clearly, and you hadn’t anticipated that even as you listed all the ways tonight could go wrong.

“Look, kid,” he begins, and that really has your blood boiling, eyes narrowing to glare at him. “We get this all the time. I’m a journalist - I’m with the crew - it’s a bunch of bullshit. Now go to the front with your general admission tickets like the rest of them -”

“I have a pass - I’m a journalist!”

“Sure -”

“I can call my boss if you want proof!”

And before you can reach into your bag to search relentlessly for your phone to follow through on the promise like you intend to, the door the man is guarding suddenly swings open, nearly hitting the guard in the ass as it opens out. You take a step back as dim light from inside floods the darkness, and a man steps out of the doorway, his eyes darting between you and the security guard.

“Are you with Autoamerican?” the man questions, raising his finger to point at you as though he could be speaking to anyone else. You nod furiously, and you hold up your journalism pass again just to prove it. “You can come inside, then - c’mon, Steve, she’s got a pass, for God’s sake -”

And you can’t resist flashing the guard a smug smile as he steps to the side to let you inside, rolling his eyes so far back into his head that all you can see is a strip of white.

The man lets you inside and the door shuts behind you, and you nearly knock straight into a second security guard standing by the door inside, as though trying to stop people from going out. And, well - you’ve been backstage at more concerts than you could count but this is certainly bigger, better, bustling with people carrying equipment and makeup artists and more people you couldn’t possibly identify. You’re half inclined to reach into your bag and grab your notebook to jot down exactly what you’re seeing so you can make sure to include it in the article, but you have a distinct feeling you’ll never forget it.

“I’m Jeff,” the man tells you, already setting off through the people, and you’re quick to follow, trying to maintain your pace beside him. After a second of walking in silence you realize he’s waiting for you to say yours - you clear your throat and introduce yourself, and he sends you a smile. “The band just finished their soundcheck, if you’d like to have a word with them before they go on - what’s the article about, anyway?”

Jeff shoulders the two of you through lingering groups of people until you emerge into a small hallway lined with doors, and you can hear bustling noise coming from the one closest to you - holy shit, is that Harry? 

“Um - just about the shows, the tour, how everything’s going. My boss basically told me to do what I want with it, so I’ll have a better idea once I speak to the band.” It’s the loosest instruction you’ve ever been given for a piece - you’d expected a clear cut outline - but perhaps with an artist this big, Mike trusts you to know what to write. “It likely won’t be anything too personal, but I’d love to get a chance to speak with Harry before and after.”

“Sounds great,” and you can tell he’s stressed - you wonder if he’s always anxious before his client’s shows, or if there’s something special about tonight that has him worried - and then he reaches past you, twisting the doorknob closest to you and holding the door open for you to enter before him, and you give him a gracious smile before walking in.

The room isn’t as crowded with people as you’d expected but they’re bustling with energy - a woman and a man, holding a guitar, lean against the wall with each other - two other women sip water bottles, laughing loudly amongst each other - another woman leans above someone, their body hidden from view except for their legs, covered in silk, floral printed pants -

Your breath catches in your throat as Jeff shuts the door behind you both, and the sound of the door clicking shut draws far more attention to yourself than you’d expected - it seems like every pair of eyes lands on you and Jeff, and you’d decided on being a music journalist to keep away from being the center of attention. You’ve always preferred being behind the scenes, a bit, at least until your career progresses until you’re a household name for music journalism, and now -

You feel very much in the scenes, eyes on you as Rhiannon plays in the background.

And then Jeff is tapping you on your shoulder, leading you around the room to the small groups of people lingering - you shake hands with Mitch and Sarah, the couple against the wall, and the rest of his band, and they’re so nice your smile feels like it’s going to break your face in half. You’ll need to interview them at some point - nothing too intense, and you may not even need to, if Harry’s answers are satisfactory enough - and you can already feel yourself building a strange sort of rapport with the band, their kindness rubbing off on you until you practically glide beside Jeff to the woman bent over Mr. Floral Pants, whose identity you’re fairly certain you���ve already deduced.

It doesn’t make it any more surprising when the woman steps aside where she’s carefully applying powder to the man’s face, and then Harry fucking Styles is staring up at her with a smile and an outstretched hand, suit jacket matching the floral pattern of his pants. His curls are carefully slicked back from his face, skin matte with the powder the woman resumes applying to the side of his face that isn’t turned to you, and you swallow your shock before reaching to shake his hand, Rhiannon turning into Hello, I Love You, playing from a source you can’t identify.

“Nice t’meet you,” Harry says when you’ve told him your name and the magazine you work for - Jeff had already mentioned it, but it is customary to repeat it to whomever you may have to interview. “Y’know, I love Autoamerican - told Jeff, s’the only magazine I’d let interview me backstage. Don’t usually allow it.”

“Really?” your stomach flips as Harry stops bouncing his arm, but it takes just another half second for him to untwine his hand from yours - you’re sure it’s because the makeup artist fretting above him is using her thumb to wipe off powder from his nose, but it still makes your heart thump faster against your chest. “I assumed most people haven’t heard of it - it’s nowhere near Rolling Stone.”

“I love it,” he insists, dropping your hand, and he looks so casual, as if this interaction isn’t blowing up your entire life, and you’re brought back to the many moments you’d spent as a teenager fawning over him in his One Direction days - God, this feels like a dream, and you’re half inclined to pinch yourself in case it is. Maybe you’ll wake up in Mike’s office to him giving you another shitty underground LA band to interview. “The interview with Sublime s’great - read it all the time.”

You swallow thickly, grin spreading wider across your face, and before you can open your mouth to tell him about Francine’s go-to story about how Eric Wilson had flirted with her while she interviewed them for the story, Jeff interjects - “Steve hadn’t even heard of it.”

“Steve’s an idiot,” Harry starts, and you giggle - his lips lilt upwards just a bit. “Hope he wasn’t hasslin’ you ‘bout it.”

“Just a little,” you say, hoisting your bag further up your shoulder just as the makeup artist drops the powder back into the apron slung around her waist, and her manicured nails tilt Harry’s head around for a moment before she seemingly deems his makeup satisfactory before leaving, sending you a tight lipped smile as she goes. “I’d love to ask you a few questions before the show - nothing too heavy - and then I’ll observe the concert and how everything goes, ask a few questions after.”

“Sounds great,” Harry responds, lifting his fist with his thumb up and you didn’t think your heartbeat could grow any faster or louder but you suppose today is just proving you wrong time and time again. “D’you need t’record m’answers? S’a bit loud in here.”

The truth is, you’re sure you’ll have this entire experience engraved in your brain for years to come - you’ll remember every word he utters for you until your dying days - but it is more practical to have a recording. You swing your bag off your arm and open it, digging through the jumbled mess of items inside until you find your phone, and you hold it up with a nod. “Yeah - there isn’t anywhere a bit quieter, is there?”

It takes a minute of bustling - Jeff tells you two instructions to go down the hall into another room where you may find more silence - and Harry promises, accent thick and eyes rolling, to be back in twenty minutes or less, if tha’s enough time for you, ma’am, and you try to trick yourself into thinking the burn flushing up your cheeks is due to the heat of the room.

Down the hall is another door that Harry opens for you, letting you walk in first. It’s a small room, clearly meant for storage, and he shuts the door behind the pair of you. There’s - luckily, or perhaps unluckily - just enough room for you two have at least a few feet between you, and he leans against the wall with an air of casual elegance you couldn’t hope to achieve as you scroll through your phone to search for the voice recorder app.

“Hope this s’good enough - is it?” Harry inquires, leaning his head closer to yours, and you nod. “Good - wish there was a nicer spot for you, but -”

“Don’t worry about it,” you interject, smiling up at him, and he grins back, and your stomach churns violently. You almost feel like you could vomit - when he goes on, you’ll go and have a bit to eat at the table set up with foods that Jeff had wheeled you past when you arrived. Eating seems to solve more of your nerves than you’d care to admit, and you feel like you’re nearly 95% nerves right now. Your fingers fiddle with the voice recorder app, adding a title to the recording while entirely too focused on the sounds of Harry’s breathing above you, and you can practically fear his eyes boring into your face before you press record. 

And, for the most part, it does go smoothly. Harry introduces himself with an ease that only comes with years of practice, so much time spent being interviewed that it must feel like as much of a second nature to him as interviewing is to you. He’s charming and charismatic - flirtatious, even - making jokes and adding lines that you make a mental note to be sure to include in your final piece - whatever direction you go - and you can’t say you’re bothered by the way he leans closer to the phone, and thus closer to you, in order for his voice to be heard more on the recording when occasional noise bustles in from outside.

You don’t need to look at the questions you’d spent weeks laboring over - every question you inquire derives directly from his answers like he’s practically feeding them to you, and then you’re interviewing him so naturally, you could nearly fool yourself into thinking it’s an organic conversation between friends. 

What’s his process to prepare for shows? Well, listening to Fleetwood Mac and eating finger foods, of course - he loves mozzarella sticks. Does Fleetwood Mac make you less nervous for shows? No, he doesn’t get too anxious before shows, now that he’s out of the band. He just loves Fleetwood Mac - he could listen to them at any time of the day. What do you think makes your solo career less anxiety-inducing than being in the band? Different fans let him be himself more. There’s less pressure to be someone he isn’t - do you think he could’ve worn a floral printed suit at a One Direction concert?

And, in the end, twenty minutes hardly feels like it, and by the time Harry tilts his head over the screen of your phone to check the time, you could nearly convince yourself that you’d merely spent a minute with the heartthrob, and it pains you to stop the recording.

“How’d I do?” he questions, cheeky smile indenting the dimple in his cheek, and you feel like you need to dip your face in ice once he goes on stage - your face hasn’t felt anything less than piping hot since the first moment he rested eyes on you, and his kind-bordering-on-flirtatious nature only makes your skin heat more under his gaze.

It isn’t as though you’d have it any other way, though.

“Perfect,” and you send him a smile. “I’ll watch the show - probably eat a bit, too, if I’m being honest - and maybe ask you a few questions. How many shows are you doing in LA?”

Harry reaches past you, grabbing the doorknob and opening the door for you once more, and you slip out with a small smile as he follows, face twisted in what’s clearly a show of being in deep thought. “Four. An’ a few more on the West Coast ‘fore we move out - reckon you’ll need t’come t’a few more?”

“Depends.” He looks at you curiously as the two of you make your way back to the room you’d been in before, and when you enter, it’s clearly in a more prominent state of preparation for the show - there’s more bustle and movement between every band member and Jeff, who looks entirely relieved to see you two come in as She’s a Rainbow thumps softly, volume clearly turned down on whatever produces the music. “If I feel like I’ve got enough material from this show, then that’ll be it - I usually just do reviews of specific gigs, and this is a lot broader - so I really don’t know.”

Harry nods, and you feel a flutter in your heart at how intently he seems to be listening to you, like he really cares, and you’re sure it’s a facade - he probably has a million other things on his mind as Jeff descends upon the both of you, whisking him away as he calls goodbye! to you - but still. When was the last time you’d felt listened to? By Mike, or by the security guard outside, or even from your own parents when you try to convince them over and over that you have a plan, that your degree wasn’t a waste of time when you could’ve been a doctor -

Well, Harry’s a gentleman, you decide, sliding your phone into the back pocket of your flares as you reach in your bag for your notepad. You can tell they’re preparing to go on soon and so you descend against the wall, grabbing your pen from deep inside the confines of your bag to scribble the essential notes of what you’ll need - it’ll make it easier when it’s time to write, rather than listening to the entire 20 minute interview again to try and find the important sections to include.

His responses to your question still burn fresh in your mind, and you began scribbling your bullet points on the small notepad in your hands. It’s decently easy to block out the chatter of the room you’re in along with its music, volume turned down further until it’s hardly audible, and it really is a skill you’ve mastered, though you suppose you’ve had to - trying to take notes for articles about gigs occurring in buildings so small that their noise reverberates off of every surface has made you a master in tuning out noise surrounding you.

You are aware, and acutely, at that, when the band starts exiting through the door beside you. They don’t look nervous, returning your encouraging smiles with ones of their own, and you watch them pour out the door with confidence practically radiating off of them. Well, that’s something to mention, isn’t it? Most of the bands you’d interviewed were practically vomiting with nerves -

Harry takes up the rear, fingers running through his slicked back hair, and you can’t tell if it’s a nervous habit or if he’s simply trying to let his curls fall in front of his eyes more. Jeff walks in front of him, giving you a smile as he leaves, and the singer stops beside you.

Your breath just about catches in your throat as you look up at him, and he’s staring down at you with a decidedly ambiguous look in his eyes, and you smile at him. “Good luck out there.”

“You’re gonna come and watch?”

You nod. “Eventually - I’m gonna eat something first, finish my notes. Maybe give myself a tour of the backstage in case I decide to include it.”

“Sounds good t’me,” Harry says, but he doesn’t make a motion to leave, and then his eyes roll down your body and is he fucking checking you out? Because - no - that’s crazy. That would cement into your brain the knowledge that this is a dream, and not reality, because there’s no fucking way Harry Styles is checking you out, eyes roaming from your eyes to your stomach to your - “I like your pants. Where’d you get ‘em?”

Ah. Of course. Fashion icon, he is, inquiring about the pants you’d chosen specifically because they looked like something he may like. “These?” You glance down as though you’d forgotten what pants you’d donned, as though you hadn’t spent hours in front of your closet envisioning what outfit you could wear to impress him. “I think they’re from Zara. Got them a couple years back.”

“They’re pretty.”

“Why, thank you -”

“Harry!”

Jeff’s voice calling from outside the room snaps you both out of your conversation, a slightly embarrassed grin spreading across Harry’s face that you’re sure is mirroring your own. His cheeks are tinged pink and he clears his throat.

“Sorry - gotta go - make sure y’try the mozzarella sticks, ‘kay? They’re good,” Harry tells you, and you grin, drumming the pen clutched between your fingers against the notepad in your hands.

“Will do,” you reply, and then you lift your hand and point to the door, raising your eyebrows with a smile. “Go break a leg - and then be ready to talk about it when you’re done!”

He doesn’t say anything else - just gives you a thumbs up and slips out the door, and you can hear his frenzied apologies to Jeff as their voices fade away, surely preparing to get on stage and sing his heart out and blow the fucking stadium away, but you can hardly focus on it. Because - God, you really don’t want to sound like a narcissist - but he was joking around with you, complimented your pants, and he did technically check you out, even if it was just to see your pants. 

Was he flirting with you?

Surely not. No, that would be absurd. He’s probably just bored - maybe entertaining random people backstage is his way of dealing with his nerves.

That makes a bit more sense.

When you glance back down at your notepad, the page half filled with scribbled bullet points of things you’d sworn to remember, and when you click your pen open to continue your list, you find that you can’t quite think of anything else to write. All you can think about is the mozzarella sticks waiting for you, and then standing in the wings to watch him sing his heart out to a crowd of adoring fans that you, at one point, would have killed to be apart of -

You shove your pen and pad back into your bag with a determined spin of your heels. Food first - contemplation second.

 ~~~

 The show is - needless to say - amazing.

You’d feasted on slightly-cold mozzarella sticks that were, even in their lowered temperatures, immensely good, and clearly garnered all the affection Harry had for them. The food table was nearly completely empty, crew members repeatedly coming up to fill plates with vegetables and snacks, and so you simply gathered the last three sticks of celery once you were done with your sticks before taking a leisurely stroll along the backstage area. Celery firm between your teeth, you pulled out your notepad and your pen once more and jotted notes of what you could possibly include in the article to jog your memory later -

It takes a while, admittedly. You don’t want to leave anything out, and eventually you have two pages filled with notes in your handwriting that would surely be illegible to anyone else who happened upon them - and, sure, your pages are small, but still. Two pages is a lot, and you’re sure most of it won’t even make it into the article but you don’t want to risk forgetting any important information.

A trip to the bathroom - perusing the food table again to pick up the last few carrot sticks - and the show is nearly halfway over, so you decide it may be time to slip into the wings and watch. Take notes, possibly, but mainly just listen and absorb the music and the atmosphere and exactly how the fans react to his every move. That’s what the people want to know, isn’t it? It’s what you would want to know - so you slip past the lingering groups of people into the wings of the stage, where you get a clear view of Harry and his band, singing his heart out to a tune you know to be Kiwi.

It’s ear splitting, truly, in a way that none of the other gigs you’d witnessed had been. But it sounds good - better than good - and he’s as charismatic on stage as he is off,  waggling his eyebrows during the more suggestive lines and undoing the button of his suit jacket, and the latter garners a deafening scream from the adoring fans in the crowd. 

No, you won’t need to take notes, at least not yet. You’ll remember this forever, won’t you? Watching him work the crowd like he was born to do it, like it’s a second nature and you’re sure it is, at this point. It’s all you can do to stand there, watching him, and you’re sure you look no different from the other fans in the crowd, your eyes wide and lips parted in absolute awe of him -

His head turns to the side, briefly, as if he can sense your eyes on him above anyone else’s. In reality you’re sure he’d simply turned his head to flick a sweaty curl out of his face but it’s never a bad thing to dream right? And your gaze locks for just a moment, his eyebrows raising when he sees your face, and heat burns at your cheeks before his tongue darts out to wet his lips, and his right eye shuts in a quick wink before he’s turning back to the crowd as if his attention had never left them.

Shit. You nearly drop your damn carrot. God, he’s a fucking tease, and you’re not even sure he knows it - that this experience will never leave your brain for as long as you walk this Earth, watching him wink as he stared into the depths of your fucking soul, clad in a gorgeous suit with his gorgeous hair and -

Harry truly is a sight to behold, and you’re more than content to watch him forever.

Forever ends up being another half hour or so before you’re made entirely too aware of the fact that you have to pee - not insanely bad, but enough to make you shift uncomfortably from side to side before sighing, turning and making your way further backstage in your search for the bathroom. In your determined tour of the backstage you’d forgotten to search for the restroom, and you wander about for nearly five whole minutes before getting to it -

You do your business. There’s not much more explanation needed.

It’s when your washing your hands, though, water freezing cold against your palms, that you become slightly aware of a myriad of noises occurring outside the restroom. At first you choose not to focus on it, shoving your hands beneath the air dryer to ease your soaking, cold hands, and the noise of violent air assaulting your palms drowns out the scuffling sounds from outside.

When the dryer turns off, and you reach down to wipe your damp hands on your pants, the noises haven’t stopped. And, sure, no one could expect it to be completely silent backstage, but whatever you’re hearing isn’t the normal laughter and chatter and muffled music that you’re used to hearing -

It sounds like someone is fighting, and your hand freezes in its place on the cool metal doorknob. You lean forward, scrunching your nose as you plainly try harder to hear what’s happening -

But, Hell. You have a job to do - you need to get back to the wings to watch the remaining few minutes of the set before Harry leaves and, subsequently, returns for the encore, and you’d intended to write with detail about his closing repetition of Kiwi. So you grab the doorknob, swing the door open and step out, and freeze nearly immediately once you’ve exited.

There is a fight - not as violent as you’d expected - as the security guard from inside scuffles with Steve, who looks positively wasted in a way you’ve come to know all too well, doing gigs in LA. His face shines with a sheen layer of sweat, skin glowing in the artificial light, and his fists move slowly to pummel into the other security guard’s back. It’s, truthfully, a bit pathetic to watch - he isn’t putting up much of a fight against the guard trying to hold him, and your mouth parts with poorly-concealed confusion at the display in front of you.

You’re not sure what to say - or do - or think - standing in the doorway of the bathroom as you watch the poor excuse of a fight, Steve nearly toppling to the ground as the other guard tries to contain him.

“Come on, Steve - don’t be like this -”

Then the other security guard looks up and sees you, and the expression on his face nearly makes you burst into laughter, but you contain it with a bit more difficulty than you’d like to admit. He looks annoyed, like he’s absolutely done with his coworker, and also slightly embarrassed. Clearly, he’d dragged Steve into the hallway containing the bathrooms with the hopes of nobody seeing either of them, and you’ve interrupted his bid for privacy desperately. “Sorry, ma’am,” the guard says, grabbing one of Steve’s flailing fists in his hands. “Don’t mind us - he’s drunk - just trying to contain him.”

You’re doing a damn good job, you want to say, but you bite back the retort with a small nod and a whisper of a smile on your face, walking with your back to the wall past their display in the hopes of Steve not seeing you. He hadn’t been particularly nice to you when you’d first seen him and you can tell he’s in a much more heightened state, now - he’d been drunk when you’d seen him before and you can tell it’s only gotten worse.

Maybe you should’ve told Jeff the guard was drunk?

Well, it’s counterproductive to dwell on the past.

You’re not so lucky, though - you’ve barely made it down five steps down the hallway before Steve lifts his head, pupils blown and skin even stickier looking than before, and he gives you the same disgusted look as though you’re something his dog had left on the grass. “Hey - hey - Jim - do you know who that is?”

And the other security guard - Jim - just rolls his eyes. “No, Steve, I don’t - stop making a fool out of yourself.”

“She works at - at - Eat to the Beat - Parallel Lines - what is it?”

Do you answer him? You don’t quite know. You just swallow thickly, forcing yourself not to don the smile that’s urging its way onto your lips as you hear roaring screams from the crowd that alerts you to the fact that, if Harry isn’t done with his set yet, he’s close, and you need to watch the end. “Autoamerican. Those are all good albums, though.”

“She’s snarky - get off of me, Jim -”

In Steve’s final bid for freedom his legs kick out, and his sneakered foot knocks into your ankle, and it’s certainly not hard by any stretch of the definition but it’s enough to catch you off balance, his toe hooking into the loose fabric around your ankles as he brings his foot back to kick again. One kick did it, though - you tumble to the ground, legs flying out from under you until you land on your ass on the hard floor, your bag slipping off your shoulder, and its contents scatter across the ground.

Fuck. That hurt, more than you’d care to admit, as you brace your elbows behind you to stop your head from knocking into the ground. Your ass hurts and you can see Steve’s leg bracing backwards for another kick, and you push yourself backwards so his foot merely pushes against the air.

You can already see Jim opening his mouth to desperately say sorry when a set of footsteps interrupts his apology - you don’t have to look to your side to see who it is, the smell of expensive cologne wafting before him like an introduction. You practically feel him before you see him.

Your name falls off Harry’s lips entirely too easily, like he’d been looking for you in the overtly small window of space he has before he has to go back on stage - his hair is messy and his skin is sweaty and he bends down next to you with such sentimentality in his eyes - you almost feel like a child again.

“Are y’okay?” Harry questions, and his hand rests on the small of your back and warmth seems to seep through your body from its spawning point, palm moving in circles against your sweater so gently you can tell he’s scared to go much harder. “Wha’ -?”

For his eyes had just landed on the sight in front of you - Jim managed to pull Steve up, the latter clearly coming to his senses at least a little bit, and his eyes narrow at the sight of you on the floor and subsequently widen as he sees Harry next to you.

“Wha’ happened?” And you can hear anger quivering under his voice like boiling water, ready to overflow, and you instinctively reach up to press your hand against his forearm - you do it to your niece all the time when you can tell she’s on the verge of a tantrum and it always works on her - but she is five, and Harry’s twenty years her senior, so, needless to say, the motion doesn’t do much to soothe him. “Fightin’ back here, kickin’ her - you’re s’posed t’be security guards!”

“It’s okay, Harry -”

“S’not okay -”

And then there’s another set of footsteps jogging over to you, and you look up to see Jeff -

“Har, you need to get back out -” but you can see the confusion set into his features as he stands over the scene, eyes flickering to you and Harry on the floor to Jim and Steve, the former having settled the latter into a fairly calm position. The scent of alcohol is strong and you can practically watch as Jeff smells it, his nose crinkling. “Is he drunk?”

“He is drunk, an’ got into a fight wit’ -”

“Okay, okay,” you interrupt, squeezing Harry’s arm again as you push yourself to stand, attempting not to wince at the pain in your ass as your muscles tense. He’s looking at you like you’ve just been hit by a car instead of having a mild scuffle with a security guard, eyes wide and concerned, and you shake your head at him. “Didn’t get into a fight, Harry - he accidentally kicked me. It’s really fine - you need to go back out, anyway.”

“She’s right,” Jeff insists, reaching down to tug Harry up as his eyes bore into the sight in front of you, Steve slowly calming himself down until he’s simply red in the face and reeking of booze. “Come on, Har - you need to get on.”

But Harry’s already bending down again, grabbing your pen and your notebook and your phone (you can see a crack in the screen that most certainly hadn’t been there just a mere ten minutes ago) and you could nearly laugh at the display he’s putting on, shoving your items back into your back, if Jeff’s demeanor wasn’t bordering on murderous as he drags Harry up again. You reach down and grab your bag, now fully stocked again with all of the items that had clattered out, and you give the tussling security guards one final fleeting look before following Jeff and Harry as they make their way down the hall.

“Y’sure you’re okay?” Harry questions, slowing his pace so you can jog beside him, much to Jeff’s lingering annoyance as he brings his fingers up to rub at the space between his eyes. “Y’should know - tha’ doesn’t usually happen -”

“I get it,” you tell him.

“No, really.” You’ve reached the wings of the stage, and Jeff leaves the pair of you alone to descend on to where the band stands, clearly waiting for the cue to go on. Harry runs a hand through his hair, and he looks oddly exasperated and you wish you could get it through his head that it really isn’t a big deal - “Someone will take care of the guards, okay?”

“Don’t fire them,” you insist, even though you’re sure he has no say in it. “Not Jim, at least.”

“Jim -?”

“The sober one.”

“Oh.” He pauses, dropping his hands to his sides. “I can’t make any promises.”

“Just try.”

“Will do.”

There’s another brief second of silence before you nod towards the stage where he’s needed - the few lowly minutes between the end of the show and the encore has come to an end, and you’re sure people are beginning to wonder if he’s not coming back. “Go on, Har. There’s people waiting for you.”

“M’going!” And he isn’t going, just staring at you with his brows furrowed, and you raise your own with a confused stare. “Are y’gonna come t’any more shows?”

You pause, nibbling on your bottom lip as you contemplate your answer. “Well - maybe. If I need more information.” “You should,” he tells you, and you tilt your head to the side. “Look, I don’t want your only impression of m’shows t’be that they’re violent an’ crazy.”

“I don’t think -”

“Jus’ one more? In two days. I’ll send you th’address. I really want you t’come -”

Before you can process the request Jeff has stepped forward, hooking his arm in Harry’s and practically dragging him towards the stage, and you watch him prance back in front of the audience like it’s his God given purpose and perhaps it is. You’ve never quite met anyone like him, you don’t think, and you’d certainly had a perception of what you’d imagined him to be like based on the insane amount of time you’d spent obsessing over his band when you were younger -

Your mouth feels suddenly dry as you watch him begin, and the music seems to reverberate beneath your skin, and suddenly - without having to think about it much at all, really - you know it won’t take much convincing on his part to get you back for a second night.

[mqgriett]

Crosshair- The Exam

Prompt: “You’re the only thing that matters”

Pairings: Crosshair x Fem!reader

Warnings: none!

Summary: you’ve been studying your ass off for a month trying to prepare for the exam that will dictate whether or not you get to go back to the 104th battalion as a medic. 

Notes: IM SORRY THIS IS SO LONG thank you sm for requesting @lightning-wolffe

You shut off your data pad and pushed it under your armpit, squeezing it with your bicep to not let it fall from your grip as you open your textbook. Before you received the chance to re-read your highlighted notes you felt a tap on your shoulder. 

“I heard that your boys landed in Hangar 5.” Kix chirped, pointing behind him with his thumb. He ran his opposite hand through his short brown hair, smiling kindly. 

You hummed in response, your attention mostly focused on your annotations. The big exam, one that basically determined whether or not you were allowed to return to your assigned Clone Force, was in three days. Every quiet moment was spent with you cracking open a textbook or reviewing your notes. Now that you thought about it, when was the last time you ate… or slept?

Kix quickened his pace and moved in front of you, using his index finger to push your book down to properly view your face. “You know the exam isn’t for another three days, right?” he asked. 

You pressed your lips in a thin line, “Unfortunately not everyone has a memory like yours. I need to study.” you said, closing your book and bopping him on the head with it lightly. 

He took the textbook from your hands, holding it up in the air until it was out of your reach. “Fives!” he called to someone you couldn’t see, “Batchers still here?” 

Behind you, the ARC trooper nodded, “Gonna be here for the next coupla hours. Engine is shot.” 

Kix let his guard down just long enough for you to grab your study materials back. You gently nudged him to the side and walked past, just wanting to get back to your quarters and study. 

The medic gave up, hurrying to catch up with Fives as you walked in the opposite direction. 

Were you dying to see the Bad Batch? Absolutely.

Did you have the time to? Unfortunately not.

Someone (a medic from the 212th apparently, but you tried not to believe rumors) had fucked up a month ago, and it costs you your privilege of being an on-site medic. All field nurses were sent back to Coruscant to retake the big medical exam to prove that they could still serve as medics. 

Unlike Kix, you took it very seriously. Getting anything below a 80% would make your chances of returning small. Only the top 45% of nurses would go back to their battalions while the other 55% stayed on Coruscant to continue their studies. 

The large metal door to your room slid open as you scanned your hand and you stepped inside. Without looking up, you wandered to your desk, which was covered in an assortment of different papers and sticky notes. 

Still reading your textbook, you typed in the access code for your online notes. After a few seconds an automated female voice began to quiz you on questions you had written down two weeks ago.

You stood up and undressed yourself, lazily pulling a dark brown shirt over your head and letting your hair fall loose from the bun that had sat on your head for the majority of the day. 

“Define Choledocholithiasis.” said the voice. 

“Stones in the gallbladder or common bile duct” you replied effortlessly, shuffling to your bathroom to fill the water compartment for your caf. 

You plugged the machine into the wall, allowing the slow drip of heavenly brown liquid to start as you sat back down at your desk. It gave you a moment to think about everything. Realistically, you were more qualified than half the shinies going in to take the exam. 

Kriff, you were wasting your time here. 

You pushed back from your desk and slid on the first pair of shoes that were near your door. 

The halls had quieted down for the most part, most of the clones eating dinner or heading to bed if they had an early start tomorrow morning. 

Massaging your scalp and yawning, you made your way to Hangar 5. 

You looked a little tired, but it didn’t matter as long as you got to see Crosshair. You knew none of them would care but especially not him, in the small window of time you two got alone he frequently told you how much he loved your messy hair. He wasn’t much of a verbal communicator when it came to your relationship, but he always made up for it in physical gestures. 

Rounding the final corner, your eyes began to scan the busy hangar for the marauder. You took back your thought from earlier, seeing that Hangar 5 was a lot more busy than you had anticipated. 

At least two different squadrons were shipping out, from what you could tell it was the 104th and 312th battalions. The blurred figures of grey and green armor made it difficult to keep your focus on one thing at a time. 

You carefully started to walk along the wall, ducking until a small cruiser as a short cut. 

After another ten minutes of searching you finally spotted a familiar face in the bottom right corner of the hangar. 

Tech typed away at his data pad, turning to shout something up at Wrecker, who was sitting on the top of the ship and swinging his legs like a mad man. 

Despite the excitement bubbling in your stomach, you took your time walking over to them. It was nice to just observe and laugh at their behavior for a few minutes, it lifted your spirits.

Once you were within vision to Wrecker, he didn’t hesitate to point and shout at you from the top of the Marauder. 

“Tech!” You called as he mindlessly searched for you in the crowd of people. 

He grinned widely, opening his arms up as you jogged over to him. He hugged you tightly, another pair of large arms suddenly wrapping around both of you. 

Wrecker finally set you two down, giving you an individual hug and swaying you from side to side. At one point you were almost choking. 

“Thought you were studying for the exam.” Tech said skeptically, eyeing you as if you would ever hide something from him. 

You shrugged, “priorities” you peeked over his shoulder, looking for a specific person. 

Tech noticed your wandering eyes and smiled, “Cross is taking inventory with Cody.” 

“Where’s Sarg?” you asked, linking your arm into his. 

“Talking to some of the blue regs.” Wrecker replied loudly, making a few of the 501st soldiers turn to look at him. The large clone was never one to be secretive when it came to addressing the other clones as “regs”. It often drew attention to the group, not necessarily the good kind either. 

From a distance you could see Hunter walking back towards the Marauder with Fives, both of them with their helmets at their hips. 

Sarg’s eyes lit up at the sight of you, his pace quickening as his urge to be with you grew. He hugged your torso tightly, allowing his arm to sling around your shoulder loosely afterwards. 

“It’s been a while.” He said, gently nudging you away from Fives before the ARC trooper could talk.

“It’s been two months. And I always call.” You replied, smiling. 

“You look exhausted.” Hunter pointed out quickly, looking down at the bags under your eyes. 

You shrugged, “could say the same for you Sarg.”

You four situated yourselves underneath the Marauder, sitting on top of a few power supplies and food crates. Hunter sat next to you, Wrecker and Tech mirroring both of you. 

“We were told you wouldn’t be coming down.” Hunter said, leaning back on his elbows. 

You raised a skeptical brow, “who told you that?”

“Fives” he answered nonchalantly, “why else would I be talking to him?”

His comment made your eyes roll, “be nice.” You warned, poking his stomach where armor didn’t cover him. 

Hunter swatted your hand away, briefly turning his head and smiling. “Look who’s back,” he jutted his thumb behind him, pointing to the two other clones making their way back to the ship.

Cody held a clipboard loosely at his side as he spoke to Crosshair, who carried his helmet against his hip. The 212th trooper laughed at something he said before saluting the sniper and walking in the opposite direction. 

You always seemed to forget how handsome Cross was in person. The blue hologram of him during your brief calls did nothing for his strong jawline and high cheekbones. The scruff along his jaw and neck was slightly more visible now, a grey shadow lingering along it. 

Pushing yourself off the crate, you broke into a swift jog towards him. For someone with perfect eyesight, he didn’t notice you coming until you were a few meters away. 

He opened his arms up, catching you perfectly as you jumped to him. 

His long arms held your waist completely as he lowered you to the ground, back arched due to his height compared to yours.“Didn't think you would come.” he said softly in your ear, his voice alone producing butterflies in your stomach. 

“I wanted to see you.” you replied, pulling away from him and moving to his side. 

Crosshair sent a small smirk to you, which was enough to indicate that he felt the same way. 

You walked side by side back to the rest of the group, shoulders touching and hands grazing against one another’s. The gestures were sweet, like the type you would make in school when you were younger. They were enough to make the other person feel loved without drawing too much attention. 

The Bad Batch, plus you, sat underneath their ship once more as the rest of the 104th took off in their ships. You waved to Sinker and Comet from the opposite side of the hangar, tossing over-dramatic kisses in their direction while they climbed up the steps. Another mission for them, one that you wouldn’t be going to. 

“When do you expect to return?” Tech asked from the top of his crate. You had situated yourself on a lower case, one that was used to store bombs and other small explosives. It kept you about seven or eight inches off the ground while Crosshair took your spot next to Hunter. 

You let out a long sigh, “I don’t even know if I’ll go back.”

“They need ya out there.” Wrecker replied, crossing his large legs like a child would. 

Crosshair could sense your unease and pushed himself off the crate, settling on the ground in front of you and leaning back so his head pressed against your chest. He let out a small chuckle, no doubt feeling your heartbeat quicken for a few moments. “They’ll take you back.” he said calmly, reaching for your hand and placing it atop his head. 

You began to run your fingers through his short, grey hair. “If I don’t get above an 80% then I’m not going back.” You mumbled. 

“Why 80?” Hunter asked innocently. 

“Because she’s a girl.” Wrecker replied loudly, having absolutely zero common sense as to who could be listening. 

Crosshair tense underneath you, muscles tightening against your legs, “Wrecker.” he seethed, using his brother’s full name. 

Your face dropped, cheeks heating up. He was right, but hearing someone finally say it out loud made it worse. That was the real reason you had been dedicating so many weeks to studying. Even if Kix received a 45% and you an 80%, they would choose him over you. Clones were bred to be intelligent. You were just a girl who somehow got Senator Palpatine to assign you to a clone squadron. 

You wiggled your way out from under Crosshair, stepping over the low crate of explosives and walking up the steps of the Marauder. It was cold inside but the chill felt so nice against your hot body. 

In all honesty, you wanted to cry. You wanted to go back to your room and bawl your eyes out until you physically couldn’t produce tears anymore. But you knew you couldn’t, that would be showing weakness. 

Soft footsteps echoed behind you, Cross’s monotone voice ringing in your ears shortly after, “he didn’t mean that.”

You shook your head, “No no, he’s right.” 

He took a few steps towards you, gently reaching for your wrist and pulling you into him. He rested his chin on your head, “you’ll do great on the exam.” 

You pushed off of him, needing a bit of air to keep from crying. You shook your wrists out and looked up at the ceiling, it helped a little bit. “Just nervous.” you muttered. 

He stayed silent, not exactly sure how to comfort you. Words frequently failed him and in the rare occasion that you were upset Tech was able to calm you down, but not this time. Crosshair wanted to make you feel better, no matter what it took. 

You hated being this vulnerable around anyone, the panic in your stomach growing every second of silence that passed. 

Taking a deep breath, you began to walk past him, “I need to go, you have more important things to-” 

He caught your bicep and spun you back around, other hand holding the small of your back as he kissed you. It was a deep, passionate, yet chaste, kiss. You melted into his grip, leaning backwards to force his lips onto yours more. You held the sides of his face, the small scruff on his jaw feeling immaculate against your own. 

He rested your foreheads together and quietly, barely audibly, whispered, “you’re the only thing that matters.” 

You were about to kiss him again when Hunter, Tech, and Wrecker walked through the door. 

Hunter smiled, “Guess who’s got a new nurse on the team.”

Your head cocked to the side, Wrecker looking like he was about to explode from excitement at any moment. “We do!” he bellowed, “and it’s you!” 

Mouth hanging open, you looked from Crosshair to the other three. “What?”

“Welcome to Clone Force 99, medic.” Hunter answered proudly.

[binniedeactivated]

𝐝𝐢𝐥𝐟!𝐲𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐣𝐮𝐧. || 🌪💦 (1.4)

[ m.list ]

➦ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 | 𝐝𝐢𝐥𝐟!𝐲𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐣𝐮𝐧 𝐱 𝐏𝐎𝐂 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥

➦ 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 | 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫, 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭 𝐚𝐮

➦ 𝐖/𝐂 | 3k

➦ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒  | 𝐈𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫,  𝐚𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐚 𝐜𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭'𝐬  𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫.

➦ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 | 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟 + 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭

POC = person of color

adriana did it often. whenever she had some time for herself in the midst of her hectic school days she would make it her duty to get to the bathroom just so she can fix her makeup. she didn’t wear makeup because she thought it made her beautiful but it covered up the scars her ex made on her skin. she refused for anyone else to see them or even get a slight glimpse of them. she wanted to leave all that in the past. she didn’t want to have to explain her bruises to anyone.

often times he would try to come back. trying to love her the ‘right’ way this time, or trying to swoon her into thinking that he was finally going to be the man she always wanted. only to be the man she always hated yet again. she didn’t want to be in this situation. she was twenty six she wanted a life, she wanted love and she wanted a family. she loved the kids she taught like they were her own of course but she couldn’t wait for the day she would finally be called mommy.

she was starting to like yeonjun. not just for the sex--although that was pretty good too. but she saw him every morning and every afternoon dropping off and picking up his children, hugging them, kissing them, holding them near him at all times. even if he forgot something he would drop it off in the middle of his day or even if the slightest inconvenience happened to them he would drop everything at the drop of a dime. he had even been invested in their school work, their grades and progress, more than adriana has ever seen any dad concerned about their child. she found that she wasn’t just attracted to the sex, but she was attracted to love he had for his kids.

“ms. A! ms.A!”. myla called frantically from her chair while sipping on her juice box. it happened to be lunch time and the children were sitting at their tables happily chatting away while making messes of their faces. adriana touches her back softly,

“yes myla?”.

she points to the bright pink sticky note inside her lunch box. “what does that say?”.

adriana crouches down to her level to get a better look. she clutches the sticky note and reads it loud enough for myla to hear.

“enjoy your lunch myla. have a great day! daddy loves you ♡ “

adriana smiles a bit, “your dad left you a note today. do you want to maybe keep it and put it in your pocket?”.

myla nods excitedly, opening in her pocket for adriana to just shove it in there. she folds it neatly though and places it that way instead. she stands to her feet shortly after.

“ten more minutes left of lunch time guys, make sure you’re eating”. she announces prior to returning to her desk to finish organizing worksheets.

“your dad packs you lunch?”. andrew, one of the children at the table had asked. myla nods while happily biting into an apple slice.

“that’s so weird. packing lunch is for mommies. My mommy packs my lunch”.

“me too!”.

“ou me three!”.

“‘me four!”.

the other children decided to chime in. their small voices were drowned out by the indistinct chatter around the room. myla slouched her shoulders in shame. she hadn’t thought it was weird for her dad to pack her lunch all this time.

“well my daddy likes to pack my lunch”. she decided to say, although not knowing if she was trying convince them or herself.

“your daddy is weird”. Paige says, chewing into her peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

“he’s not weird don’t talk about my daddy”.

“yes he is. packing lunch is for mommies”. Andrew adds again, licking the oreo icing off the cookie.

myla clenches her small fists growing a little angry at the obnoxious boy. “shut up. daddies can do it too”.

“no they can’t! unless your daddy is a girl. is your daddy a girl?”. he teases, leaving the rest of her lunch table flooding in laughter. myla felt ashamed at each and every kid who laughed at her and made fun of her father. she could feel her cheeks heat and salty tears well in her eyes. she clutched her juice box angrily and threw it at andrew’s face.

“Ow!!”.

“don’t talk about him ever!”.

he rubs his face and sticks out his tongue. “that’s why he’s still a girl!”

“myla! andrew? what is going on?”. adriana rises from her chair behind her desk, only for myla to run straight out of the classroom in full fledge tears.

“you know, you’re really pretty”. daniel complimented his girlfriend Luna. and that she was. she had this pretty black hair that spiraled down her back with bangs along her forehead. she wore these vibrant pastel colored dresses everyday. most importantly though she was sweet to Daniel. and that was something he came to love.

she smiles behind her book at him. It was reading time. yet the duo decided to use the time to whisper to one another instead of reading those boring books that their teacher handed them. “thank you. I showed my mom a picture of you yesterday. she said you’re a cute boy”. daniel chuckles a little. “well tell her I said thank you. It’s been a while since someone has called me that. other than you”.

she strings a piece of hair behind her ear in wonder. “really? my mom always calls me cute. doesn’t yours?”. daniel bites the inside of his cheek in thought. he couldn’t remember the last time his mother even saw him long enough to compliment him. but he wasn’t going to admit that to Luna. he moves his head in uncertainty. “sometimes I guess,”. He lied. “not as much as yours probably though”.

she lays a hand on his shoulder. “well you’re a cute boy daniel”. and that kind of made his heart warm. when Luna reminded daniel of his mother’s shortcomings it was all he could really think about throughout the day. there were a lot of things that he could say his mother hadn’t done for him. for example, most of his friends often bring leftover dinner that their mom cooked to eat at school the next day. or they would talk about the complications of their mom doing their laundry, being too overprotective, nursing them to health when they were sick.

Leah hadn’t done these things since daniel was younger. he only held a faint memory of her making this extravagant dinner one day for his dad’s birthday one year, but that was about it. it never necessarily bothered him because his dad was always there. his dad did his laundry, his dad cooked dinner, his dad was overprotective and his dad took care of him when he sick.

and this was the way it always have been in daniel’s mind. Luna kisses him on the cheek at dismissal before grabbing her jacket and running to her mother’s side. daniel drums his fingers on the table while glimpsing at the both of them. the way she hugged Luna and kissed her forehead, helping her get her jacket on. he could tell she did everything in love, too. daniel wondered if that was why luna was so sweet and kind. he wondered if maybe that’s why he liked her so much.

she had the aura of a mom.

yeonjun approaches the classroom door and myla immediately ran to his legs with a sour expression, to which he he picked her up and allows her head to fall into the crook of his neck. “whats the matter my?”. he whispers, signing his name on the sign out sheet. Adriana advances her way over to them both.

“hey yeonjun. a situation happened with myla and another student today, he was teasing her and she threw her juice box at him. I let myla off with a warning since I don’t tolerate throwing things in my classroom, however since the student was teasing her about personal issues he’s receiving a greater punishment”.

yeonjun nods. “make sure you call me about these types of things alright?”.

adriana’s heart sank. he looked kind of angry but she couldn’t really tell. “will do”. she breathed. damn it. calling him was the one thing she forgot to do.

daniel was glad to leave his classroom when his father arrived. he was already at the door in fact. yeonjun ruffles his hair and pulls him close. After he signed him out though, it was unusual having two silent kids walking with him to the car.

he adjusts the rearview mirror. “myla? what happened at school today?”. she shook her head with a pout at her lips. he knew he was probably going to have to try again when she felt better. it still didn’t stop him from feeling bad though. he nudged daniel next, who was currently staring out the window in the passenger seat.

“what happened with you today?”.

he too gave him a stand-offish response and shrugs his shoulders. he wished he hadn’t let his thoughts get the best of him. he wished it didn’t bother him as much as it did. if only him or myla knew how much their silence and emotions really broke their father’s heart. he’d much rather have them arguing. he decided to reroute himself, choosing to go to one of their favorite destinations.

arriving at pizza planet was one of the best things yeonjun could’ve done. upon arrival myla and daniel could already feel today’s weight lift off their shoulders a little especially with the loud music and obnoxious arcade games blaring at them when they stepped in.

“order whatever you want”. yeonjun says, approaching the food counter with both of them on either side of him. myla clutches his hand, “really? anything?”. yeonjun nods. “yeah anything”. and once the answer was confirmed it took no time for the duo to put in their freakishly odd orders. myla mainly ordered a bunch of desserts that yeonjun knew she didn’t need and Daniel ordered a shitload of pizza. Combined with yeonjun’s order it totaled to quite a dime, but yeonjun didn’t mind at all.

“daddy can we play the games please please please?”.

“yeah can we play the games?”.

“yeah hold on”, yeonjun pauses before pooling out two five dollar bills from his wallet for the both of them. to which they took the money and immediately ran off excitedly to the token exchange machine. Yeonjun laughs in their trail, “wow! no thank you?”.

“thank you daddy!”. they said in unison, rushing to stuff the coins in their pockets.

yeonjun sat at the booth seat and awaited the food although it took a while. the waitress placed everything down neatly around the table.

“so? do you have a girlfriend?”. she asks completely catching yeonjun off guard. she couldn’t look more than seventeen years old.

“married. plus I think you’re a little too young sweetheart”.

she tilts her head a little and smiles with her eyes still focused on getting the drinks on the table. “I’m legal though”.

“no thank you sweetheart”.

in a way it kind of scared him. she was legal sure, but a young adult willing to date a married man with children? it made yeonjun question her morals. especially when she gifted him a small wink before telling him to enjoy his meal.

yeonjun shakes his head in disbelief before calling his kids over to the table. there wasn’t a better feeling to him than seeing them happily munching on their food with attitudes that starkly contrasted the ones they had in the car. he took and napkin and curled it around his finger before wiping the smudged off of myla’s cheeks.

“dad! I finally beat myla in Mario kart”.

“no you didn’t daniel! you’re a cheater”.

“no I won. you just don’t want to admit you lost”.

“I didn’t!”.

“yes you did”.

“don’t worry myla. I’ll teach you how to beat him next time”. yeonjun adds.

“really? do you know how to play?”.

“pft. I’ve been playing Mario kart before you both were even born”.

“that would be cheating! you can’t help her dad that’s not fair”.

myla rolls her eyes choosing to change the subject. “what was I like daddy? when I was born?”.

“very quiet. and sleepy”.

“I didn’t smile or anything?”.

“well when you were a newborn you were kind of mean. you didn’t want anyone to hold you except me”.

myla laughs. “really?”.

“yeah. you were so mean to your mom oh my gosh. you didn’t want to drink milk from the bottle even if she was holding it”.

“was I ever nice?”.

“hm. you were nice when you were just a few months old but only a little bit. you were really calm and relaxed though. you just wanted to play and sleep”.

“what about me?”. daniel asks next.

“oh god, daniel. you were a crybaby”.

myla laughs pointing her finger in his face. “Ha!”.

daniel ignores her though and continues. “what did I cry about?”.

“everything. when you were happy, when you were sad, when you were mad, when you had to sit, when we tried to get you to play, while you were eating. you just cried all the time. we were starting to think you just hated us”.

daniel laughs to himself a bit. “was I good looking?”.

“of course. you and myla were really chubby so it made you even more adorable. you guys always got lots of compliments”.

“more than logan?”.

“No one gets more compliments than logan. not even me”.

daniel decided to playfully tease. “whatever dad we know Logan is your favorite”,

yeonjun laughs. “no he’s not don’t say that. I have no favorites”.

myla sneaks her arms around him. “I’m your favorite right daddy?”.

“why would you be the favorite? you’re annoying”. daniel teases again.

“guys. I have no favorites. you all are my favorites. alright?”.

the both of them scoff wanting him to admit who his favorite was. but they decided they wouldn’t pressure him today since the arcade games were still waiting on them.

***

and being home was like it was every night. yeonjun took care of the household and made sure things were getting done at a reasonable time. but there was always one chore that yeonjun never failed to nag his children about.

“daniel clean your room. what’s that pile of clothes on the floor?”. he points with logan wide awake and clinging to his chest. he stuffs a hand in his mouth and gurgles.

with the gaming headset on daniel didn’t realize how loud his voice actually was. but he was playing over-watch and he failed to lose this mission.

“one more minute dad”.

“do it now. I’m starting laundry soon and I need to know what’s dirty”.

the boy huffs and assures his teammates his return. although his father was being a nag he didn’t hesitate to think the same thoughts he had gotten in school. he was afraid to talk to yeonjun about them. he didn’t want to stress him out more than usual. above all else daniel noticed his mother’s absence during moments such as this and that made him even more grateful for his father.

“thank you. I’m coming back to check”.

daniel wondered if it would be odd to tell him that he loved him at that moment. so he just kept his mouth shut.

you’re annoying but I love you dad, he wanted to say.

thank you for loving me the way that mom doesn’t, he wanted to say.

“myla put your toys in your toy chest. is your laundry basket full?”.

she replies with her eyes still focused on playing with her dolls in her dollhouse. “okay. yes I think”.

yeonjun lugs the basket with him to the door. but myla had a question in mind.

“daddy?”.

“yes?”.

“is packing lunch for mommies?”.

“hm? what do you mean?”.

“the boy at school today said that his mommy packs his lunch. and all the other kids said that their mommies pack their lunch too. what’s wrong if you pack mine?”.

yeonjun’s heart sank. this was the one thing he didn’t want for them.

“there’s nothing wrong me packing it myla. don’t let those kids tell you any different”.

“how come mommy doesn’t do it?”.

“she’s just— she’s just busy. but daddies pack lunch all the time”.

“they do?”.

“yeah. don’t feel bad alright? I do it because I love you and I want to make sure you eat well even while you’re in school. It’s just another form of me showing you how much I love you”.

myla rushes over to hug his legs. it relieved her that he said that. she was starting to think she was just an outcast.

“I love you too”. she whispers.

yeonjun smiles a little and kisses her on her forehead. “I love you more. now go play so I can make sure your brother cleaned his room”.

doing loads of laundry were that bad considering yeonjun always made sure he stayed on top of it all. his kids never had too much dirty clothes so it never took long. “are you ready to do laundry with me logan?”. yeonjun coos to the small baby before opening the washing machine. he turns it on, allowing the water to flood the bottom but something black caught his eye. It happened to be floating in the water.

he reaches his hand down and pulls it out trying to figure out what it was. but once he brought it up for his eyes to see in the light he wasn’t too pleased. it was an opened condom wrapper.

and yeonjun knew it wasn’t his.

[thetrashthatsmilesback]

I’ve never actually talked about the Bakugou Mitsuki thing...

“So like, I’ve been following BNHA casually for years. I never really tend to mention anime even though its a special interest of mine and has been for years, so I didn’t talk about this at the height of the “is Mitsuki a bad parent” debate, but frankly I have opinions on this and they can be summed up with: people on both sides are all partially correct, so lets get into it. (under the cut)

The TL;DR:

Even if what Mitsuki does/how she acts cannot be classified as abuse, it is still toxic and would be harmful/traumatizing to have a child around

Mitsuki does clearly love Katsuki from what we can see in her words, but that doesn’t excuse and toxic/abusive behaviors displayed

Katsuki’s behavior aligns perfectly with exact outcomes that clinical findings have found are common in those who were raised with corporal punishment

Even if corporal punishment does not meet the qualifications for abuse, it is directly linked to aggression, mood disorders, and personality disorders

Mitsuki’s treatment instilled Katsuki’s ideas of societal placements

Mitsuki’s yelling at her husband and use of violence (hitting, yelling, breaking tables) is clearly an attitude that Katsuki picked up and would be harmful/traumatizing for a child even if it isn’t deemed abusive

I’m going to start this off by just saying that A) saying the series already has an abusive parent in Endeavor is one of the weakest excuses I’ve ever seen for why Mitsuki can’t be interpreted as abusive/toxic and I will not be comparing them and B) the way the Todoroki family was handled also wasn’t great, so that’s not even a good argument (oops)

So the debate started primarily because of her hitting him and victim blaming, but the victim blaming could be a translation issue so I will not be addressing that. Frankly, while there is evidence that corporeal punishment should not be used on children as it can lead to problems later in life, I don’t believe it is enough to constitute abuse. This is where the people who see her as not abusive are correct - its not a good form of punishment, but it isn’t necessarily abuse. Where I actually believe an opinion can be formed is in chapter 207 where we’re shown his actual family dynamics.

I’m going to preface this by saying that just because something is a joke doesn’t mean that it can’t provide actual insight into a situation. The three strips were meant to double as both jokes, and a glimpse at what Katsuki’s home life is actually like. And, in my opinion, its at the very least toxic if not fully abusive.

Mitsuki screaming at her husband is a toxic way to communicate. I get that yelling is the “Bakugou Thing” and its supposed to be funny, but it does set a precedent for exactly how the household operates. Masaru is bullied into submission by his wife (as we see in the third strip with “so you just weren’t able to reject her/you weren’t able to say no” based on the translation), and his wife and son both go at each other aggressively. I actually wanted to bring attention to the “Big Mother Crush” in “Argument.” Katsuki is blowing up the walls, and Mitsuki is breaking the coffee table. Now, Katsuki is a violent 16 year old with a dangerous quirk, so obviously someone needs to make sure he doesn’t harm himself or others, but that isn’t what Mitsuki is doing. She isn’t making any moves to deescalate the situation, and Masaru is hiding behind the couch, so he too is clearly making no effort to attempt to deescalate or calm down his child or wife.

The fact that Mitsuki has a name for the move where she breaks a solid wood coffee table leads me to believe that this is a common occurrence, or at least one that has happened at least one time prior. This puts Katsuki saying “I was raised with violence” and “knowing his place” into a different light as he didn’t always have the level of power he now does. If Mitsuki’s anger problems always led to such violence, then yeah, a small kid could be frightened by this. Maybe its not abusive since she didn’t throw him into the table, but it can certainly be traumatizing to a child.

And that brings me to the next point. Bakugou has a level of distrust in people that is not normal for his age. I don’t just mean at UA, I specifically mean the infamous bridge/log scene. A normal four/five year old would not assume that Help = Being Looked Down Upon. That isn’t a reaction that a healthy child would have.

So, back to the “is she abusive?” point. In my opinion, it doesn’t really matter what the answer to that question is, because no matter what she does to Katsuki himself, it is still an extremely toxic environment to be in. Speaking from experience, even if physically nothing is happening, living in a space with someone who could explode into anger at any second is terrifying, especially if you’re a little kid. I don’t doubt she loves Katsuki. I don’t doubt that she cares deeply for him, and that she did have a hard time with him because yeah, he’s a difficult kid with a quirk that could cause severe damage. However, I also understand that things don’t exist in a vacuum.

The Bakugou family dynamic is obvious: Mitsuki is at the top, then Katsuki, then Masaru (though it could be Masaru then Katsuki. I don’t think I’ve seen enough to note the order for sure). Then, in the Licensing Classes Bakugou mentions that there must be a hierarchy and they have to use violence to change the pecking order, and suddenly his treatment of Izuku makes more sense. He saw Izuku as below him in hierarchy, having been raised in a house where the parents were not equals, and tried to reinforce it how his mother reinforces his father’s place. (This does NOT excuse his actions. Bakugou is my favorite character after Shinso, but I will never excuse his bullying of Izuku. I just like to try and find explanations for things).

Then we see his mother dealing with her stress over his kidnapping by hitting him, her anger as his outbursts by breaking a table, and her frustration at her husband’s mumbling by screaming at him: these are all reactions Katsuki also displays in response to frustration, stress, and anger. It puts the line “I was raised with violence” into perspective because, from what we’re shown, he was taught that all emotions can be solved by reinforcing the hierarchy or by being so loud/violent that it gets pushed away. Emotions other than rage don’t fix anything in his eyes because that’s how his household works.

Encouraging beating children because it’s “How He Was Raised”: this is an interesting point that I actually think about a lot because its such a common thought process. Like “I was spanked as a kid and turned out fine!” You Want To Hit Children Jim. You Clearly Have Some Problems Stemming From It. Now, again, I am not saying that spankings are the same as abuse, because they’re not exactly the same, but they are harmful, and are often justified in ways similar to abuse tactics. “““Punishments”“““ like getting hit with a wooden spoon or spanked are incredibly common, but like, most of the time what is the actual lesson taught. Most people assume its “act that way again and you’ll be hurt,” but if the child doesn’t fully know why what they did is wrong, then it is pointless. Instead the example being set is “you made me angry, so I am going to hurt you in return,” and this aligns exactly with what we see in Katsuki. Ignoring all other moral implications to get back to my meta, we see, explicitly, that Katsuki’s solution to most perceived wrongings is to attack. Frankly, I see my younger self in this a lot.

When a kid is spanked, or hit with a spoon/belt, the reasoning is almost always “if you hadn’t done X I wouldn’t have hurt you,” many times not explaining why exactly X is wrong. This is the problem with corporal punishment. These articles can be read for more information on the exact problems with Corporal Punishment, but the long story short is that Katsuki’s actions align perfectly with someone who not only experienced it, but experienced it without any explanations behind the ““““punishments.”“““ (long story short: don’t fucking hit kids Jesus). X X X X X The most important quotes from them are:

“it can lead to bullying, drug violence, and other problem behaviors that rely on having power over someone else.”

“Ten of the associations were negative such as increased child aggression and antisocial behavior.”

“I was very surprised to find that corporal punishment affects the same brain areas that are affected by severe physical and sexual abuse... the magnitude was lower, but to see that spanking impacts a child’s brain development in the same way was a big surprise.”

“Children who were physically punished were more likely to endorse hitting as a means of resolving their conflicts with peers and siblings”

“Harsh physical punishment in the absence of child mistreatment is associated with mood disorders, anxiety disorders, substance abuse/dependence, and personality disorders in a general population sample.”

I actually want to draw attention to this particular quote --> they have the phrase “in the absence of child mistreatment” so as to clearly state that these are results of Corporal Punishment that were not classified as abuse cases.

I am going to at some people who might be able to spread this a bit and are blogs I look up to. If any of them want me to untag them I will right away!

@here-to-protect-my-son​ @fuckendeavorandmitsuki​ @evilkitten3​

[itmighthavebeenintentional]

Crossword Clues & Coffee - Four Down

Summary: A chance encounter in Lebanon’s finest (read: only) diner leads Dean to find the one thing he never knew his life was missing.

Warnings: Tiny bit of language? Angst. LOTS of sass. Honestly, it’s a lot of fluff. No romance.

Author’s Note: Many thanks to @there-must-be-a-lock for always-masterful revision and editing advice, and to @thoughtslikeaminefield for encouragement and flails. I think we all need something a little more light-hearted these days, so here you go.

I AM SO SORRY, I THOUGHT I POSTED THIS FIVE DAYS AGO!!!

Word Count: 729

In Case You Missed It: CC&C: One Across | Two Down | Three Down | Three Across

ItMightHaveBeenIntentional’s Masterlist

Four Down

Esther turns out to have a wicked bluffing ability that gives Dean a run for his money every time they play cards. Poker, gin, rummy, any card game that involves mental skill rather than physical, finds Dean using every trick he’s ever learned and still relying on the luck of the draw more often than not.

“My husband Stanley taught me everything he knew from when he worked in Vegas,” she shares suddenly one night. She very determinedly does not look at Dean as she surveys the cards in her hand. She's only spoken of Stanley twice in the weeks they’ve been acquainted, and Dean has enough sense to keep silent.

“Not just tricks he used, but stuff he’d seen other folks trying on the dealers. I took to it like a duck to water, beat him most nights using his own tricks against him before he even figured out what I was doing,” she says, selecting Dean’s discarded five of spades and laying her hand triumphantly out on the table.

“Gin,” she declares, and Dean sighs. Well, if he’s going to be beaten, at least it's by a master of the craft.

Dean clears away their coffee cups and dessert plates while Esther slowly gathers up the playing cards. By the time he’s washed, dried, and put away the dishes, though, she’s still working on straightening the deck enough to fit it back into its special tin.

Dean frowns at the painful swelling in each of her finger joints, the tremor that’s noticeably increased just since their first meeting, and wonders how best to offer to help without offending.

“You gonna stare at the back of my head all night or offer to help a lady out?” Esther barks, amusement and irritation coloring her words. Dean takes the deck of cards carefully from her gnarled fingers and fits them into the tin, replacing the lid and settling back in his seat, frowning down at his own scarred but steady hands.

“Old age happens,” she says, her voice uncharacteristically soft, “for those of us lucky enough to make it.”

Dean considers her words for a long moment. He’s never told her what he actually does for a living, and he’s pretty sure she knew from their second meeting interrogation that he’s not telling her the whole truth about what he and his brother actually do with their lives.

But he thinks that she’s not necessarily talking about his livelihood, or, at least, not completely. He looks to the framed pictures hanging on every available inch of wall in the small dining room, a collection of photographs that circles the room, telling the story of Esther’s family.

A much younger Esther, recognizable even now, in a light-colored lace dress, on the arm of a grinning man in what is obviously his best suit.

The happy couple holding a baby.

The same couple with progressively changing hair and clothing styles and a rapidly growing child in photos with increasing color and quality as he follows the path of them around the room.

The child, Jimmy, grown and in a graduation cap and gown, hugging both his parents.

The young man, in a military uniform: a posed portrait. Esther and Stanley posed together, this portrait with a caption reading “Happy Fiftieth Anniversary, Sweetheart” in elegant script across the bottom.

Esther and Jimmy, solemn faced and black-clad next to a wreath bearing Stanley’s smiling portrait.

And finally, Esther not much younger than she is now but beginning to bend with the weight of age and grief, accepting a folded flag from a soldier in dress uniform.

There are no more pictures after that one. Dean understands, both from his own perspective and Esther’s. No point in taking pictures of yourself, of documenting a life without someone to share it.

Dean clears his throat, his eyes strangely misty, and places the card tin on the table between them. He reaches across the narrow space and places one large, warm hand atop Esther’s tiny, aged ones.

“Thank you for dinner,” he says quietly. Words are not his forte, but he needs her to understand, so he tries. “And for...everything. Sammy loves the pie, and he never eats anything sweet. And I’m pretty sure I’ve gained ten pounds this week alone.”

Her answering smile is both the happiest and saddest he’s ever seen on her.

...

Next: Five Across