#to get out in front of it. obviously it's bad for white people to appropriate terms like two spirit. that's clearly

[autisticandroids]

if straight people are pretending to be queer for clout that's actually a sign that things are getting better. like it's a sign that things are improving for queer people

[slushycoookie]

I Like Your Dress ~ Logan Howlett x Fem! Reader

✩ Word Count: 2.7k

✩ Content: Logan goes crazy over your dress, Domino shows up (I miss her so bad), cream pie is mentioned A LOT, Wade breaks the 4th wall, P in V, Logan does NOT wrap it up this time, MINORS DNI!!

✩ A/N: Reader is the same reader as the one shot I wrote. You don't have to read that one, I don't go into much detail but if you guys want to read that one, read it here

Masterlist | Commissions

The fresh smell of food made Logan awake from his slumber.

Sleepily searching for you on your side of the bed, only to discover that you weren't there. Having a sudden burst of energy, Logan got out of bed to find you. He didn’t need to go far when sees you wiggling your hips at the stove, stirring a pot.

“Hey.”

You look behind you when hearing his voice, “Hi!”

Logan pulls you close as you greet him with good morning kisses. Well, afternoon after checking the time.

“How did you sleep? I let you sleep in a little bit, you were so tired from that mission last night.”

Logan smiles, “I slept alright.”

He sees the multitude of ingredients on the counter and remembers what they're were for. Wade was throwing a potluck since Domino was coming back from a month long mission. Of course, he invited you two and you were so excited. Logan was neutral. He would've preferred to stay in bed with you all day.

You said you were making a few things, but the amount of ingredients you had made him wonder. “How many people are you planning to feed?”

“Enough.” You said, going back to your pot, which he found out was pasta. “Colossus and Peter will be there. We both know how much they like to eat.”

“Don’t push yourself.” His tone was rough but you knew it was his way of caring.

“I won't.”

Logan grabbed himself an afternoon shot of bourbon before excusing himself to get ready. Trying to prepare himself for socializing and dealing with Wade.

When he came back clean and not as rugged, you were finishing up, putting white icing on the strawberry cake. Logan swiped his finger on the cake and licked it, cream cheese on his tongue.

“That’s good.”

“Don’t lick it anymore.” You lightly threaten, smacking his hand away. “Save it for the party.”

“Fine.” Logan kisses your cheek and stands behind you to watch you finish icing the cake. In your beautiful handwriting ‘Welcome back, Domino’ in pink icing. “Would ya look at that? You should be on those baking shows.”

“Nuh uh, I'm okay with just watching videos.”

Once you were finished, he helped you place the cake in the dome, ready to go with the rest of the food. You gave him an order to not eat any of it before you ran into the bathroom to get ready. Logan gave you about five minutes before inspecting the tins. He smiled when he saw you only made a few items, a large tray of pasta salad and spinach dip. Just to make sure it wasn't poisoned, he took a swipe of each, humming at how good it tasted.

He knew you were going to be a while so he opened a window, grabbed a cigar and lounged to smoke. Logan knew you didn't like it when he smoked in the apartment, but said it was okay as long as he let in some fresh air after.

As usual, you took almost a hour getting ready, but it was well worth the wait.

When you stepped out of the room, Logan started coughing, blowing smoke out the window to make sure a lot didn't linger. His eyes trailed your outfit, a tie dye colored maxi dress with thin straps, and cute, brown sandals to match. Logan didn't care when you scolded him for obviously taking a bite of your pasta salad. His breath was stolen away.

“I like your dress.”

“You're changing the subject, but thanks.”

He steps in front of you, eyes lowered as he kept gazing at your form. The dress hugging your body while still being appropriate. Logan's hand rests on your ass cheek, giving it a firm squeeze.

“I really like your dress.”

You avoid his lustful gaze, “Don’t you start.”

“Start what?” He steals a kiss from you, careful not to mess up your lipstick. “I can't compliment my lady?”

“You can compliment me by using your words.”

“It's not as fun that way.” He dips his head between your neck to smell you. You weren't wearing any perfume this time, but the honey scent from your lotion was enough to complete the entire package. Logan growls, squeezing your ass some more and making you giggle.

“We should go, I don't wanna be late.”

“We won't. I swear.” His hand cups the nape of your neck, putting it back so he could kiss you some more. Parting your lips to dive his tongue right in. Your moans spurring him on.

It didn't last long though.

“Logan.” You gently push him away, “We will have some time later.”

He sucked his teeth before grabbing all of the food you made.

Logan remained a scowling mess when you two arrived for the potluck.

You were the more social one out of the relationship, so you immediately flocked to the crowd who welcomed you with open arms. Even Domino, despite that this was the first time you two saw each other. Logan makes his usual rounds of saying hi before picking a corner with a drink in his hand and observing.

It was his way of enjoying himself without being easily annoyed and overwhelmed by the sheer number of people in the apartment. Best of all, he could watch you socialize. Your face lighting up at the conversations while that gorgeous dress clung to your body. Logan always likes to admire you in your element, but you wearing that dress was more than enough to make him want to do things to you. His hands involuntary flexed at the idea of feeling your body through the dress.

“There’s my grumpy kitty!” Domino says to Logan, who scowled at her, but there was no malice behind it.

“Hey, Dom.”

“Wade told me that your hair was getting better and now I see why.” She motions to you talking to Peter about him getting highlights. Logan's lips curl upwards again at the sight of you. “She's cute.”

“Thanks. I heard she scheduled you an appointment?”

Domino nods, “Gonna try something new. This is getting stale.” She motions to her afro.

“Don’t you dare change it.” Wade joins in, pointing at her. “You know how I feel about change.”

“Aww.” Domino pinches his cheek, “We all gotta grow up sometime.”

“You know who you're talking to right?” Logan comments under his drink.

“Your afro was one of the reasons you were so likeable in the second movie. Now what do we have, a woman with luck powers? I still don't believe that's a thing, by the way.”

Domino shakes her head at the audacity of it all, “I missed you too.”

She excuses herself, leaving Logan and Wade together. The latter started getting a little giddy, cradling his cup, while shooting multiple glances. Logan promised you that he was going to play nice during the party and not get easily annoyed at Wade.

“What?”

“We’re having cream pie.” Wade mentions, “Do you wanna know what flavor it is?”

Logan holds back an eyeroll, “Sure.”

“It's boston cream pie. I know we have a lot of sweet things considering we also have the cake your lady made, but I really wanted some. Actually, it's been a while since you've had cream pie, right?”

“I guess.”

“Oh you'll enjoy this one. You have a bit of a sweet tooth.” There was a moment of silence between them as they watched everyone enjoy themselves. You were getting many compliments on your food, asking for the recipes to make at home. “ Vanessa and I are huge fans of cream pie. Does your lovely lady like it too?”

Logan glared at him for a second before thinking about the question, “I think so.”

“Has she had it in a while?”

“No.”

“I think she'll be very happy when she gets some-”

“Why…in the fuck do you keep talking about the damn cream pie?” He feels a slight headache coming on.

Wade shrugs before taking a sip of his drink. “I can't like pie?”

Logan growls, ready to toss him out the apartment when you inadvertently save Wade, walking over with a huge smile on your face.

“Hi.”

“Hey, sugar.”

You embrace him with arms around his neck. Your lips kissing his cheek, taking in the aftershave.

“Hi Wade.”

“Hi. Your grumpy boyfriend and I were just talking about cream pie. Do you know we're having pie later?”

Logan felt his eye twitch at the question, his hand on your hip to keep himself from punching Wade.

“No, I didn’t!” Your eyes light up, “What kind of pie?”

“Boston cream. One of the best pies in the world, I should say.”

“Ooh, you know what, I haven’t had cream pie in a long time.”

“Oh really?” Wade tilts his head a little, while you nod. “Well, obviously you gotta have some. I think you'll enjoy it. The author knows what I'm talking about.”

And just like that, he's gone.

Logan didn't want to acknowledge whatever that was so he pulls you amongst his body. The most handy you'll ever allow him to be in public.

“We should go.” He whispers in your ear.

“Hm? We've only been here for two hours.”

That was enough, he wanted to say. Everytime he focuses on you and that dress, he wants to forget behaving and take you back home to lavish on you all night. For those two hours, Logan was trying to keep his thoughts pure enough to get a raging hard on. He didn't know how long he could last.

“Just hang in there a bit longer, okay?” You give him a kiss for encouragement. Logan takes in the imprint of your lips as you go back to socialize. No, he wasn't going to make it.

He hangs on when everyone sits around the table, laughing and talking. You're beside him, hand on his thigh to stabilize him and keep him in the conversation. Logan wants you to go higher, feel the impending hard on.

He needs to get you alone, show you that he was failing at behaving. There weren't a lot of places where you two wouldn't be disturbed. And he didn't want to take you outside and fuck you in an alleyway.

But God answered him.

You excused yourself, making your way to the bathroom. Logan watches you go as everyone continues talking. He gives it a minute before getting up and pretending to grab another drink. Instead, he beelines to the bathroom, standing beside the door and waits. His heartbeat in his chest.

“Who wants some cream pie?” Wade asks, everyone roaring with excitement once you finally open the door.

Logan pushes you back into the bathroom, lips immediately on yours. Your surprised gasp eggs him on while he traps your body against the wall.

“This is all your fault.” He mutters, constantly stealing kisses.

“Huh? What?” You try to keep up with him as his hands are all over your body, feeling your soft curves through the dress.

“You know what. Wearing this dress, not letting me do something to you before we came here. Torturing me.”

As he spoke, his lips were everywhere. Your face and neck. Trying to wear you down and submit.

“Torturing you? That, that wasn't my intention-oh.” His teeth latched on to your shoulder, having some self control to mark you in a place no one could see.

“I need you.” Logan starts bunching up your dress.

You try to stop him by pushing his hands down, “L-Logan? Logan, baby you didn't lock the door.”

“It's gonna be quick.” You let him bunch up your dress, seeing a glimpse of your panties, which he now sees that it's the lacey blue ones he liked. The ones you mentioned reminded you of the accent colors of his suit.

Logan's jeans were getting tight when he removed them, stuffing them in his pocket. Without saying a word, you jumped, wrapping your legs around his waist. You whimpered under his lips as he was finally able to touch you while wearing the dress. Large hands molding your breasts through the fabric, still managing to locate the nipple and pinching it. His hips rolling against you, creating a nice friction against your cunt.

You were doing so good at keeping quiet for him, only managing the occasional whimper when he hit a perfect spot. Making sure you were stable on his arm, Logan reaches down to your core. His chest rumbles when he feels how wet you're getting. Sinking one digit inside while his thumb presses on your clit. Making circular motions while he was getting you ready.

“Didn’t need to do much, huh?” He said, watching you twist and turn. “You wanted this as much as I did.”

You didn't say anything but he smelled you. His finger coated in your delectable arousal. If you two weren't on a time limit, he'd reach down to get a taste.

Once you were ready, Logan maneuvers to unzip his pants. Even though you were dazed out of your mind, you remember something.

“I left my purse out there.” Your purse had condoms and knowing Logan, he didn't bring them as you insisted on being prepared in case something like this happens. But now both of you were unprepared.

“I'll get ya plan b at the store.” He continues to unzip his jeans.

“Don’t forget…”

Logan pulls his cock out with one motion, using some of your wetness for lubrication. “I won't.”

He then slips into you. You clutch on to him for dear life, your nails digging into his shirt. Curse his healing factor. He wanted to see the marks you'd leave on him.

He keeps you stable against the wall, sinking into you completely before starting to move. Quick and sharp thrusts in and out of you. Low, wet sounds filling his ears besides your shaky sobs.

“O-Oh god…”

Logan rolls his eyes back at your desperate tone, “God's not here, honey.”

His own voice comes out strained as he's fucking you. How he wants to pull your dress up further to see your breasts move. But having you like this was much hotter. Wanting you to remember that this was the dress that made him go crazy.

“Mmh Lo’…” He almost comes right there when your hand grips the nape of his neck, pulling the hairs.

Logan grunts, picking up speed, feeling some of his cum leaking out into you. His tip pressing against your cervix that was making you croon. Goosebumps forming on your skin as he hit that spot repeatedly. Making you whine and wince under him.

“Squeeze around me, sweetheart.” He commands and you do so. Your walls molding around his cock as you silently cried out. Even at the height of your pleasure, you still managed to be quiet, mouth agape and he wanted to shut those lips with his own. “Good girl. Good fucking girl.”

Logan wasn't far behind, pounding into you mercilessly before shooting his cum inside you. He stilled for a moment then pumped into you a few times to make sure all of his load made it inside. You capture him in another kiss, both of you sighing against each other.

Laughter nearby caused you two to come down from the high. Logan put you down, handing you your panties. He grabbed a few paper towels to make sure no cum stained his jeans. You were checking yourself out in the mirror, making sure Logan didn't mess up your makeup. He did ended up getting some on his face, which had you quickly trying to wipe it away with your thumb.

“I'm good, I'm good.” Logan reassures you before fixing his shirt. “I'll go out first.”

“Okay.” Before parting, he gave you another kiss, completely not caring if lipstick stained his lips.

The party continued as if the two of you weren't missing for the last fifteen minutes. Logan played it cool by grabbing another drink. When you came out the bathroom, you two momentarily locked eyes, before acting like nothing happened.

“Did you enjoy the cream pie?”

Logan jumps at Wade's sudden appearance, “What the fuck? How did you know that I-?”

“The pie's right there.” Wade points to the cut up pie on the kitchen counter. Logan stares at it, a bit dumbfounded. “It's good right?”

Logan's eyes land on you as you're speaking to Domino once more, “Yeah. It was good.”

Tags: @allmyn1ghts

[b-blushes]

yesterday i was talking to my friend about how wild it is to have maybe like an hour of fully lucid brain time per day if you're lucky. it's so hard to express when i'm not there (like now!) because of the nature of it! The contrast between being able to feel your brain working, to feel sharp, to feel coherent, to feel bright, and then to lose that in cycles like, hourly, daily, etc. Having very little control over it. when i've overdone it it's like - trying to have an internal monologue, asking myself questions, there's no 'reply' voice just white blank empty space where my internal words should be - typing nonsense (either substituting letters that don't make sense (autocorrect saving me on every third word in this post) or replacing words with others that i can't fathom how they're linked (like how did that one end up where X word should have been, they don't even sound the same) AND not being aware of it as you're typing. forget how to spell. - takes three hundred years to express a thought. if you were 'with it' you could just think it and say it. now i can't even figure out what i'm thinking without, like, a magnifying glass and the concentration of a giant (big) - has a physical sensation (like my brain is too big for my skull. not extremely painful per se but there's sensations there and it's not pleasant). also my head is swimming <- don't know how to translate that into a relatable concept to all the people that can't imagine that sensation (e.g. all the doctors who tell me they don't know what i'm talking about when i tell them this) - frustrating! i know what the lucidity feels like but cannot access it at my leisure. - 'weird' communication/language skills (autism) makes me sound a lot more idk. fancy and 'with it' than i actually am because i can't think of the most appropriate word and end up using long ones instead of being able to get across what i actually mean. people will be like 'you are so coherent i don't believe you', but can't see the gap between what i feel/am trying to say vs what comes out of my mouth due to the discrepancy between what i feel/am trying to say vs what comes out of my mouth. but i use big words so i must be fine at communicating :P - just have to go about daily life like this, no real confirmation if there's anything that can be done about it because i'm functional 'enough', but watch out! if you don't use all your powers to focus on the task at hand you will do things like injuring yourself in 'silly' (unusual to you) ways (grabbing hot things that you *know* just came out the oven, but you also didn't/couldn't keep that at the front of your mind for whatever reason so grabbed it like you would a regular non-180 degree celsius object)(breaking things because your coordination or something is gone)(hitting your head on things that you never even imagined you could bump into :P)

- the rest of the day feels like I’m just making stuff up to pass the time because I can’t do what I actually want to be doing (both mentally and physically). I put in a lot of effort to appreciate the granular mundane stuff but there’s SO many hours in the day and I can’t use them :P - hello???

Obviously not as bad right now as it is sometimes because I can type at all but :P it's fine this is normal for me. but when i think about it it's like. WHAT?! you know? :P

[zumpietoo]

Final Thoughts....

I simply adore how, if one maths, one can put about ninety billion holes further into this.....AND how, even without <gasp> black people!!! It still manages to be oh-so-racist (and obviously most Poors are, indeed, subhumans who cannot help themselves and thus deserve all badness....unless JD Vance decides otherwise....and particularly wimmins....unless sufficiently submissive enough)....oh yes and elitist, holier than thou hypocrisy from every vantage point...

Racism (shortest part): there are three(!!!) non-white people---Vance's supremely submissive, endlessly acting against her gender's and her own best interests future wife/clerk to Brett Kavanaugh (and, guess what? Don't feel one pity bit of sympathy for her own party being racist against her, either).....

In Vance's childhood, one of his mennnyyyyy step-dads (I think they were married) and step-brothers are Asian (I think Chinese?). The dad is an insensitive clod who makes Vance ditch his dog (a gift from a previous boyfriend) and grows demon weed (implied he's a pusher) and his jerk, "bad influence" son who turns poor, good boy JD onto pot (LBR, stunned it wasn't a fucking opium den in the basement).

The math....it's stated Mamaw and Papaw "fled Kentucky for a better future when she 'became' pregnant at 13"....well, first off, that makes Papaw a PEDOpaw, because eeewww.....and no, it is not excused by "back then and in that part of the country". It's disgusting and she was a child. The film makes it look like they showed up during the post-war (read late 40s/early 50s) boom....it actually would've the late 50's/early 60's). By the time Beverly was knocked up with Lindsay, JD's sister, unions were crumbling....AND previously, a BLUE concept, would've been their best hope out of poverty (and presumably something they relied on....).

I will say, given the revelation that Papaw WAS Pedopaw, we might have an explanation for why Mamaw tried to light him on fire and KILL him, in front of both her little girls...

BUT....it makes it interesting that she's routinely supremely judgmental of everyone she encounters, their faces and drones on endlessly about "keeping the family together", since she's also the teen mom/would be domestic murderess who raised a heroin junkie.....so, really, the whole "she was tough and saved me" narrative, starts to fall apart right there....

Cuz, LBR.....ultimately, the implications here? She, Bev, Lindsay, etc, all failed cuz dumb wimmins can't keep their legs together to understand Jeebus wants ya to be a virgin 'till your weddin' day (and that abstinence only is the ONLY way to prevent this.....especially heelarious from a menny times married, teen mom NURSE in 1997 to her daughter, but what do I know????)....and the entire reason JD "got out" was cuz mens iz stronger than wimmins and thus can bootstrap, but hill wimmins R weaklings....

And, in the case of his future bride, she advanced in life cuz daddy's $$$, which, tho an evvvolll immigrant, knew his place, raised her to be appropriately subservient/submissive and thus she assimilated well into whitey-white culture.

Actually, this DOES make me understand all the Trump bullshit from 2016:

Men are better than wimmins

Wimmins are weak, selfish and irresponsible

And slutty/it's their fault if they get preggers (even if still children)...

Foreigners destroyed 'murricca....

But it's okay to get with one if she's a hot lady who knows when to keep her yap shut/plays geisha to you (regardless of ethic origin).

Oh and, also? Paying for law school? There are loans, particularly for veterans and since Vance purports to be so patriotic, why didn't he want to go to Yale (or another law school) for free, by then joining JAG?

Oh....alsoooo.....Mamaw ate food from Meals on Wheels (funded, on some level, by tax $$$), would have benefited from the caps on prescription drugs for seniors (tho, honestly----she would've only been maybe 55....tho, wait....this https://www.npr.org/2024/07/18/nx-s1-5044620/jd-vance-grandmother-mamaw-rnc really confuses the math.....because this indicates she would've been 27 when Bev was born, so Bev's sister was 14 years her senior??? The math does not add up, here....). Actually, she would've been 64, which, still, the film depicts her as like 85...

AND, interestingly, even Vance admits his grandparents were moar likely blue dog Dems....

[finelinevogue]

Can you do something where Y/N is sick and Harry has to take care of her please?

i actually had written something similar to this before so i present you a lengthy blurb;

You were pretty sure if you got invited in to hell it would feel something like this.

Hot. Sticky. But chilled.

You had come down with a concerningly high temperature. Along with the added luxuries of a deafening headache, cold sweats and an upset tummy. Your body was burning all over, as if it had just been freshly cooked in the oven but you felt colder than ice. It was a confusing juxtaposition, but there it was.

You'd called Harry, since he was in the studio recording his new music and asked him to come home early. You didn't even get to the reasoning of why he should come home before he hung up, telling you he was already vacating the premises. You hated to be that needy girlfriend who had to call about nearly everything, but Harry loved it more than anything. He loved the fact that you needed him. It gave him purpose, apparently .

You couldn't work out whether you regretted asking him to come home, or whether it was a blessing. It was a very fine line.

It was a blessing because, he looked after you like a mother would her child and made sure he stood by your side any time you found yourself lurched over a toilet. He made you chicken soup from scratch and even tested it to make sure it wasn't too hot, or salty - despite being a vegetarian himself. He even made you honey and lemon tea, which he had to run to the store for the honey. When you say run, you mean run. He didn't want to leave you alone at all, so he put on his running shoes and sprinted to the shop and back. However, it was a slight regret because of how fussy he was over you. He loved it to bits - nursing to your every need.

You truly believed you didn't deserve Harry. He was just too kind and pure for his own good. You were unarguably lucky. Laying on what felt like your death bed, didn't feel so lucky though.

It was now 10 pm and you could hear Harry turning on the alarm for downstairs, the loud beeping noise preventing you from sleep. That's all you'd done all day. Sleep. You thought it'd be more magical than it was. It was just uncomfortable though, because of how cold and hot you were.

Your much better looking other half trudged through the bedroom door within a minute of the alarm going off. He was only wearing checkered pyjama bottoms and a white t-shirt and yet he made it look like Gucci Runway 2021.

The jingling of keys signalled Charlie was also present. Charlie was your 2 year old Golden Retriever. He was beautiful. When you and Harry has moved in together 2 years ago you'd managed to persuade him to get a dog. Within a few weeks of moving in you had a 5 month old puppy running around your house. He was your best friend, no doubt about it. He was also ridiculously photogenic.

"Hey Chaz!" You cooed as Charlie walked over to your side of the bed, where you were snuggling down under the sheets. You reached out your hand to give him some loving and attention. You could tell by the small smile and sparkling eyes that he was one happy boy.

"Alright, buddy. Let's leave mum alone." Harry came behind Charlie to manoeuvre him into his bed, which was in the corner of the room. It was more like a big cushion. He started to whine after being forced to leave you - having not seeing you all day. Harry was strict in keeping him downstairs so not to disturb you whilst you were sleeping.

"H it's alright, let him on the bed. He can curl up on my feet." You sympathised with Charlie, as you always did, hating to hear or see him upset. Harry was like the 'bad-cop' when it came to parenting Charlie, because you were too sweet to say no to him.

"You're one spoilt boy, aren’t you?" Harry messed around with Charlie, before telling him he could get up on the bed to see you. Charlie leapt on the bed and wandered over to give you all the kisses he could, before Harry came to calm him down - as you really didn't have the strength.

"I missed you too, Chaz." You quietly laughed, not wanting to set your headache off even more.

"You gonna let me kiss mum now?" Harry rhetorically asked, but as he came over to you Charlie laid down on you so your face was buried underneath his body. You could feel him panting with his adorable tongue out above you, as he hid you from Harry.

"Someone's jealous."

"Feeling like a bloody third wheel over here." Harry tutted and you laughed until you got hot with the movement.

"Harry? Can you move him please?" You whined as you tried to shuffle around.

"Okay Chaz. Let's let mum get some sleep, alright?" Charlie is slowly removed from you and ends up curled on top of your feet, keeping them warm for you.

Harry slipped into the covers and shuffled his way over to you, putting the back of his hand over your forehead and hissing quietly at the simple touch.

"Baby you're so hot." Harry complained.

"I know." You teased with a wink at him, taking his worry out of context and turning it into a flirting compliment.

"Oh piss off!" He chuckled and wrapped an arm around your waist to bring you closer. "What am I going to do with you, baby?" Harry then planted only a few delicate kisses to your lips - not wanting to overwork you and your tired body.

••••

You woke up with drowsy eyes to find you're in bed alone.

Your throat was incredibly dry and your whole body was sticky from sweat. Your pyjamas were damp and your face looked like it'd just been drowned in a rainstorm. It was disgusting. Still, you brought the duvet up to cover yourself more, as you let out a dramatic shiver. Why was it so cold?

Mixed into the background noise you could hear the cheering of crowds and it really confused you, until you looked at the wall and noticed the football was playing on re-run on the TV. Manchester United Vs Manchester City. You hated that you knew that just from their football uniforms, but that's what you get for living with a football-crazed boyfriend.

You noticed Harry emerge from the bathroom, a washing up bowl in his arms. He came and sat down in bed, the bucket of water to his side. "What are you doing?" You quietly asked, peering up at him through tired eyes.

"Oi, you're meant to be sleep y’minx." Harry told you off.

"I can't. I'm too uncomfortable. I'm hot, but i'm cold. I also find it hard to sleep without you next to me." You huffed out in annoyance.

"My poorly baby." He leant down to kiss your forehead, "c’mere, baby." He urged.

He helped you move, seeing as your body was really weak, so you could lay down against Harry’s body. He was sat up against the headboard as you nestled down between his legs, your back to his front. It was a lot more comfortable than before - probably because Harry was closer to you. Charlie noticed the disturbance and waited for you to stop moving around, before maintaining the job of guarding your feet.

Once he was happy in his position he fell asleep again, making you jealous of his ability to do that. Especially now.

"Why's the football on?" You asked, motioning towards the TV.

"Had to keep myself awake somehow." He explained, but it only made you more confused.

"Why?"

"So I can take care of you, y’muppet." His words actually melted your heart - more than chocolate could melt on your forehead right now.

After you'd settled, Harry reached into the bucket and drained out a cloth. He made sure all the excess water was cleared before moving it away from the bucket. You hummed in appreciation when he placed it against your forehead, rotating it to the back of your neck also in order to relax and cool you. It made you realise just how hot you were.

"I think i'm dying, Harry." You groaned as the nausea came over you again. Harry kept a firm hold of the cloth on your forehead, dabbing gently and careful to not let any water drip down into your eyes.

"No you're not, baby." Harry gave you a light-hearted laugh.

"Well, living shouldn't feel as shitty as this H." You grumbled, not appreciating his lack of understanding.

“Then just let me take you to the chuffing hospital!" He exclaimed, making Charlie stir slightly.

Harry had been demanding you go to the hospital all day and all evening, but you were too stubborn to go. That, and you were terrified of hospitals - more terrified of needles and blood than anything else. However, you were starting to reach the point where you were giving in to his request, though. It was becoming unbearable to sleep and harder to breathe. You were worried for yourself.

"I don't like it." You pouted like a child, as Harry wrung the cloth through the fresh water again.

"I don't care whether you like it or not, Y/N, I really think we should go. More like need." Harry insisted and you could tell he wasn’t giving up without a fight. You didn’t want that either.

You hated how he was right.

It was only going to get worse from here, and you didn't really want to be alive when that was going you happen, so going to the hospital to get checked over and drugged up seemed like the best option to go for. The more sensible option.

"Fine." You finally accepted, Harry slinking his arms tight around your waist after discarding the cloth in to the bucket. He nuzzled his head into the crook of your neck and planted an abundance of kisses there, your skin burning just to the touch.

"Thank you. Thank you. Thank you." He repeated in-between kisses.

•••••

It took 20 minutes to get in to the car. 20 minutes.

All because Charlie was reluctant to letting you get up and go. So Harry had to dress you into a more appropriate attire, with a dog sat on your lower body. It was then half an hour later that you were in the hospital.

The hospital was quiet at this time of night and for that you were grateful. It was obviously a night where little numbers of people were doing silly things to get themselves hurt. There was the odd patient for a minor cut injury and there were a couple of people in for burns. There was even a woman in because she accidentally superglued her hand to a bottle of superglue - ironic, but painful.

You sat patiently on Harrys lap, waiting for someone to escort you to a cubicle. You were freezing cold, to the point where your teeth were chattering - your outside body was giving off the opposite temperature. You tried to get as close to Harry's warmth as possible, pushing your body against his.

"You're alright baby." Harry shushed you, as you let out a small tremble.

"If I do die—"

"Which you won't." Harry chuckled.

"I know, but if I did I want you to know that I love you." You told him. Even though he's heard you say it a million times before, it still made his heart flutter as you spoke each word.

"I love you, baby." He kissed the side of your head. "But you're going to be just fine, so no more talking about you dying okay?"

"Why? It's only a natural thing." You pointed out.

"Sure, but I don't want to think of a world without my girl living in it. So zip it before I make you."

You never thought of dying as a world without Harry before now and it wasn't the time to start thinking about it either. It was a horrible thought and you understood why Harry didn't want you speak about it. That world would be so dark and empty and you hated thinking about it.

Harry was called to the front desk to fill in some forms for you, since your hands were too cold and shaky to do it for yourself. He accidentally wrote 'Styles' as your second name, before realising his mistake and scribbling it out.

“Shit.” Harry went red in the face and chuckled over his silly mistake. His hand was shaky and you smiled at how he got so flustered over something so simple. You rested your hand on top of his, bringing his attention to you.

“One day.” You told him and he leaned to give you a kiss on the lips. You couldn’t help but feel like his lips were a future promise to make sure he wouldn’t have to scribble out his second name the next time it was written next to yours.

The doctor saw you shortly afterwards and you thanked your lucky stars that there was no injections or removal of any blood involved, Harry sticking with you the whole time. Turns out you were suffering from a moderate fever, but the doctor said with good rest it should pass. The doctor had given Harry permission to make a big fuss over you - explaining how he was going to love it and you were going to hate it - and to make sure to come back with even the slightest worsen of the fever. You got given a prescription list of various medications that you'd need to take over the next week or so. After collecting the drugs, you were back in the car on the way home.

"Told you you weren't going to die." Harry smiled, happy to have you still by his side, whilst holding your hand over the gear console.

"Unfortunate for you, I guess."

"Will you shut you, y’bloody nuisance. You know I can't do life without you, Y/N." He spoke softly, squeezing your hand tighter to assure you that he's going nowhere.

"Same here." You smile at him and he smirks back at you with his dimple-loving smile.

"You’ll always be it for me, baby." Harry speaks, before you drift back off to sleep.

Happily.

[griffintail]

I had this idea, I dunno if it’s dumb or not, but I figured if anyone knew it would be you! Y’know, cause you seem like you know way more than me about all these mcyt guys and gals? Anyways, I saw that a lot of people headcanon that Shlatt was Tubbo’s dad, and seeing all those dad!Shlatt AUs gave me an idea:

What if after Shlatt’s dead, after things have settled, after Tubbo becomes president and spends most of his time cleaning up the messes and mistakes Shlatt left behind- he discovers he wasn’t Shlatt’s only child. He finds handwritten letters in Shlatt’s files from a distant village, all of them fairly recent, asking him for child support money, or asking him to take “his mistake” with him. But the last letter Tubbo finds is a typed one informing Shlatt that the woman who sent all the previous letters has died, and that he has 1 month to come collect his child, or they’ll become a ward of the state; it’s been roughly 2 and a half weeks since that letter arrived. How would Tubbo react to all of this, and more importantly, would he take on the responsibility of becoming his new sibling’s guardian?

I don’t know how I became the person to come to for this lol. I hope you enjoy!

The Girl with the Horns

Pairings: Brother! Tubbo x Child! F! Reader

Warnings: Mentions of emotional abuse, Implied Buillying, Swearing

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

        Tubbo looked up the old White House building, taking a deep breath before going in. Inside, he immediately scrunched up his nose at the familiar smell of alcohol and cigarette smoke.

        “Damn it, dad.” He muttered under his breath before starting to clean up the building.

        He said he’d clean the building out himself as his father was the one who trashed it and now was that day. A lot of his presidency was cleaning up Schlatt’s mistakes before he even ran the rest of his new country. He sighed as he put another empty bottle in a trash bag. Schlatt had really lost it running things.

        Slowly but surely, Tubbo was able to get the White House to a much cleaner state. He was now in the main office and was searching the drawers for his father's inevitable “secret” booze stashes when he found some handwritten letters tucked in the very back of the drawer. Frowning, Tubbo took them out and saw them all addressed to Schlatt.

        Sitting down, Tubbo read the letter on top and his eyes went wide, back going straight as he reread the words before him.

        I want money for this child you helped bring into this world!

        A child?

        The rest of the letter was talking about asking for child support and Tubbo was floored. Quickly, he read the next letter and it was much of the same, demanding Schlatt to take responsibility.

        “Holy shit…” Tubbo muttered. “I got…I got a sibling?”

        He made his way through the rest of the letters, his heart clenching when the woman writing the letters called his poor sibling a mistake or made stabs at Schlatt.

        Then the last letter was a lot more formal. It was stamped with an official seal and dated. Schlatt had opened it as told by the broken seal but had obviously also put the letter back without a care after reading. Tubbo’s breath hitched as he read the letter though.

          Dear Mr. Jschlatt:

        We are sorry to inform you Miss Trentha has passed in an accident.

        Behind, she has left a five-year-old (Y/N), of which in our records has your name on her birth papers. We will give you a month’s time to make a decision; after, we will have no choice but to send (Y/N) to become a ward of the state.

                Tubbo quickly looked at the date of when the letter was sent.

        “Two and a half weeks!” Tubbo exclaimed as he jumped up. “Shit! What should I do?”

        He looked around the office he had spent time cleaning trying to process everything at once, words failing him. In a few short moments, he had found out he wasn’t an only child, that Schlatt hadn’t even looked back at this girl or her horrible mother, and that the sibling he just found out about was going to become a ward of the state! Schlatt had at least been kind enough to Tubbo to let Philza raise him but this child going into the adoption system…

        “I-I got to run L’Manberg. There’s so much to do.” Tubbo ran a hand through his hair as he panicked.

        But then Tommy’s words echoed in his head.

        You can’t become the next Schlatt.

        Schlatt was obviously going to let this child fend for themselves, Tubbo couldn’t be his father. He had to at least meet them. With a new will, he gathered around his friends, and with reassurances that they had L’Manberg covered, Tubbo set off on a horse to the village. It was a good three-day journey, so he’d only have roughly a week left to make his decision of what he was going to do.

        Coming to the village, Tubbo took a deep breath as he stared at it. What was she going to be like? She probably didn’t have the best raising based on the letters that the mother sent. Tying up the horse outside the main hall, Tubbo went in, going through the various processes to prove that he was indeed Jschlatt’s child and proving that his father was dead.

        After, they took Tubbo to a home where a bunch of children were outside playing but there was one that stood out among them and it wasn’t because she was sitting alone. It was because she had tiny horns on top of her head that were just starting to come in. Tubbo put a hand on his horns that were just starting to curl without thinking.

        “That’s (Y/N).” The man that led him here nodded to the little girl.

        “She’s five, right?” Tubbo asked.

        “Yes. She’s not very talkative, but you can introduce yourself to her.”

        Tubbo had few guesses why she didn’t want to talk. He went over, a few of the other kids were pointing at him. (Y/N) was using a stick to push images in the dirt, looking up when a shadow got in the way of the sun. Tubbo smiled when he saw her surprise when she looked up at him, he sitting next to her, wearing his casual wear rather than his suit.

        “Hi. I’m Tubbo.” He introduced himself to her.

        (Y/N) was silent as she stared obviously at his horns. “You have horns…”

        “Yeah, I do. I’m a ram just like you.”

        “Really?” She met his eyes now.

        “Mhm. I, uh, I actually knew your dad because he was my dad.”

        She shifted as she looked back at the ground. “Daddy was a bad man.”

        Tubbo winced, putting a hand on his neck. “Why do you say that?”

        “Mommy use to say that.”

        “Ah. Well…dad wasn’t the greatest, I agree. It wasn’t nice for him to leave you alone.”

        The little girl was silent and Tubbo tried to think of a subject change.

        “Do you like drawing?”

        She nodded. “Mommy wouldn’t let me use paper but I like drawing in the dirt.”

        “Oh…do you…have any friends?”

        She put a hand on one of her little horns and he immediately understood.

        “I get it.” He smiled gently, putting a hand on his horn. “I didn’t have a lot of friends until I met my best friend Tommy. I’m sure you will find some friends.”

        His heart melted as she gave him her first small smile. “I hope so.”

        He sat with her just talking away, the time passing so fast without either of them knowing as they talked. He felt like he learned so much but so little about her; yet, he loved every moment sitting with her. She had to go back with the other children of the orphanage but within a few hours, Tubbo made up his mind. He couldn’t leave this little girl with everyone else; he’d take her back to L’Manberg.

        So, in the morning, Tubbo put on his suit to be professional and he did the paperwork before waiting for them to bring (Y/N). (Y/N) came in timidly and Tubbo smiled gently as he crouched in front of her.

        “Hey, so, I don’t want to leave without you, would you like to come with me? I can introduce you to a few of my good friends.”

        “…They’re all nice like you, right?”

        He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, a few of them are pretty nice.”

        She looked around but nodded. “Ok.”

        He grinned as he stood up. “Then I’m going to take you back to my home.”

        They got the few things that she owned and Tubbo put them on the horse. After, Tubbo changed into more appropriate riding clothes before getting on with (Y/N).

        “Alright, here we go.” He muttered before getting the horse to go.

        Off they went to L’Manberg, Tubbo making sure they had shelter each night. It was a bit stressful for Tubbo on these few days. He had gotten used to not eating every day but he had to remember now to make sure (Y/N) ate. He also had to remember this was boring as hell for her so he tried his best to make little games as they galloped along. There was a point he went off on a bee tangent for half an hour after spotting one and pouted to himself when he saw (Y/N) had fallen asleep against him but he kept an arm wrapped around her so she didn’t fall off.

        As he got back to L’Manberg, he huffed as he saw Tommy and Fundy arguing as Quackity was laughing, Ranboo standing to the side awkwardly. Yeah, that’s how he expected his cabinet to act with him gone. He tied up his horse, grabbing (Y/N)’s things before taking her hand as he walked over to them. As the pair went over, (Y/N) hide behind him shyly.

        “Guys!” Tubbo called.

        “Tubbo! Tell this furry bitch—” Tommy started.

        “Oh, fuck off Tommy!” Fundy shouted back.

        They started having another go.

        “GUYS!” Tubbo shouted, making (Y/N) jump with the rest of the group. “I have someone for you to meet, so can you shut it?”

        Tommy spotted the little girl peeking out from behind Tubbo, noticing the horns first.

        “Holy shit, she has horns like yours.” Tommy went around Tubbo.

        “Yeah, this is (Y/N), she’s my little sister.”

        “A sister?!” Tommy looked at Tubbo surprised.

        Tubbo nodded. “I adopted her.”

        “I’m sorry?”

        “It’s a long story but I’m back and I’m got to bring her to my house,” Tubbo told them before walking off, feeling the little girl squeeze his hand tighter, probably getting overwhelmed.

        They got to Tubbo’s house and he looked around.

        “Er…You can have my room. I’ll need to make you a room.” He smiled at her.

        “Ok…thank you.”

        He patted her head between her horns. “I couldn’t leave you behind sis. Let’s get you settled in and I can make us some steak. Sound good?”

        She nodded.

        Tubbo knew it would be stressful learning to take care of another human while he had to run a nation but he had his friends to help him. He hoped he could do all this right.

[ootahime]

analyzing every gojohime moment in the manga p2

part 1 is here :3

this post includes more excruciatingly long paragraphs so grab urself something and enjoy LOL

chapter 40 

i know they’re not interacting in this panel but i still want to bring it up.  i’m gonna give some context to this scene in case someone needs to jog their memory.  so basically, mei’s ability to command crows is what allows the staff to observe the students from afar.  however, gojo notices that there’s lack of footage where yuuji is and asks mei why that’s so.  she tells him that they’re animals at the end of the day so she can’t control what they look at.  he doesn’t believe her so he asks her whose side she’s on (for yuuji’s execution vs against yuuji’s execution) to which she responds with, “whose side?  i’m on the side with money, of course.  there’s no value in something that can’t be bought since you can’t exchange that for money.”  in other words, she’ll always choose the side that offers her more money because she doesn’t care about how morally “correct” or “incorrect” something is.  it’s not worth fighting for a cause that doesn’t benefit her in the long run which is why she views things that are unable to be bought (friendships, relationships, favors) as useless - they can’t be exchanged for money.  it’s clear that gojo knows she’s not on his side because he replies with, “spoken from experience!” or “i wonder how much!” (translation varies).  he says it out loud to perhaps let gakuganji know that he’s onto him.  i find it interesting how utahime is in the panel as well with a “?” to express her confusion at his words.  let’s overthink dissect that.  why is she there in the first place? if the message was to let gakuganji know that gojo is aware of his ulterior motives then a panel with gakuganji and gojo would have sufficed.  why add utahime with a question mark? 

here’s a personal headcanon of mine that makes no absolute sense, but who cares? it makes me happy LOL.  so let’s examine the panel.  gojo’s face is more simplified and cartoonish with a grey background on top and some sort of white bubble surrounding the three characters.  gakuganji is staring at utahime and gojo.  in the official viz translation, he replies to mei with, “i wonder how much!”  

normal and logical explanation: shading the principal by asking out loud how much mei was paid by him to avoid monitoring yuuji.

gojohime brainrot explanation: 

mei: “there’s no value in something that can’t be bought since you can’t exchange that for money”

gojo: (in response) i wonder how much utahime’s love would cost if it did have a price.

utahime: ?

you’re probably thinking i’m delulu (true) BUT HEAR ME OUT.  IT WOULD SOMEWHAT MAKE SENSE IN THIS CONTEXT...

mei’s saying seems to be what she lives by.  relationships, love, friendships, etc. do not matter to her as this is evident when she ultimately abandons everyone in shibuya to escape to malaysia, selling all her stocks before japan’s economy goes down.  she doesn’t care about anyone else.  she even takes advantage of ui ui’s adoration for her.  she contrasts utahime.  utahime is loved by her students.  children, especially teenagers, are picky when it comes to choosing the adults they admire and respect.  while everyone trusts gojo, they do not respect him because of his childishness and overall absurdity.  it’s refreshing to see how they always call him an idiot or have a -_- face when he’s around.  when akutami says everyone absolutely adores utahime-sensei, it says a lot.  we haven’t seen her interact with her students all that much, but she’s obviously close to them because she’s frequently arguing with momo.  even a closed off person like mechamaru wanted to keep her away from danger.  she most certainly expresses a lot of concern and care for her students, and gojo and her students can pick up on this. 

i’ve talked about this in every post LOLOL but there’s a reason why he went to utahime first to help him investigate.  utahime is a loyal person through and through.  she would never do something that harms the students even if she was offered everything in the world.  she values relationships above everything else.  besides her concern for the students, how else was i able to come to this conclusion about her character?  well, she got shoko to stop smoking because she was worried about how it might damage her friend’s health.  from these two details, it’s obvious that she’s the complete opposite of mei.  

maybe that’s why he calls her weak.  she’s too selfless and compassionate in a world where every sorcerer is for themselves.  the world is cruel as a sorcerer.  no matter how hard you try to fight, in the end, you’ll always die alone.  remember his talk with megumi after the baseball game?  after witnessing megumi pull a sacrificial bunt to help his teammates advance, gojo has a talk with megumi about his attitude and potential.  he says that being selfless and caring about others is not a bad thing, but in a world like this, where people always die alone, he is wasting his potential by being concerned with others.  it’s okay to be selfish.  this is why we see fierce independence in a lot of the sorcerers like mei, nanami, and gojo.  they each have their own reasons as to why they work alone, but it’s still a common characteristic.  i feel like utahime doesn’t have a selfish bone in her body.  i speculate that her selflessness is the exact reason why she is being held back.  during her mission to exorcise a grade 1 spirit by herself, the final task before being promoted to grade 1, she likely got distracted trying to help civilians out of danger and failed her mission.  he’s right when he says she doesn’t have the guts to be the traitor, utahime doesn’t have it in her to do something so boldly solely for her own benefit.  

after this long tangent, how does this relate to your headcanon, ootahime?  

as you know, love is not transactional.  you can’t pay someone to love you.  what if gojo is asking himself how much it would cost to buy her love.  hence, her confusion because she is oblivious to what he really means.  it could be probable because gakuganji is observing not only gojo, but utahime as well.  so what gojo says must involve her too, right?  

or she could just be confused because his words seem out of place because she is unaware of what gakuganji is doing behind everyone’s back.  that explanation makes sense for viz’s official translation but it doesn’t make sense when he says, “spoken from experience!” because his words make sense in that context.  he’s basically saying that mei’s beliefs must be based on her past experiences so he understands why she feels this way.  that’s an appropriate response to mei’s statement so i don’t see why utahime would be confused by this.  unless i’m interpreting this whole scene completely wrong.  in that case, whoopsies!  

let me know if you’re confused because i’m willing to clarify.  idk why but i found this really difficult to explain.  maybe because i’m reaching so hard haha

chapter 40

he finds any way he can to tease her.  they seem like a married couple watching a movie or something.  does he take pride in being the only person she doesn’t get along with?  i mean, she says it herself so he is aware she thinks he’s annoying, but he keeps picking on her anyway.  he doesn’t even pick on his enemies this much LMAOOO i think the only other person he likes to make fun of is gakuganji but he does so because he doesn’t agree with his views.  with utahime it’s different.  he trusts her a lot and even looks out for her.  

chapter 44

why are there two separate instances of gakuganji observing utahime and gojo’s interactions from afar?  nah i’m just playing.  he’s just looking because he’s concerned she’ll run into the semi-grade 1 curse he had for yuuji.  OKAY BUT I NOTICED SOMETHING KINDA CUTE?  whenever utahime says something suddenly, he always has those 3 little triangles near his head.  it’s like he’s thinking, “oh!  utahime is speaking, i must listen <3″  look at his face too.  he’s looking at her like :O

this is also an example of her showcasing her concern for the students in front of gojo.  i feel like he questions why she’s so caring because if it were him, he would have left the student to figure it out themselves.  i really wonder how she would react if he answered her truthfully when she asked what he’d do if she were the traitor.  

chapter 45

there’s not much to say here...they’re just cute.  i know it’ll never happen but i’d like to see them fight side by side one day.  i’m aware that gojo works best alone but i just want to see how they’d work together, okay? 😔

chapter 45

see the little triangles on his head again?  UGH SO CUTE.  

chapter 45

IS THIS NOT INTENTIONAL???  they share the same thoughts.  he even finished her thought.  mannnnnnnnnnnnn what is akutami doing?  giving us false hope and stripping it away just for fun?  making them work so well together for what??

chapter 52

cute how he looks out for her.  i have nothing more to say LOL

chapter 53

notice how they’re sitting across from each other?  HEHE

chapter 53

yet another instance of her caring for her students in front of gojo.  in the anime she has the cutest expression when she says she’s glad the students are safe.  i bet gojo saw that too.  i also bet that she looks prettier from his point of view.

extra

from the manga and light novels, gojo and utahime are the ones that talk about sports the most.  he most definitely chose baseball to cheer her up.  it’s not a coincidence people!  

--

i feel like i had a lot more to say but i completely lost my train of thought while writing this, especially with chapter 40. i’m once again writing this at 4 in the morning LOL........  please please please add on or share your thoughts!  thank you for reading and sorry for any mistakes.  

[tennessoui]

if you wrote obikin for #4 with anakin as a single parent and obi-wan as luke and leia's teacher i would simply die happy!!

here it is!!! thank you so much!

4. Teacher/Single Parent AU (modern!AU)(DinLuke shows up as little kids)(2.4k)(whoops)

Anakin stares across the table at Luke, who gnaws on a slice of grilled cheese, carefully leaving the crusts behind. Oh god, he’d forgotten to cut them off of Luke’s sandwich, had cut them off of Leia’s instead, even though she didn’t mind them. And of course they hadn’t told him either. He can’t tell if he’s been forgiven for his error or if it will come back to haunt him later tonight when he tries to put the twins to bed at eight.

“Luke,” he says carefully. “I think I’m just a little confused.”

Leia looks up. She loves when her father is a little confused because it means Luke is probably a bit in trouble and she gets to be the one to set the record straight for him.

Which isn’t to say Leia is a tattle-tale. Anakin’s seen her watch Luke hit another child upside the head with a toy train and then say absolutely nothing when questioned by the daycare instructor.

Daddy’s interrogations are just a special case where she can become a guilt-free turncoat.

“How did you get a Unicorn sticker in art class?” he asks.

The Unicorn stickers, of course, mean unsatisfactory.

He pays extra money for his children to be coddled and kept away from words like Fail and Unsatisfactory, even though that’s what all the parents know the stickers mean. As long as the children don't yet.

“And I don’t understand the rainbow sticker at all,” he continues helplessly, regarding the piece of artwork in front of him, where a handful of dried macaroni noodles are lacklusterly glued to the page.

“The Unicorn sticker means it was bad, but the rainbow sticker means that Mr. Kenobi forgives him,” Leia pipes up, leaning across the table to take the icky crusts from her brother’s plate and dipping them into her tomato soup.

“But it was dry macaroni,” Anakin says incredulously. Luke’s eyes start getting misty as he stares resolutely down at his plate. That’s the last thing Anakin wants. But he just doesn’t understand. Luke’s the most creative of both of his children, has seemed to take after Anakin in that way. Last Christmas, Anakin had given him a model train set that he’d put together inside of a week. If he can do that, he can do a self-portrait in dry macaroni.

“He gave Din all of his noodles,” Leia reports.

“Didn’t Din have any?” Anakin asks, feeling completely out of his element and also sort of like a detective trying to solve a cold case.

“He wanted to save them for his puppy,” Luke mumbles. “They just got him and they can’t figure out what he eats, so Din thought he could try macaroni because I told him I like macaroni and cheese a lot.”

Anakin is on the cliff of despair, but he can’t exactly ask whether or not this Din knows there’s a difference between the dried macaroni from art class and boxed macaroni and cheese from Kraft. He’s not sure he even wants to know the answer.

“And then Luke didn’t have a lot left for his picture,” Leia finishes the story and her soup in one fell swoop.

“Couldn’t you have asked Mr. Kenobi for more?” Anakin asks Luke who shakes his head but doesn’t seem to want to elaborate. Anakin turns only slightly pleading eyes to Leia, who is the expert on anything her brother doesn’t want to say.

“Mr. Kenobi sits at the front, and Luke sat at the back today so it was really far.”

“But you always sit at the front!” Anakin says, appalled. Sure, he hadn’t managed to make it to the most recent round of parent-teacher conferences due to an unfortunately timed shift at the garage, but he knows where his kids sit in a classroom.

Luke mumbles something into his bowl.

“What was that?” Anakin asks.

Leia translates. “Din doesn’t sit at the front,” she says.

Anakin sits back in his chair and runs a hand over his mouth. Luke has a crush. His son, Luke, has his very first crush on a boy and he’s already doing stupid things in order to see the boy. Oh no. Oh god. Of all the things to take after Anakin on, it’s this one.

“Okay,” he says, mostly to himself. “It’s okay. Unicorns aren’t so bad.”

“Way better than giraffes,” Leia tells her brother bracingly, seeming to know instinctively that the gossiping part of this conversation is over. “And you got a rainbow, which means Mr. Kenobi isn’t mad.”

Anakin wonders, with the context, if that’s actually what the rainbow means, or if Mr. Kenobi isn’t just incredibly observant.

“TV time, kids,” he says, only feeling sort of bad about the screentime or whatever, as Luke perks up and runs with Leia into the living room.

After five minutes to make sure they’ve successfully turned on and found a child-appropriate show, Anakin gathers the dishes and loads the washer. Then he sighs as loud as he can without disrupting the kids.

Then he pulls out his phone and the school directory and finds the email for one Mr. Obi-Wan Kenobi, art teacher.

It takes him twenty minutes to figure out an email that doesn’t sound too judgemental, harsh, worried, skeptical, or angry. It takes another five minutes to figure out how to sign off on it. Kind regards? Best? Thanks? Sincerely? What is the etiquette for emailing your son’s art teacher to arrange a meeting because you’re worried your son will fail the class simply because he’s inherited terrible genes from his father?

It takes ten minutes, in the end, for Mr. Kenobi to email back, and he does so with a very straightforward message. He’s available to chat after school hours tomorrow, if it works for Anakin.

Anakin pulls up his work schedule. He’s supposed to work until five in the evening tomorrow, has already booked a slot at the after-care program for the twins. But.

He texts Ahsoka to ask if she could cover the last few hours of his shift. She texts back a string of rather offensive emojis, but settles down when he tells her it’s for his kids. Technically, he isn’t even lying. He’s just being overbearing.

He spends another fifteen minutes trying to compose a response email in between making sure the kids brush their teeth, wash behind their ears, and have their bags packed for the morning. He’s so stressed out by it that he’s not even sure he includes a signature at all before he hits send. God. Meeting Mr. Kenobi had better be worth all of this stress.

---

Finding Mr. Kenobi’s classroom is almost more stress than the correspondence from the night before had been. The only reason Anakin doesn’t sit down and cry against the garishly yellow brick lining the hallways is that he keeps telling himself that if his two seven-year-olds can do this, Anakin surely can.

The art classroom is tucked away in a forgotten corner of the school and it takes three wrong turns and one accidental entrance into a thankfully deserted first grade room for Anakin to find it. He knocks on the open door and then decides he should call as well to announce his presence. “Uh, Mr. Kenobi? I’m Anakin. Skywalker. We talked last night?” He takes a couple of steps into the room, which is lined in children’s art and paint-stained tables.

A man emerges from a backroom, dressed in a very loose and paint-flecked denim shirt over a white tank top and a pair of slacks. He’s wearing a pair of thick glasses that he takes off as soon as he sees Anakin. His beard is neatly trimmed and his hair, a sort of bronzed auburn, neatly combed.

He’s holding a paintbrush in one hand, and still, of course, Anakin’s dumb brain overrides the part of him that’s saying, This is clearly Mr. Kenobi in favor saying, quite politely, “Oh! I’m sorry. Is Mr. Kenobi back there?”

The man who could not possibly be more obviously the art teacher raises an amused eyebrow.

Look. No one told Anakin that elementary school art teachers could be so attractive. He’d not done anything to prepare for this.

“You must be Luke’s father,” Mr. Kenobi says, waving him forward.

“What makes you say that?” Anakin asks, a tad too defensively, thinking of his own self-deprecating thoughts last night about Luke taking after him when it comes to being sort of stupid around people they liked. He’s just being paranoid.

“The...last...name,” now Mr. Kenobi is definitely trying to hide his smile and Anakin wants to die. “Would you like to sit?”

Anakin does so rather graciously, given the circumstances. He even makes sure he keeps their chairs very far apart. Mostly in order to preserve his own dignity, but he thinks he should get credit for his self-control at this spur of the moment single-parent-hot-teacher conference.

“I’m sorry for my appearance,” Mr. Kenobi says, pulling the oversized button up closed over his tank top. “I must admit, I mostly forgot you were coming by. I was working on one of my own projects.”

“You paint?” Anakin asks.

Mr. Kenobi tilts his head slightly and flicks his eyes around the room as if in answer.

Anakin flushes but digs his heels in. “Well, I don’t know,” he mumbles mulishly. “Do math teachers do math in their spare time?”

This startles a laugh out of the teacher, which makes some long forgotten part of Anakin’s psyche sit up and preen. “I’m sure some of them do,” he says. “No, I do art mostly for the town right now. I’m working on a series of pieces for the public library at the moment.”

Anakin tries his hardest not to obviously melt, but Mr. Kenobi has not looked away from his face much so surely he can see it in his eyes.

“That’s quite. Nice,” Anakin says, coughing into his fist.

“And what do you do?” Mr. Kenobi asks in a way that’s just on the other side of polite. Anakin has the strange thought that if they had cups of coffee between them, he’d feel like he was on a very casual first date.

He has to shake his head to rid himself of that idea. “I’m a mechanic,” he says.

Mr. Kenobi looks interested, of all things. Most people don’t. Most people make some sort of assumption about him, about his life, his ability to parent his children, as if they’re not the ones rolling into his shop at 5:54 pm because their car is “making a funny noise”.

But Mr. Kenobi just looks interested.

“Oh?” He says. “That makes sense. Leia is always talking about how her father can fix anything.”

“Well,” Anakin blushes and looks away. “You know kids. Turn it off and turn it back on usually blows their minds.”

Mr. Kenobi smiles indulgently before clearing his throat. “You wanted to talk about Luke?”

“Oh! Yes!” He had come here with the express desire to talk about Luke with Mr. Kenobi. Not secure a date with Mr. Kenobi. “I saw that Luke got a... unicorn...and a rainbow on his last project, and it made me worry.”

It sounds very, very overbearing coming out of his mouth. This is an elementary school art class. Why did he think that he should come in and talk to a teacher over his son’s bad grade? Especially when it was pretty clear Luke deserved it.

Mr. Kenobi tilts his head in confusion. “Well, yes, I suppose I usually give Luke two suns on his work, so I understand if the change was upsetting to you.”

“And we’re saying that two suns are good?” Anakin checks, feeling very out of his element here.

“Oh, yes, very good,” Mr. Kenobi assures him. “But his last project wasn’t. Well.”

“He says he got distracted,” Anakin mutters, rubbing a hand down his face. “Over a boy.”

“Haven’t we all been there,” Mr. Kenobi murmurs, sounding very amused. Anakin peeks over his fingers at this declaration.

“Yeah,” he says roughly. “That’s sort of exactly what I thought.”

Mr. Kenobi clears his throat again. “Well. That’s why I gave him the unicorn then. It was a bit of bad work, but a very rare showing of it. And the rainbow, to signify that I know he’ll be back to normal again next time. You shouldn’t worry about this one project either, Mr. Skywalker. I do give final grades holistically, not weighted by any one assignment. This is, after all, a children’s art class.”

Anakin wants to thunk his head on the table in front of him. “You do know that all the parents think unicorn means unsatisfactory, right?”

“Why?” Mr. Kenobi has the nerve to look shocked.

“They both start with U, I don’t know,” Anakin says, waving an agitated hand through the air.

“Well, sometimes parents can be quite stupid,” Mr. Kenobi says primly and then looks horrified at himself. “Please don’t tell them I said that.”

Anakin laughs and gets to his feet reluctantly. His worries over Luke have been dealt with, but he finds himself very reluctant to leave.

“Well,” he says slowly, eyes firmly looking only at Mr. Kenobi’s face, “Thank you for meeting with me. I guess you don’t get many frantic parent-teacher conferences over a unicorn sticker.” He ducks his head and rubs the back of his neck with his hand in embarrassment. He can admit now that perhaps he had overreacted.

Mr. Kenobi places his hand delicately over the hand Anakin still has on the table, just for a second, squeezing it with enough pressure that Anakin has to look up at him again. “Only the best parents,” he says with a half-smile.

Anakin finds himself grinning back, unwilling to move his hand now that Kenobi’s touching it. “And, um. If you ever take the kids on an art museum tour or something, and you need chaperones….give me a call.”

“Would I have to wait that long?” Kenobi asks innocently.

Anakin’s never shaken his head no so quickly before. “Any time,” he tells the man very seriously, already backing out of the room. “Before you think too much about it and decide not to would probably be preferable.”

Mr. Kenobi laughs. “I’m sure I’ll think about it a lot,” he says as he turns to go back to his art studio. He calls over his shoulder. “In bed, tonight.”

Anakin trips over a child-sized easel with a loud clatter and an even louder curse, and he can’t decide which of the two should be more thankful school is out for the day. Probably Mr. Kenobi. Yeah. Probably definitely Mr. Kenobi.

[depressedacadamia]

Dimples

Summary: Apparently Nico has dimples and Will did not know.

A/N: Heheheee, motherfuckers my exams are in a week and a half and I haven't revised shit. Instead, I'm writing these. Wish me luck, this might be the only fic I post for the next 2 weeks but if you're lucky, I might post pt 2 for 'How to passive aggressively say Fuck you in flower'. Toodle pip and <3 from mee!

Extra edit: I forgot it was solangelo week, woops. 

Read on A03

Nico Di Angelo was not known for smiling. He was not known for grinning or laughing. He was however, known for snarling, sarcastic, outdated remarks and terrifying people to the point where they’d rather face death itself than face him and his wrath.

So of course, Percy and every logical being would avoid him at all costs when he was in one of his ‘moods’. These so-called ‘moods’ referred to when Nico seemed particularly dangerous, like when his eyes had a dangerous glower to them that hinted he enjoyed threatening others a tad too much- in fact, so much so that Leo had suggested that Nico may be a sadist (That hadn’t gone well for Leo, to say the very least).

But of course, William Andrew Solace was in no way a logical being nor was he very fearful of Nico’s alternating and very much violent auras. Now, this wasn't necessarily a bad thing necessarily, in fact, it was the very thing that had started their relationship and while everybody thought Will was insensitive with his historical jokes he made towards Nico, Nico greatly appreciated being able to understand something from his time.

Will, on several occasions, related him to Captain America in Marvel's Avengers.

So when Nico, in his terrifying rage, stormed into the infirmary, Percy wasn’t sure what he was about to witness. Were these two having an argument? Nico looked like he was going to set the infirmary ablaze or perhaps bury it 6 feet under- it was truly the unpredictability that created the suspense and fear.

“Where are they?” Nico’s voice was calm, cold but sharp. His words felt like the gentle, smooth slant of a knife, apply pressure and you get cut. Nobody dared to answer. The infirmary’s silence seemed like one of lambs, too scared to speak out until another leader did. Whether they expected Nico to simply leave if no one answered, they certainly did not expect him to ask again.

“Where. Are. They?” He punctuated his words, his voice combined with a deadly hunger that could only be satisfied with death.

The room felt like a cave. The only words being echoed back were Nico’s own words, bouncing off the smooth walls of the infirmary. The corners seemed dark, the white presence of the infirmary slowly being poisoned. It seemed like fate sealed their hands- they were like lambs to the slaughter: helpless.

“WHERE ARE THEY!” Nico roared. This time, he did not wait for a response. He took a small glimpse at the camper in front of him, who was obviously avoiding his gaze, and the next thing the kid knew was that he was pinned to the wall with a metre of stygian iron under his neck. The kid hyperventilated and in a moment of sheer panic and pure fear, blurted,

“I don’t know where they are! “

Nico, holding the camper up with one hand, shoved him into the wall again. “ But you hurt them anyway?”

The camper was completely clueless but he wasn’t stupid. Simply denying whatever Nico was accusing him of would increase Nico’s rage and that could lead everyone down a very dark road.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt them! I swear...” He started to sob. “ I swear it was an accident!”

“You hurt them! That isn’t an accident. You will pay for your crimes. I swear I will-”

“-Dear god, Nico what the hell?” A voice of pure confusion entered the infirmary. Nico, on recognising the voice, felt his head snap backwards-trying to find the course of the voice. There on the other side of the infirmary, with his leg in a cast, stood Will solace, still as unfashionable as ever.

Nico almost teleported to Will, considering how fast he appeared by his side. “ Are you okay? It’s okay, I found out who did it and-”

“-Jesus, Stalin, calm down there.” Will looked at the terrified boy who was in tears. “This kid knows nothing. He wasn’t even there. Were you just putting on some show trials?”

Nico had to resist the twitch in his lips at the communism jokes. Ever since Will had found out that Nico’s weakness was communism jokes, he had been exploiting it, just like the working class were exploited, and using it to his own advantage.

“Wait, this kid wasn’t involved?” Nico looked at all the terrified people in the infirmary, still frozen to their spots, waiting for the go sign for them to continue with their lives.

Will waved his hand. “Go ahead, continue with your business. He will be on his best behaviour now that I’m here.”

“Uh, says who?”

“Says my broken leg.”

On the mention of a broken leg, Nico’s worry instantly returned. His hand reached out to touch Will’s face, in a gesture of affection before quickly snatching it away. Will reached for his hand, took it in his own and intertwined their fingers as in to say It’s okay, they support us. It’s okay, I love you and you love me. It’s okay, I’m not ashamed of being in love with you.

Nico appreciated the gesture and once again, fought the urge to give in to the overwhelming desire to smile at his perfect boyfriend.

“Are you okay? Can you show me your leg? What happened? Why can’t you heal it?” The words began flying out of Nico’s mouth, the concern on his face unhideable. His eyebrows were cutely creased together and he kept on placing his hands all over Will- it was driving him crazy.

“Calm down there, communist. This is my injury, not yours.” Will joked, trying to hide his blush- truth be told, he did not want to tell Nico the real reason behind how he broke his leg because it was honestly the most ridiculous reason one may ever hear in their entire life.

Nico let out a little snort of laughter after hearing another communist joke but was careful to keep it on the downlow. He noticed that Will was being quite indirect and avoiding his gaze: he knew that could only mean one thing.

“What did you do to break your leg?” Nico smirked wickedly, understanding that Will had, once again, been quite idiotic.

Will, gasping in mock offense but also quite embarrassed by how well his own boyfriend knew him, let out a bubble of nervous daughter. “ Hahaa, what do you mean? I broke my leg the same way everyone else does...”

“... which is?”

Due to the vast amount of broken legs he had healed, Will actually knew how to answer this question. “ Through sports.”

“Sports?” Nico snorted. “ You? Sports? Have you ever even run in your entire life? I swear the only thing you do is heal and read. Maybe sleep on the offhand you listen to me.”

“You can’t talk over there!”

“Just tell me how you broke your leg, for the love of the Gods!”

“I was having a competition with Percy for who could heal faster.”

“You were doing what?”

“A competition Nico, have you ever heard of one? Normally the losers forget they exist so I wouldn't be surprised that you had never heard of one-”

“No, I know what a competition is, you idiot. What I don't know is, why on earth you were having a regeneration competition with Percy of all the demigods you could have chosen, you chose the one with the ability to heal themselves as well?”

Will pouted slightly, his eyebrows making a small frown. “I would have thought you would be halfway through murdering Percy right about now.”

“If Percy managed to win, then honestly, you kinda deserved it.”

“I thought you liked me!”

“I thought my boyfriend wasn’t an idiot!”

“Technically I won because Percy was too baby-ish to break his own leg!”

Nico took a very long pause. Slowly, he began shaking his head, from side to side. The expression on his face was illegible but eventually it morphed into one of laughter. His laugh was rich and so was the expression on his face. His lips were curled upwards, his eyes were creasing, with long beautiful dimples on both sides of his face- as clear as the moon on a clear night.

The infirmary was silent. They simply stared at the beautiful angel who graced the place with their voice. They were horrified and in awe. Nico Di Angelo was capable of smiling! He was capable of laughing!

It was a fucking miracle.

“What did I tell you!” Percy yelled, throwing his arm over Annabeth who simply sighed. “I fucking told you! I knew he had dimples!”

Will, slightly stunned, simply took Nico’s face in both his hands. His crystal blue eyes were wide open and to Nico it looked like the ocean was inviting him to take a dive into int’s complex and unknown depths.

Into the unknooooowwwwwnnnnnn.

He cursed himself for that being his first thought. He then cursed Will for making him watch Frozen because it was apparently culturally inappropriate to not have seen it. Then he cursed himself again for cursing Will.

“Holy shit,” Will whispered as he stared into his boyfriends grinning face. “Holy fuck Nico, you never told me you had dimples.”

“Language.”

“Holy shit, holy fucking hell. You cannot smile at me like that Nicolo Di Angelo and expect me to keep my language appropriate. Have you ever seen yourself in a mirror?”

“Calm down,” Nico groaned, throwing his head backwards. He could feel his palms getting sweaty from Will’s words- what could he say, he was slightly embarrassed.

“Wait!” Will cried. “ Do it again. Smile again!”

Nico gave a sultry smirk and Will whacked his arm. “ I asked you to smile at me, not seduce me. Smile!”

“Who wouldn't be happy to be seduced by me?”

“Just smile, please!”

Nico sighed before looking at his gorgeous boyfriend. His eyes darted down at the cast around the leg and immediately Nico remembered the cause of injury. He started laughing, his lips stretching into a genuine smile and his dimples flashing all across his face. Will, still holding his boyfriend's face, couldn’t help himself as he brought their lips together.

Will was so used to feeling Nico’s smile when they kissed so when he brought their lips together, he didn't know what he was expecting. It felt different for some reason, it felt more.. It felt better, it felt like he was getting a new piece of Nico. Feeling Nico smile and seeing him smile were two different things and now that he could picture Nico’s smile as he kissed his smiling lips, Will thought he’d explode from happiness.

Will pulled away quickly, his hand still cemented to Nico’s grinning face. He had pulled away just so he could see Nico’s smile and more importantly his dimples again.

“What?” Nico’s innocent voice and grin combined confirmed for Will that if he died on that very spot, he would have died a happy man.

“Holy shit, you’re the cutest person ever.”

And with that, he brought their lips together again.

Neither of them noticed Thalia and Annabeth sulking as they paid up their debts to Percy from losing the bet.

[heymacy]

I love all those sentence prompts you just posted.😂 But I feel like the most appropriate one is probably:

“So why did I have to punch that guy?”

Thank you Arrow!! 💗

Ridiculous Sentence Prompts: "So why did I have to punch that guy?"

--

There were only a few things left in the world that made Mickey really, really angry.

The first was their property manager, Melanie, and her stupid-ass dog with its stupid, stupid diaper.

The second was the fact that a single can of beer cost four times more on the West Side than it did back in their old neighborhood. What special brand of bullshit were these crunchy granola hippies trying to churn out at the Wine, Etc. store, anyway?

The third thing, and probably the only one that would stick around after he adjusted to his new life above the poverty line, was any time that anyone disrespected, hurt, or even mildly annoyed his husband.

Every time they dealt with an irritating client or an overzealous new employee, Mickey would clench his teeth and fight the urge to knock them on their ass. One hit was all it would take, he knew that for certain. He'd taken down Ian's exes, family members, hell, even Ian himself on a few occasions, with a single punch to the throat.

Now, he was an adult, a business owner, a husband and partner that needed to play by society's rules if they were ever going to crawl out of the gutter completely.

The very idea made Mickey's teeth ache.

He bit his bottom lip while they sat side-by-side in their booth at the Alibi, waiting for some schmuck to meet them for an interview.

"We need to start interviewing the guys we hire, Mickey," Ian had said one night while cooking dinner. He chopped the carrots and celery on the wooden cutting board while Mickey sat slumped on the couch, nursing a beer and watching a TikTok Mandy had sent him earlier that day.

He looked up at his husband as he watched an orange and white cat chow down on kibble after his automatic feeder malfunctioned.

Mandy 🌻 (6:09pm): plz tell ian this is him in cat form

Mickey snorted at his phone, barely registering Ian's comment.

"Mick?" Ian tried again, and Mickey looked up from his phone.

"Hmm?" he replied through a mouthful of beer.

"I said we need to start interviewing the guys we hire," Ian said again, using the knife to scrape the carrots and celery off of the cutting board and into the giant pot he had boiling on the stove. Mickey wasn't sure what he was making, but it smelled amazing.

"What for? Those resumé things ain't good enough for you?" Mickey's mouth quirked up on the side as he tried to hide a smirk.

Ian rolled his eyes and used the comically oversized wooden spoon to stir his soup.

"No, Mick. So we don't have another Connor situation."

Mickey snorted. Connor was a dipshit they'd hired back in April to help with pickups, a dipshit that had cost the company almost $2,500 after he "forgot" to make the deposit with Ian and Mickey at the end of his scheduled route.

"I mean, his name's Connor. Kinda feel like you should've known what you were walkin' in to with that one."

"I'm serious," Ian said. "Interviews. We gotta do 'em." He stirred the soup vigorously, the spoon clanking against the side of the pot with every twist.

Mickey sighed deeply and rolled his eyes.

"Fine, we'll interview some new guys. But we're not doing it at a Starbucks or some shit. I'm not ready to go full West Side." He scrunched up his nose and made a face, to which Ian just chuckled.

"Glad you're on board," he teased, getting back to work on his soup, which had started to bubble.

--

Kev and Vee had moved to Louisville a month before, transferring ownership of the bar to Carl and Officer Tipping, who promised to keep everything just as it was. It gave Mickey a sense of calm knowing that even as the rest of his old neighborhood was slipping away, his adolescent stomping grounds now littered with coffee shops and yoga studios, some things remained the same.

He ran his fingers along the familiar crack in the table, a sharp sensation prodding the pads of his fingertips and helping him forget, even temporarily, what they were there to do.

Ian smacked the back of Mickey's hand gently.

"Stop it," he said, referring to the way Mickey was two seconds away from giving himself a splinter.

Mickey huffed and rolled his eyes.

"What's this guy's name again?"

Ian looked at his phone where he had an email pulled up. He glanced over the message then scrolled to the bottom.

"Derek," he said plainly.

"Derek," Mickey mocked, and Ian whacked him in the chest with the back of his hand.

"Knock it off," he said, and Mickey rolled his eyes again.

"Whatever. He's late anyway, let's just bail and go get some pizza."

"He's not late, Mickey. It's only..." he looked at his watch. "3:58. He's got three minutes until he's late."

Just then, as if summoned by Ian's voice, a tall, lanky, blond man walked through the front door of the bar and made his way towards the back corner booth where Ian and Mickey sat.

"You guys Ian and Mackie?"

Ian snorted as he tried to hide his laughter. Mickey rolled his eyes a third time, this time so hard that it was honestly impressive he didn't snap his optic nerves in the process.

"Mickey," Ian corrected politely. He nudged his husband with his elbow and the two of them climbed out of the booth to meet with their interviewee.

Ian shook his hand firmly.

"I'm Ian, and this is my husband Mickey." He smiled and turned to Mickey, who was standing with his hands in his pockets and giving Derek, all six feet two inches of him, an intense once-over. Elbowing his husband for a second time, Mickey relented, pulling his hands from his pockets and reaching out to shake Derek's hand. His giant palm was cold and clammy but also somehow uncomfortably hot. Mickey grimaced.

"Hey," he said gruffly. "Mickey."

"Derek," the other man said as they shook hands. "So you two are married?"

Ian nodded.

"Little over a year now, yeah."

Derek nodded.

"Cool, cool, cool," he said, nodding and looking around. "So this place is...interesting."

The judgmental and condescending way Derek said "interesting" wasn't new or unusual to either of them, but tall lanky blond bitches with North Side energy and a terrible fade saying "interesting" like they wanted to say "disgusting" made Mickey's blood boil.

He clenched his fist without even realizing what he was doing. Ian noticed immediately when Mickey's shoulders tensed up, stiffening in a way that reminded Ian of a startled cat, and he turned to climb back in the booth. He squeezed Mickey's arm once, twice, and dragged him down into the booth with him.

"It was a family friend's place," Ian said, nonchalant, eager to move the conversation away from the Alibi and towards their business. "So, Derek, on your resume, I see that you worked--"

Derek cut Ian off mid-sentence.

"Have they ever thought about turning this place into some sort of art installation or something? Just with the open floor plan and the exposed pipes, it's very pseudo-industrial-chic."

If they hadn't already assumed before by his distinct vocal fry and the smell of coconut hair gel, Derek's use of the term "pseudo-industrial-chic" solidified what the other two already knew: there were three gay motherfuckers in this booth.

Ian stuttered for a second, surprised by Derek's interjection and resistance to changing the subject.

"Don't think so, no." He grabbed his phone and opened up the Gmail app again. "So, anyway, your resume says you worked at--"

"You know what would be really cool in here? A movement class. I went to one in LA once that was hosted by Gwyneth Paltrow and it was liberating."

Mickey snorted and Ian elbowed him in the ribs.

"I bet it was," Ian said, unamused at Derek's refusal to talk about his work history. "So you worked at--"

"Have you guys ever been to LA? Oh my god, it's the best. So chic. I mean, I'm from Evanston originally, so basically anything is chic in comparison. I mean, not here, obviously, but you know. Other places."

Ian sighed.

"Totally," he said. "So, your work history, it says--"

"Hey, do you guys know what the best dispensary is around here? Preferably something upscale, with those iPads you can order on. I need a few new carts--"

"Dude," Mickey cut in. "Can you shut the fuck up for five seconds?"

Derek looked surprised, and Mickey could hear Ian's sharp, apprehensive inhale.

"Excuse me?" Derek said, holding his hand to his chest.

"He's been trying to ask you the same question since we sat down, and you won't shut the fuck up about chic cities and weed, so if you could just answer our questions, that would be great." He looked over at Ian, whose eyes were wide and hesitant, unsure about how things were about to unfold.

"You're very rude," Derek said to Mickey, giving him a scowl.

Mickey snorted.

"Yeah, tell me something I don't know."

Derek's eyes narrowed and his forehead wrinkled up, agitated.

"You should be nicer to the people you want to hire." He crossed his arms over his chest like a petulant child.

Mickey laughed out loud.

"Dude, who says we wanna hire you? I'm pretty sure if you worked for us, I'd blow my brains out in the first two minutes."

Ian tried and failed miserably to conceal his laughter, covering his mouth with his hand and looking down at the table. Mickey leaned over towards his husband.

"I kinda wanna punch this guy in the mouth," he mumbled, and Ian side-eyed him from where he sat beside him.

"Please don't," he replied in a whisper before composing himself and turning back to Derek.

"Look, Derek, you seem like a nice guy, but I don't think this is gonna work out." He held out his hand to signal that the interview was over, but Derek didn't return his handshake. Instead, he pouted like a toddler that had just been scolded for bad behavior.

"Your husband's a dick," Derek said to Ian, and Mickey could literally feel Ian's body stiffen next to him.

"Hey," Mickey said, putting his hand on Ian's knee. "Forget it. Let's go get pizza."

"No," Ian said sternly, turning back to Derek. "Listen, dude, you're also kind of a dick, so why don't we just call this a wash and you can go track down your carts or whatever."

Mickey bit his lip, fighting a smile. He secretly loved when Ian got defensive, as long as it wasn't directed towards him.

"You're both dicks!" Derek said, slamming his hands down on the table. He slid out of the booth and stood up, and Mickey and Ian did the same. The three men stood there, Derek facing the husbands with a pissed-off expression.

"You should go," Ian said, pointing at the door.

Derek snorted.

"I guess I shouldn't be surprised. When the ad said South Side, I knew there was a good chance the owners were a couple of trashy, ghetto assholes. But him?" He pointed at Mickey. "He's a world-class dick."

Before Derek could say anything else, he was cut off by a fist to the jaw and dropped to the floor, unconscious.

The ambient chatter and loud clacking of billiard balls came to a halt as the regulars that sat scattered around the Alibi turned in unison to see what had happened. Once they identified the source of the loud "thud" as one of the Gallagher-Milkovich boys knocking out some blond giant, they immediately turned back to their various activities.

Just another day on the South Side.

Ian cupped his right fist in his left hand and turned to Mickey, bewildered.

"I just punched that guy, Mick," he said, genuinely surprised. "I knocked him out. Shit."

Mickey shrugged.

"He kinda deserved it."

Ian looked at Mickey with a really? sort of expression and shook his head back and forth.

"Still," he said, turning to look at Derek, sprawled out unconscious on the floor like a rag doll.

"C'mon man, it's fine. He'll come to, and when he does, we'll be long gone." He grabbed Ian's upper arm and gave him a tug, but Ian just sat back down in the booth.

"Why did I do that?" he asked, but Mickey knew he was talking only to himself. He sat down beside his husband, stepping over Derek's long ass leg on his way back to the booth.

"I mean, you kinda had to."

Ian looked over at Mickey, eyebrows raised. He stared at his husband for a moment, puzzling, before breaking into a smile.

"What?" Mickey asked, confused as to how Ian could go from having some sort of moral crisis over knocking out a hipster to grinning gleefully at his husband in a half second. Ian reached over and put his hand on Mickey's thigh. Immediately, the mood shifted. Pool cues squeaked as they were chalked up and glasses clinked on the countertops. The distinct chhh-chhh sound of a spray bottle punctured Mickey's ear drums as he looked down at his husband's hand on his thigh.

"So," Ian said, voice quieter than before. "Why did I have to punch that guy?"

Mickey smirked. He could be honest, and say the obvious reason, which was that Derek was a total douche canoe and deserved to be socked in the mouth by someone his own size. He could lie, and say it was because Derek seemed dangerous and Ian was just following his instincts, but that would have been the lie of the fucking century.

Instead, he said neither, and opted for something he knew would make Ian smile.

"Because you love me."

Ian's face broke into a full grin and he giggled, leaning over to kiss his husband once, quickly, well-aware of Mickey's hesitancy towards PDA when they were out and about on the South Side.

When he pulled back, he was smirking, and Mickey knew his cheeks were flushed. He hadn't been expecting the kiss, however brief it was, and his stomach felt a little fluttery.

"I mean, I'm not the kind of guy that just stands by and lets people talk shit about the man he loves." He grinned and Mickey rolled his eyes, remembering Ian telling him about the last words he'd said to Glittery Twink Byron the night they'd gotten engaged.

"You're a fuckin' sap, man."

"True," Ian said, standing up from the booth and stepping over Derek's leg as Mickey had done minutes before. He reached out his hand and pulled his husband from the booth. The two of them stood there momentarily, staring at Derek's lump of a body on the sticky, peanut-shell covered floor.

"Should we like, do something?" Mickey asked, kicking Derek's foot with his own boot. The man didn't move a muscle. Mickey wondered for a second if he might be dead, but the shallow rise and fall of the douche canoe's chest let him know that unfortunately, for all of humankind, the asshole was still alive.

Ian shook his head.

"Nah, he can sleep it off."

He reached down and took Mickey's hand in his own.

"C'mon," he said as he dragged them both towards the door. "Let's go get pizza."

[katytheinspiredworkaholic]

I’ve been rewatching CM and god, what I wouldn’t give for them to bring TG back for this revival. I haven’t even watched seasons 12-15 yet because I’m in denial about him being gone 😭😭😩

omg I haven't watched it either xD I've been holding off watching s11e22, The Storm, for like a month I swear. Which, I know is going to be amazing but I also have heard it's the beginning of the end and I'm not readyyyyyyy.

I would give anything for TG to come back. A n y t h i n g. But idk what CBS feels is the appropriate amount of time to be blacklisted or whatever the hell they did 🤷‍♀️ despite how it would be so easy to write him back in, and the missed opportunities is already making my skin crawl.

Okay. This was going to be a quick answer, but I've been THINKING about this way more than I should lately, without ever having watched 12-15 but I feel like I know enough, and with all the projects I'm going to be finishing/starting soon I know I won’t have time to do anything with my ideas. So I'm just going to type this little beginning I have plotted out and maybe one day I'll make it into the fic I want it to be:

(I know you didn't ask for a hc/blurb thing but surprise you get one xD)

CW: Spoilers for season 11-15 that are probably inaccurate af, fighting, violence, bit of blood and injuries talk, some profanity. 

-

((I legit have this all plotted out like a full season, and picture everything as shots and scenes and I know exactly how I would want to bring Hotch back.))

-

It would start in a small suburban town in Indiana, legit white-picket fence, middle of nowhere, off the grid town. With the most pedestrian name ever, we might as well call it Mayberry. Typical weekend morning, bright green grass and trees and summer sunshine lighting it all up, they still get papers delivered it’s that picturesque. And it’ll pan to all sorts of people on this street of nice, two-story houses, and finally zero in on not the man picking up his paper from his front porch, but the jogger slowing down that the man calls to next door, calling him a name we’ve never heard before -- but the jogger answers with that dark eyed squint and a nod... and it is Aaron Hotchner. Or the man who used to be Aaron Hotchner. He hasn’t gone by that name in years, WITSEC provided him and Jack with new ones.

His house isn’t even really decorated like a home, he’s been in enough over the years to know tell-tale signs of what a happy home should entail. Photographs, memorabilia, nostalgia tucked away in corners -- they don’t have that. He has a couple of photographs he keeps in his office, the only two in inconspicuous view being a photo of Haley and Jack when he was two years old, and a photo of his team the day he completed the FBI triathlon and they all showed up to support him. Everything else of their old life is in boxes in a storage facility in downtown D.C., under another false name that can never be linked back to them. 

Mr. Scratch was a poor excuse for why he and Jack were still under WITSEC, but he hopes near daily that it was enough of a reason that no one would question why he didn’t return once that monster was dead. That no one smart enough to read between the lines would go digging for more reasons, or worse -- try to find him -- and they pictured him living a happy retirement very similar to the charade he is living now. 

But Aaron Hotchner was never meant for retirement. No matter how easy and simple his days have been the past few years. It was only a matter of time. 

He walks through his home that looks more like the insides of a Home Living magazine, to his kitchen which is bright and spacious and tiled white that he knows Haley would have loved, getting a glass of water from the sink and chugging it all in one go. It isn’t until he’s getting a second glass that he hears it. The faucet was supposed to have masked any disturbance, they were careful in when they moved, how they placed their feet, the slowness of the their approach -- but not enough.

Hotch keeps his shoulders relaxed, his spine still ram-rod straight but that’s just how he stands and it keeps tension ready at a moment’s notice. Keeps him on alert, which he needs as he takes slower sips of water and lets all his other sense shift to a heightened awareness. Knows this house like the back of his hand, even if he’s never allowed himself to consider it home, so he knows which floorboards creak and where all the furniture is strategically placed. Always prepared for something like this to happen, even if he never imagined someone would be so bold. 

Their mistake.

With a careful tick of his head, peripherals his only guidance, he strikes before the intruder gets to. An iron grip and momentum that propels their face into the metal of the sink basin, shocking them that what their file was so misleading about their target. Retired FBI agent, almost 60 years old, living in Pleasantville with a picket fence and a vegetable garden. This should have been easy. The intruder is stunned by the blow, attempts a quick recovery where they lash out and get a few good body shots into the older man -- but he’s built like a brick wall, can take a blow and give it back twice as hard -- a few more precise hits and another crack of their face to the sink that shatters the bridge of their nose leaves the attacker slumping to the floor. 

“You didn’t do your research,” Hotch tells them, breathing a little heavy, opening up a drawer usually deemed for junk and pulls out zipties and an ancient looking cell phone buried deep at the back. “Sloppy. I expected more from him.” 

The attacker kicks out Hotch’s knees in a fit of rage (at having his skill set insulted so), leaving them both crashing to the floor. They grapple and fight a bit more, knocking dishes from the counters and pots and pans to the floor from the grill top island, but Hotch is so well-trained in take downs he gets the slighter man pinned with only a split lip and a single hitch in breath. He barely broke a sweat. Knocks the guy out clean, two solid punches to his face, and he stops because he knows better. Has been there before, and they need to question whoever was sent to his house to kill him. 

He’s barely off the floor, the intruder binded and stuck in a corner when Jack walks in from early morning soccer practice. Takes one look at the kitchen, his dad with blood in the corner of his mouth, and the guy all in black bound by zipties and already knows what happened. Sixteen, nearly as tall as his father now, he looks only mildly worried for all of two seconds until he sees that his dad has an old flip cell phone held up to his good ear, awaiting a connection with their handler in Indianapolis. 

“... Does this mean we get to go home?” 

The shot would pan back to Hotch, and he wouldn’t answer him, just tells the person on the phone to ‘patch him through, they have a situation’, and there would be no very obvious look in answer to Jack’s question. But all of us who know him, know the subtle changes in expression and the slight softening to that stern frown, knows what his reply would have been.

-

The very next scene would be the BAU. JJ and Emily walking at a brisk pace covering a debrief, since they basically run the department now. Everyone has been called in, everyone, retired and moved away and even the ones who cut all ties have been contacted. JJ has just gotten off the phone with Elle, who is working as a liaison in Rome and assured her that if anyone showed up in her home to attack her that they would be leaving in a body bag. But she appreciated the heads up. 

In the bullpen it’s more like a family reunion than anything. Garcia has just gotten off the elevators, a flurry of color and blonde curls and bright as ever, Morgan and Savannah are trying to corral Hank and the twins (both girls and pure chaos now that they can walk) while still making introductions with the new team and their families, and asking if Reid or Rossi know anything about what’s going on as JJ gets there and asks for everyone’s attention. 

“Not everyone is here yet, Kate and her family are on their way from upstate, Will’s getting the boys from school, and Alex and her husband are on a plane, but we need to get started as soon as possible.”

“What’s is going on, JJ?” Morgan asks, passing off one of the twins to Penelope who is in full baby fever mode despite what is obviously a very bad circumstance that has brought them all together. It’s a juxtaposition that has put everyone on edge. It doesn’t help when JJ and Emily look at each other as if in confirmation, trying to decide who is going to tell them.

“Okay, that doesn’t inspire confidence,” Rossi points out. “What happened?”

Emily sighs and makes a gesture for JJ to take the floor, since she has been on point for most of this.

The bull pen is silent in anticipation.

“Earlier this morning, Hotch was attacked in his home in Indiana,” she says, and whatever anyone thought was going on -- that wasn’t it. The shock across the room is like a bomb has detonated.

Rossi curses something out in Italian, looking down, and JJ immediately realizes how this all sounds. But doesn’t even get to backtrack as Reid looks completely devastated and Garcia like she’s about to cry and everyone else starts shouting questions at her. 

“What happened to Jack?”

“How did they even find him? What the fuck is wrong with WITSEC?!”

“Is he okay?” asks Tara, the only intellectual who can see the panic now blooming on JJ’s face.

“Yes, yes! He’s okay, sorry, no -- Hotch is fine. The guy who tried to kill him... not so much, but he should be conscious soon so they can question him.” 

“Jesus Christ, JJ,” Morgan says looking like he just aged ten years in the past 30 seconds. “Lead with that.”

“Sorry, I’m sorry. He’s okay, Jack is okay, they’ve been picked up. But... there’s a lot we need to be filled in on,” she admits, which quiets the room once more. “Apparently, the WITSEC had nothing to do with Mr. Scratch. There’s something much bigger and more dangerous going on, and he went under to keep us all safe. As well as himself, and Jack.” 

“What is it?”

JJ makes a gesture with her hands splayed as she looks a little lost. “I only know bare bones, we have to wait to hear the specifics and get everyone somewhere safe.” 

“You think we’re going to trust WICSEC after this?!”

Emily intervenes this time, “We have a plan, or... Hotch has a plan, I think. We’re just learning about everything as we go, he’s really the one that knows the most about it.”

“Then where is he?” Morgan speaks up again. “If he’s been pulled out, and we’re all in danger, why isn’t he here explaining this to us himself?” 

It’s a good question, and everyone looks expectantly at the two women leading the informal briefing. 

“Will he come back at all?” Reid asks, speaking up for the first time. It’s been years, that’s a long time to rethink a life like the BAU, and everything it entails.

JJ takes a deep breath. “He’s... in--”

“Out-processing.” 

Hotch is at the back of the room. Everyone turns to him, even JJ and Emily look surprised to see him so soon.  ((But we all know the CM cinematography love that kind of return shot, so I’m catering to it. For situational parallels if nothing else. Imagine the gif sets.))

“I pushed it as fast as they could go, but WITSEC always drags their feet.” The familiar drone, dry barely-there-humor, breaks whatever spell that had been over the room at the sight of the old Unit Chief. Disbelief and relief and stunned surprise litter every expression, and although Penelope looks like the first to say something, her words change course just as she opens her mouth. Because  Hotch is still in civilian clothes, a duffle-bag over his shoulder he used as a go-bag for decades, and beside him with a bag of his own with messy dirty blonde hair is--

“Oh my God, is that Jack!?” she near sobs, the teenager smiling at her in a way that looks so much like Haley, and she goes to hug him first with the boy meeting her halfway. “You’re so tall! And so grown up, look at you!” There’s definitely tears and the team converges on the Hotchners all at once. Reid hugs Hotch first, as tight and bone-crushing as that night in Atlanta all those years ago, followed soon after by Rossi who looks like he might shake the man but just hugs him tight and plants an absurdly embarrassing kiss on his cheek that finally cracks Hotch’s expression into something like a smile. Everyone hugs, everyone, Savannah calls him Aaron instead of Hotch because that was how he’d introduced himself all those years ago, the twins wave shyly and he shakes hands with the newer members that never got to meet him but have heard very tall tales about him for years and years. 

(And y’all, it would be the best damn scene and I would sob like a baby watching it.)

Morgan would be the one that would hold back and let the others go first, but it would also be the most profound when Hotch goes to shake his hand and the other man uses that to pull him into a tight hug of his own. 

“I’m glad you can still hold your own,” he’ll tease with nearly no heat behind it. Hotch hears it for the caring that it is.

“Like hell I would let that happen twice in my own home,” he assures him. 

Everyone settles down, and Emily leads some finer points of what’s going to happen with everyone in the next few hours. Days. Weeks, even, because there’s no knowing what is going to happen next. Hotch observes her, and there HAS to be a shot where she glances over to him and they share a look of understanding -- because she is Unit Chief now, and he approves of what he sees. 

But she turns the floor over to him, and Hotch explains what’s going on.

((I’m going to leave the finer points out about the case and the unsub, mostly because I haven’t finished ironing them out yet and I hope once I watch the remaining season I will be able to much more easily))

But at SOME POINT in the briefing, when Hotch is explaining what happened with the assassin in his home and how he apprehended him, and Emily maybe interjects with the injuries sustained and that they are still waiting for the man to regain consciousness. Penelope will 100% lean over to where Jack is sitting beside her and say without flinching, “Your dad is such a bad ass.”

((I also plan on bringing up Reid was in prison in this scene but it will be more humorous than anything because of Hotch’s reaction, stay tuned on that one. Again I’m not there yet))

((and where I’m taking them is also a secret because I need to do research and it will be so damn cool, but Hotch has everything completely planned out -- like he does. Goes as far as asking the few who question him “Secure enough for you?” when he drops where they will be staying and the protection they will have. Full blown mic drop moment.))

“So gather all of your belongings that you have here. Secure pets and homes, call the kid’s schools, whatever you need to do,” Hotch informs them, stepping back into his old shoes as team leader without even meaning to. But no one tells him to stop. “We need to be in the air ASAP, the jet is being prepped as we speak so we need to move on this.”

He leaves it at that, and everyone doesn’t move. Watching, waiting, smirking a little bit (Penelope, maybe even Reid), until he gives in.

“Wheels up in 30.”

Garcia giggles so much she near cackles with it. “Oh, I just got goosebumps!” And by Emily’s smirk and Morgan’s shared grin with Reid, a million watts between them, everyone is up and moving and pulling out cell phones to get their affairs in order.

Rossi sidles up to Hotch at that point, also openly smirking that they got him to say those four time-honored words. “Welcome back, Aaron.”

And Hotch, well -- he looks around the room at the family he had to leave behind without any hope of seeing them again, and feels every hardened edge in his face and demeanor soften. Before he looks to Dave and tells him what’s been going through his head ever since he walked back through the doors of the BAU.

“It’s good to be home.”

((END SCENE))

[miyaniacs]

CHAPTER THREE

NAVIGATION // Characters // Chapter Two

summary: Reader: female; 20 years old ; Apparently you know something… but what this something is you still got to find out.But curses, good and bad sorcerer now want to get you into their hands.Ending up in the hands of the good ones, y/n finally meets her old best friend again - Yuji. Now Yuji and his friends make it their mission to keep you save in this whole new world. Days turn into weeks and you become closer and closer to your ‚bodyguards‘

Warnings: slight NSFW (nothing explicit), mentions of blood (like only a drop of blood), bad writing in the middle bc i was unable to do it better andddd typos.

A/N: Hey.. sorry it took so long, but it was all so stressful and confusing with my BA. I don’t really like this chapter but i like the idea i got at the end of it haha Sorry if this is bad. Feedback, Comments, Reblogs are appreciated.

Your eyes widen and you quickly look down. Big mistake. Now your eyes are glued to his incredibly big muscles that show through his shirt.

You want to extend your hand and just touch them.

How is it possible for a human being to be this... this... just damn.

His arms cross over his chest. His biceps and triceps are flexed, slightly squishing his chest muscles, making them appear even bigger.

Your mouth hangs slightly open and your eyes begin to wander up again.

To his sharp jaw, then to a scar on the corner of his lips, his lips which look slightly chapped but still incredibly kissab-

WAIT.

STOP.

STOOOOOP.

Besides all the hot things about him the way he looks down at you, you feel frightened.

Raising his right eyebrow he chuckles.

And god it sounds hot.

“It’s not really polite to stare at the man you bumped into.”

“I- I- omg I’m sooo sorry.” You stutter and look down on your hands. He was right - you really embarrassed yourself right now.

“It’s fine, haven’t really felt it anyways.”

You really don’t know what to say or do, so you just keep on starring down at your hands. Something about him makes you feel so small.

“So... what brings you here babygirl?”

“Uhm.. just wandering around...” you mumble.

“Huh... and why is that?” He asks, amused by the state you’re in.

“Got too much on my mind.” You finally look up at his green eyes again.

There’s a glint in them.. but you can’t really make out what it is.

“Mhh you know I’m a good listener.”

“I don’t even know you.”

“Toji.”

“Huh?”

“My name- now you know me Y/n.”

“Wait how do you - wait no forget it, probably everyone around here now knows who I am.” You roll your eyes and plop down on the grass.

Toji sits down next to you and leans his head on his knee, looking over to you.

“So?” He asks.

“ I mean.. you probably know about the whole power thing and me right?”

“Yes I do.” He says and for a second there’s a small dangerous look in his eyes, which you obviously missed.

“And now they want to kill me, but this strange teacher promised me to not let that happen...” you sigh, “ but that isn’t really the real problem. Everyone expects me to stay here with them... But... no one thinks about the fuckin fact that I have nothing with me. Like I need some clean underwear? And my Uni stuff... and clothes... and arghhhh.... “ you sigh again and let yourself fell backwards into the grass.

“Oh yeah, why should you care if someone wants to kill you, when in fact the real problem is that you need to pass your finals.” He chuckles.

“I know I know... I just want to think about normal stuff..”

“I mean... I could distract you , if that’s what you want?” He smirks and glances down at you.

“Welll... depends on what we’re talking about.”

“Depends on what you want.” He lays down and rests his face on his hand.

Trying your best, you keep on starring into the sky and not look to your right.

A hookup with a hot stranger does sound like something that is appropriate to do during this time.

You bite your lip and keep on starring at the sky. The sun is slowly setting, which turns the whole sky into a beautiful pinkish orange light.

“Surprise me.” You say, trying to be cheeky, as you turn to your right and look at him.

Liking his lips, he smirks and gets up.

Confused you sit up and see him extending his hand.

Hesitating for a second, you finally lay your, comparably small hand, in his and he pulls you up as if you weight nothing at all.

“Where are we going?” You ask as he continues to hold your hand and drags you with him, further away from the buildings of the school.

“Mhhh you’ll see.” He simply says and keeps walking, slightly speeding up.

After a few more minutes, the buildings are barely to see and the anxiety starts creeping up inside of you. Why the fuck did you go with a stranger.

A stranger that is way stronger than you.

He’s not that hot, at least not hot enough to risk your life.

At least you’re now walking down a street, with other people around... maybe if you scream loud enough...

“And we’re here.” He stops in front of a building.

“Wh..Where are we.” You stutter and look up at him.

“My apartment.” He smirks and opens the front door.

“Ohh..”

After five more pairs of stairs, he stops at the door down the floor.

“Come on in.” He opens the door and holds the door open for you.

“Don’t worry, I won’t kidnap you or anything.” He chuckles.

Carefully you walk inside and hear him closing the the door behind him, locking it.

Whatever you expect his apartment to look like, it’s not this.

The room, is rather a loft.

Most of the walls are covered in windows, that reach down to the floor.

The bed is on the right, the kitchen on the left.

Everything looks modern and simple.

The most prominent colors aren’t real colors - Black and white dominate everything.

Some green touches thanks to a few plants.

Two Katanas hang right above the wall over the bed.

The bed is rather low, yet big with simple white sheets.

The kitchen is white too, all the electro stuff black, the few dishes that are shown, look modern and expensive.

In the middle of the room, are two big black leather couches with matching arm chairs. In contrast to the rest of the room, those look old - the expensive kind of old, not the worn out old.

“You can move.”

Turning around you see Toji leaning against the closed door, arms crossed over his chest.

“Uhm..” You look around not sure where to go. You don’t even know why you’re here.

“The couch.” He lays his hands on your shoulders and shoves you towards said couches, pushing you down on one. The leather is soft and you immediately sink into them.

“Relax, I thought you’re more fun.” He rolls his eyes and runs his hand through his black hair.

“I - I shouldn’t have come with you.. Uhm.. the others are probably looking for me.” You stutter. You really should not be here. What is wrong with you. Coming with a stranger. A total stranger. Why did you say surprise me. This wasn’t you. You tend to be more careful.

“Mhh... well let them search. You’re here now.”

“You don’t get it, they said it’s dangerous for me being alone.”

“But you aren’t alone.” He smirks and leans down his finger tracing over your cheekbone, down to your lips.

“And who said, that I’m not the one they try to protect you from?” He leans closer.

You can feel his breath on your skin. Your heart races.

He is right.

You had a bad feeling about him all the time.

Why did you come with him.

Fuck.

Your phone, you need to text Yuji and sent him your location or try to escape.

But even tough you know this is what you need to do... Your body doesn’t listen to you.

“Perfect. I always like the bad ones.” And with that you kiss him.

Why?

You really don’t know. Your body moves at its own, while a voice in your head screams and tells you to run - yet your hands wrap around his neck and you pull him closer.

His hands find your waist and he easily lifts you up, carrying you towards his bed.

“That’s the distraction I had in mind.” You purr against his lips.

His kisses travel down to your jaw, neck, cleavage...

Opening your eyes you star at the night sky. Your fingers trace over the soft cold grass.

Wait what?

Why are you outside.

Why are you- wait are you alone?

Quickly you sit up and look around.

Yes. You are alone.

And still near the small forest.

But... why are you alone...

You talked with someone... what was his name again... Toji!

Where is he?

“Y/N!”

“Y/NNNNNN!”

“YES?” You call out.

From the distance you can spot two figures running towards you.

“Y/N!” Yuji screams and speeds up.

“WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?!” He screams and falls down on his knees.

“H- here..” you say and look up at the other person and screaming when you look into the same eyes you saw... what in your dream? Or whatever it was.

“What?” Megumi asks annoyed.

“YOU!”

“Me?”

“What’s with him?” Yuji asks confused.

“Uhmmm.. nothing.. I walked into a tree.. my head is still.. fuzzy.” You say, remembering your dream. Your hand reaches up and touches the exposed skin on your neck. You can still feel his kisses.

Who is he.

And why does he look like Yujis friend.

Confused you walk back to the dorms with the two.

On the whole way they complain about you not answering your phone, worrying them, etc. Apparently everyone was looking for you.

But shouldn’t anyone found you before?

You haven’t walked that far away...

___

It’s past midnight and you’re sitting on the ground in your room.

You can’t sleep and think back to when you arrived back at the dorms.

Everyone seemed relieved when you came back with Yuji and Megumi and asked where you’ve been. After you told them, leaving out the Toji part, Gojo was confused. According to him, he went through the while forest and you haven’t laid near it then.

You tried to lighten up the mood by joking about his blindfold, but he wasn’t in the joking mood and quickly cut you off and dragged you away from the others.

“Where have you really been?” He had asked you, without his blindfold on. His blue eyes practically starred into your soul.

“Literally where I told you.”

“IF you’ve been there, i would have saw you. Also... where did those come from then?” He asked you and pulled down your collar of your shirt. Dark blue marks cover your skin.

“I don’t remember me leaving them.” His eyes travel back up to your, now red, face.

“Uhm ... so ... I ...”

“Listen. I don’t care about whoever you’re fucking with, but keep your sex life low - at least until we figured out this whole mess. You don’t know about this world and who to trust and who not.” He stares at you and you only nod.

“GOOD.” He smiles, his character changed again.

“As a last resort, you know where my room is.” He winks.

There’s a knock on your door and you groan. Who tf visits you at this time.

“Yes?” You open it and before you can scream a large hand covers your mouth.

“Missed me?”

“Sukuna?!!” You mumble against his hand while he pushes you inside of the room.

“Yes my little pet.” He smirks and closes the door, “ When I remove my hand, you know better than to scream, yes?”

You nod and he removes his hand.

“Good girl.” He purrs and his sharp nail runs down your cheek and you feel your skin opening.

His eyes are fixed on you, while he brings his finger closer to his lips, licking up the small drop of blood.

“Beautiful. Just as I remember it.” His eyes roll back and a grin spreads on his face.

“I heard you had some fun today?” He opens one of his eyes and nods towards your neck.

“I- uhm... I don’t know.” You answer truthfully.

“Huh? Was it that bad?” He chuckles.

“No... I mean.. I don’t even know if it was real..” you open up to him.

Why are you opening up to him? TO HIM?

“Mh... that’s the seal puppy.” He smiles and sits down on your bed.

“Seal?” You ask confused and sit down next to him.

“This.” His finger tips on the spot on over your collarbone.

“The mark?”

“Yeah yeah... its real name is the infinity seal. When it’s activated an ancient power starts to ... well run trough your blood.” He lays down on the bed.

“You know ... it doesn’t only give power to others. It helps you too. Makes you stronger, faster, gives you some sort of sixth sense.”

“For what?”

“For well... Everything? My Queen... your... well ancestor I guess, told me it feels like a different person, living in your head... they warn you if you’re in danger, give you the right answer when you only have seconds to act, they just .. help you get what you want.. what you need.. what’s good for you...” he glanced up at you.

You immediately think of that strange feeling of your body moving against your will, while being with Toji.. was that ‘person’ telling you that you needed sex?? When you think about it, you really are less stressed now. Or were them the one telling you to run?

“You felt them?” He sits up and rests his chin on your shoulder.

“Oh yes... you did...” he leans closer to your ear.

“How did it feel like? Finally doing what you want to do... not caring about the consequences... or who you might hurt...” his hand creeps around your waist and pulls you towards his chest, “just doing what is good for You.”

“I- I- No... I felt bed,..., I knew the other would look for me and...”

“Nahhh nah nah... yet you didn’t listen to that part of you, why?”

“The other feeling was stronger.”

“See... They know what you want. What is good for you...” his fingers run up and down on your waist.

“Then... why .... why don’t I remember coming back here.” You stare at the door, not feeling his hand moving to your back pocket or realizing the situation you are in.

“You’re simply not used to the power. Your memories will come back eventually and the more you get used to them... you won’t get those blackouts.” His lips gaze over your neck.

“Why are you telling me all of this.” You breath out.

“Because I want you to trust me.” His hand leaves your waist and grabs your chin instead, turning your head to face him, he adds, “And I want you to know everything. I know that the white haired idiot won’t tell you everything. He’ll simply tell you what will help him - but I … I want you to understand the whole power, I want you to know everything before you choose to share this power with someone.” His thumb rubs the skin on your face.

“Sukuna..” you whisper and stare in his eyes, “what if they decide to kill me..”

“I already said that I won’t let this happen.”

“But … you’re only one person…. And they seem to be .. powerful…”

“Ohhh you don’t have to worry about that- I will protect you.”

“Thank you.” You gently smile at him.

“Now … I have to go. The brat will wake up soon.” He says and gets up, walking towards the door.

“Goodnight y/n.”

He walks outside and you fall down on the bed.

Behind your closed door, Sukuna licks his lips and looks down at the old finger in his hand.

TAGLIST (open): @laceymorganwrites, @nnessworls , @irreverent-dream , @fiona782 , @shadyjinyoung, @kasianthus @hello0i

[helpinghanikan]

Hot Date

Pietro Maximoff x Reader

Sum:  It shouldn't have to be said that SHIELD researchers aren't allowed to date their wards. But that doesn't stop the romantic tension from forming between you. The real question is, whose feelings will be most affected when the tension finally boils over?

Anomalous weapons supervisor was typed out on your paychecks, but babysitter would be a better description. Diplomas, experience and more resulted in your butt on bleachers. Watching the important people play around with powers few in this world understood.

Whoever designed this area probably didn’t know who exactly would be using it. It had the basics; a track for running, mats for sparring and weights for lifting. With more off the wall items thrown in that might be useful to the superpowered individuals using it. Like the massive metal balls being lifted and lowered by the red magic of your charge. Or one of your charges at least.

‘Wanda seems to have complete control of her powers. Whether these powers are coming from her mind or some sort of muscle in her hands has yet to be known.’ You type out just intime to get a guest sitting to your right.

“Can I get an autograph when your book is finished?” Pietro has been working on his accent, so had Wanda. As much pride as the two had they were still looking to adapt. But there were still hints of it on certain words. Especially when he’s this close not really trying.

“Only if I get to sign those tits.” Obviously, a joke, but you still had to take a quick glance to the camera. Just in case you get dragged into a meeting and this comes back up about your unprofessional comments. Not that it would stop your work.

“I can live without the signature,” Wanda’s voice, although distant, echoed in the wide space. “You’ve spelt many things wrong anyhow.”

Few people could say they were as close to the Maximoff twins as yourself. Even after the discovery of an alien/god, of the defrosting of a super-solider and the destruction from a billionaire people were wary of the twins.

It was through simple respect that Wanda had warmed up to you. You hadn’t talked to her with artificial kindness, didn’t look to the guards when her voiced raised even the slightest. No, you had asked how she was (the room was too hot for her), if she needed anything (just wanted to know how much longer she was going to be questioned), if she liked coffee or tea (tea is preferred), and how she was doing, really doing (she was tired, you all were).

It was another story for Pietro. Only trusting you after Wanda obviously saw you as a friend. Taking his own time to warm up after getting the same genuine experience you offered rather the blunt questions and stupid statements. It was the dinner you invited them to that sealed the deal. Nothing brings people together more than a lot of meat, the warm feeling of alcohol and a quiet afternoon with a food coma.

“What have you written?” Pietro asks, your laptop now in his hands.

There’s no point in trying to stop him when he snatches things. A child who had to move fast for food and safety makes petty theft a hard habit to beat. Not to mention Wanda already knew everything that went into your daily reports with a blink of her eye, it was seemingly only fair that Pietro got to know to.

“Same stuff I was doing yesterday, and the day before and the day before that and the-.”

“Yes, yes, thank you!” Pietro says, used to the child like taunts and knowing to stop you early.

With nothing of interest on said laptop he turned it back over to you. Taking his place leaning against your shoulder as you begin to work once more. Only speaking up to ensure you add in the correct description of his improvement.

These reports were supposed to be done without the twins knowledge. You were supposed to be a spy on the side of the government. Although it was blamed on Wanda’s mindreading in reality you had never tried to hide them. These friendships were genuine, resulting with the man practically putting himself in your lap to try and keep your attention.

"How much longer do we have to do this ‘training’?” Although a grown man Pietro could act like a little boy sometimes. When he’s done, he’s done. Taking whatever actions needed to get through his current situation and move on.

“For as long as the door is closed, Pietro.” Wanda has set the metal down. Taking slow steps to reach her brother and friend. “She would likely go faster without you hanging on her.”

There is no smooth way to say this; Pietro is a big spoon. Any chance he gets a hug or to hold someone results in being overwhelmed in lean muscle. Pietro was the only warmth during those impossible cold nights as newly orphaned children. His legs and arms creating a shelter that protected his chosen from any harm from ever happening. You were one of chosen now, which explained the face made at having to get up.

“Alright kids, let’s head home.” You say, slapping the laptop closed for effect.

You were one of several who kept an eye on the twins throughout the day. Wanda and Pietro pretended not to notice how certain employees just happened to always be in the hallway when walking through. Or the little cameras that were hidden in plain sight among the decorations in their quarters. And that’s not including all the mom aged agents “just checking in” at random times, complete with the sing song voice and overuse of the word “sweetie”.

On any other day you would have followed them into their quarters. Give them a recommendation for the TV and even stay awhile to watch it with them. A chime from your phone changing the day’s proceedings. It’s only a second-long hesitation that announces this change to the twins.

Pietro says your name in a tone different than the one earlier. It’s a tone of concern that snaps your head up at him. Wanda hanging around the quarter’s entryway, staying close enough to be apart of the conversation.

“Is everything okay?” he asks, now with your attention.

“What? Yeah, yes, I just got a…you know, a hot date.” You turn your phone to face him. Not long enough for him to read the entire message but enough to know that you weren’t completely hiding anything “I’ll see you guys later. Brush your teeth before going to bed, I’ll know if you don’t.”

Before Pietro or Wanda could give a retort the door slid shut.

“Who were they talking to?” Pietro asked the only other person in the room.

Wanda didn’t answer. Rather tilting her head towards her brother. Rolling her eyes when he asked “what? Wanda, what?”

-

Although officially a desk agent there were times the field required someone of your talents. When this happened, all other duties had to be dropped in exchange for an outfit change and a fancy car shared with your accompanying field agent. Natasha has been your designated agent since the first field mission and could now be considered a friend.

It would seem the babysitter had become the baby. Including having your clothes laid and being helped into them before reaching the car.  

“You’re an heiress looking for some expensive decorations and I am your lovely assistant and translator for the evening.” Natasha says, holding the under-suit’s legs open for you to slip into. “We’ll show up fashionably late. You are incredibly rich and important and better than all of them. So, don’t make eye contact with anyone, and try not to say anything, they’re below you.”

Unlike fulltime field agents you weren’t trained enough to go without serious protection. Not just in the form of an accompanying agent but also in a (jokingly called) bullet proof onesie. So, fitting it was essentially a bullet-proof wetsuit that stopped at the knees and elbows. Making the clothes to wear over it something with long sleeves, past the ankles and covers the neck. Sunday school appropriate for this event.

“Can I fake an accent? Like, German?” It was a dumb question for you to ask, but the ride to the gallery was already taking longer than it should.

“Hmm, Let’s hear it.” Natasha doesn’t look up from her phone but still sounded interested.

“Vell-,”

“Stop.”

Very special pieces were being auctioned off tonight. Invite only without any advertisements to say what’s up for grabs to outsiders. Although the windows were blacked out and authorities were paid off (but obviously not enough) supposedly nothing for sale was illegal. But if that were true you wouldn’t have found a seat in the front row.

The language of the night was deeply European. One or two words you could maybe guess what they meant but there was no way you could name it. Nat knew it though; it kept her ears perked to the room and her mouth right next to your ear for most of the night.

First items up were the typical rich people arty stuff; vases and paintings that probably represented something to someone if you squinted. Those went for a year’s paycheck in minutes. It was after the third portrait of some lady now long dead that Nat placed a hand on your back, just below the neck.

“Next up is ours,” she whispered. “you’re doing good and you’re doing great.”

The entire night was spent with better manners than an office setting could ever be. Back straight, eyes forward, and no one is allowed to make eye-contact. It’s only when the target was wheeled in that your mask was starting to slide.

Genuine HYDRA blueprints for a titanium prosthetic. White ink on blue paper with decades old coffee stains and tiny tears, spread up and out under protective glass like a butterfly. Although Mr. Barnes had a serious upgrade with the Vibranium he now used. But these blueprints showed just how advance the original was for the time.

Sitting forward as it’s wheeled by wasn’t enough to authenticate the prints. Something you easily communicated to Agent Romanoff with just a look.

It was a bad idea, it called why too much attention, but Agent Romanoff whipped her head towards one of the several employees of the auction. Curling her finger at them to get them over and in her speaking line.

She speaks quickly, and with an edge to her voice, to the employee. With only a few words back that same employee returned to his post and spoke to the next man in charge.

“They going to invite a few of us up to inspect the piece,” Agent Romanoff whispers, “You’re going to have to be fast, we’re going on stage.”

Others in the audience made their way onto the stage when invited. Agent Romanoff ensures that you are somewhere in the middle of it. Heels and heavy shoes making creating white noise for your work to be done.

In all HYDRA’s documents, blue-prints and almost everything else their symbol was hidden throughout it. A little game of where’s the octopus in two places. A large, but translucent, icon covering the center. And a smaller one in the bottom right-hand corner, hidden behind the creator’s signature. Reproductions never had the smaller symbol, but the stains and fingerprints ensured you were right.

Later, during the debrief, you would be lectured about the importance of subtlety and espionage. But how was the look you gave Agent Romanoff any different than how others were looking at their people?

After that (completely natural and not at all suspicious) nod Natasha’s arm was around your back. This was part you were suddenly feeling ill. This was the part your assistant/translator/arm-candy would escort you out with just enough urgency and demands for the bathroom that you’d be gone before everyone was in their seats. Apparently this was also the part a sudden security guard fires twice into your chest.

“Watch your head.” Although not yelling Agent Romanoff’s voice was firm.

It's hard to say which was scarier; the bullets aiming firing for your death or how calm and professional Agent Romanoff was about it all. Although, few rounds were actually fired inside the auction hall.

Agent Romanoff shot an arm out to the first security. Pushing his gun up and inward quick enough to catch his jaw and take him out of the game. Agent Romanoff keeping the downed man’s sidearm for herself.

That was really the only bit of action you clearly saw that night. When things go wrong in the field it’s the agents job to remove their ward from the situation with minimal injuries. As the researcher your job was much simpler; don’t die. “Keep your head down, use your arms to protect yourself and trust your agent.” Was hammered in during field training. With this mantra running over and over you weren’t in the position to watch the mess happening all around.

“Someone, call the police!” It takes a second to realize it’s Agent Romanoff yelling this. In a panicked, almost shrill, voice that practically screamed ‘we’re being victimized!’

With all the guests now properly riled up it was easier to exit the building. Allowing the oncoming mod to carry the two of you out of the building without much more fuss from security. Trying to kill an agent was one thing but killing a rich connected person (or worse their spouses) would be on an entirely new issue.

Someone stepped on your foot. Another put an elbow in your rib harder than the bullets. And a third open hand pushed you, and your agent, right out the door and onto the street. It was only through the strength of Agent Romanoff, and your handling of flats, that this mission could be considered successful.

The blueprints were already being tracked and followed by the time you’re stripped down to underwear. The pretty clothes had to be taken removed, the makeup wiped off, hair undone, and the bullet proof onesie had to be taken away. Simple tank-tops, shorts and a coat were worn on the journey home. By the time it’s all off, and you’re finally walking into the apartment, it shouldn’t be surprising how you looked to others.

“Have a good time?” It takes a second to realize it’s just the roommate asking the question.  

It’s expected that any roommate a SHIELD employee takes on would also be with SHIELD. The two of you weren’t in the same division or even security level part of why living together worked out so well. She was in the know enough to hear you complain but enough in the dark to keep any secrets from getting out.

“Yep, had a real banger of a night.” Although a friend and technical coworker you couldn’t disclose too much about the missions. At least not until the green light is given by the higher ups. Instead, you can only give the people something to speculate about. “Can’t wait to see what the bruises are going to look like tomorrow.”

-

Spoiler alert: the bruises looked like hickeys. Something noticed by Roommate but keeping quiet about it in exchange to heading out early. Ready with the latest thing to share with the office mates.

Just like any working environment gossip is always somewhere underfoot. After being dragged in by someone who couldn’t leave it at home it’s then latching onto everyone who came close enough to hear it. Most ignore it, others listen then forget and others drag carry it further into the workplace. Until researchers leaning against the wall talk too loudly and Pietro catches a few too many words.

“Who were they talking to?” Pietro asks once the housing area’s door shut. Quickly clearing things up with the use of your name.

“I’ve haven’t seen them yet.” Wanda doesn’t care enough to close her book but does enough to look up.

“No, yesterday. Before they left, someone messaged them. Who was it?”

Wanda shrugs and returns to her book, but there’s a smile there.

“You know who it is,” He says, now on beside her. “Tell me.”

“I can’t say for sure,” She’s smiling again. Only a slight glance at Pietro. “but I think he may be very handsome.”

The siblings argued as siblings do. With Wanda teasing as sisters do. All of this could be heard before you even made it to the door. Standing at its threshold to listen as the two go at it.

“Natasha will tell you the same, Pietro.” Wanda says, probably aware that you were in hearing distance. “And she says he can do more than simply be handsome.”

Although you say nothing Wanda grins at you.

The gossip overheard is just words without evidence. Just enough to get Pietro thinking but not enough to create any serious emotions. But the “evidence” to create those emotions was now standing in the room. Small marks darker than your natural skin was peaking out from the lower neckline.

To you, they were simple bruises, nothing worth trying to hide, even something to brag about to the other desk workers. To Pietro it was marks of another person, something that pursed his lips and marched away from. Doing so slowly, to be sure that both you and Wanda were aware of how upset he was.

“I missed something.” You say, setting everything down on the counter.

Wanda has a habit of sneaking into other people’s minds. The mission, the shots and the everything was slowly being filed through in the back of your head. A pressure at the base of your neck screaming that there was an intruder.

“Stop it.” You snapped, but Wanda only smiles back.

 “How was your ‘hot date’?” She finally asks.

“Is that what he’s…sonofabitch. Pietro!” There are only three rooms in this section of the compound. One being Wanda’s, another Vision’s and the third Pietro. Making it easy enough to find the pouting grown man.

“What?” He asks upon your entering.

There isn’t a response on your part for moment or two. Spending that time going to the room’s corner. Standing on tiptoes to find that switch that definitely doesn’t exist on the camera. Shutting it down for the time being before turning to start your explanation.

“You can turn that back on.” He says from his place on the bed. “There’s nothing bad we need to talk about.”

“So, you don’t wanna hear about how I was shot in the tit?”

Manners were out the window at this point. Pietro openly looking towards your chest. Back up to your face, and back down to your chest. “You were shot? They look more like…”

“They’re not hickeys, I was shot a few time through a suit.” Frustration was starting to build up. It was overflowing when you finished with “You really should know about being shot.”

The hurt on his face screamed. He didn’t look away but stayed staring forward right at you. “Pietro, I’m so…I didn’t mean to say it like that.”

“It hurts,” He says. “Being shot, it really hurts.”

“I’m sorry.” Even as you walk around to sit beside him Pietro stares at where you were. Listening to your apology but not saying much else. Until he dares to lean against you. Something more than cuddling with a friend this time around. “I get it, I get you’re scared and all that. And I really like you, Pietro, I like you more than I am allowed to.”

It’s hard to say who started the kiss, but it doesn’t really matter. It was happening, and it was so much more than a something between friends.

“When that camera comes back on this didn’t happen.” You say in a moment of separation for air.

“What happens when the camera goes off again?” He asks, thumb rubbing over the bruise.

[finelinevogue]

Can you write something about when Harry and Y/N broke up but fans speculate that they got back together and they did get back together. They broke over something stupid, please. You don’t have to do this exactly it can be something like that.

let’s see how this turns out! hope it’s what you wished for?!

The last few months had been rough.

What had started as rumours of a breakup between everyones favourite couple, you and Harry, had turned into an actual breakup.

It had started by Harry spending more time with Olivia, due to press for Don’t Worry Darling. They were always hanging out with each other, even when there was no publicity stunt telling them to. You found it appropriate at first, wanting the movie to gain some form of reputation, but after a while you believed it turned South. It was becoming a definite friendship and not just because they had to. It was the way that Harry would bring Olivia over for dinner without checking with you first, or taking the dog for a walk with her not you, or even staying longer out on stunts than they needed to just because they wanted to.

So you challenged Harry on it. Hell, even the tabloids were challenging you both - claiming Harry had split from you for Olivia. You made him question whether he thought his actions were irresponsible and appropriate or not, to which he thought there was nothing wrong and thought you were being irrational. You didn’t speak to him for the rest of the day, only to find him later on the phone speaking to Olivia about how crazy you’d been acting about it all. So you showed him crazy and walked out.

Until today.

For over a half a year your sister had her wedding planned and Harry was supposed to be your guest. You were nervous about turning up without him, because your family were very judgy. Your sister couldnt help being the smarter and the prettier one, but she also didn’t have to parade it around so everyone knew of it. Your mum and dad thought you a disappointment for the longest time, but once you’d gotten a job and had moved out they were a bit more loving over you. Still didn’t hide the fact they desperately hoped for you to have a relationship. It wasn’t that you were bringing Harry along to prove that someone loved you, but more to prove that they would never fully be satisfied whether you had a boyfriend or not. There would always be a podium stand slightly lower for you to stand on.

However, they didn’t know about the breakup.

“Y/N, nice to see you. Where’s Harry?” Another guest asked you, relatives of your mum. It was the same question over and over again, no one really caring about how you are but instead whether you’re in a positive relationship.

“Oh um I think he’s just running a bit late.” Was your chosen answer to respond to said question. It was repetitive, but it kept people off your back.

The wedding was completely beautiful. It was in a beautiful church and was decorated to perfection. The theme was white and royal blue, something your sister had always dreamed of. Children played amongst the pews and family relatives mumbled to each other about gossip. There was still a heavy sadness to the event. Maybe it was because your sister hadn’t asked you to be a bridesmaid - instead, choosing her best friends instead - or maybe it was because you missed Harry so much.

He’d fucked up. He really had, but it didn’t take away that burning passion for him that spread like a wildfire in your belly. You missed him. You still loved him. Worst of all, you had to pretend everything was all alright in front of your family when actually you were breaking apart inside.

Harry hadn’t messaged saying that he was or wasn’t coming, but after everything that had happened you were confident he was going to be a no show, and you would be the embarrassment of the family once again. Your relationship had been very private and exclusive, but Harry’s fans were so investigative you wouldn’t be surprised if they knew that you’d broken up and were aware that you were at a wedding today without him. Neither of you had made a public statement about your breakup, but neither of your wanted to damage each other even more. Fans suspected though and rumours travel fast.

“Y/N how are you doing? How’s Harry?” Another aunt came and asked you, this time with your mother in tow.

“Oh he’s great, yes.” You smiled forcefully, not actually having a clue how your ex-boyfriend was doing. You didn’t keep up with his social media because you were afraid of what you might find.

“Where is he? Is he here?” Your aunt asked.

“He’s late, apparently.” Your mother answered for you, sneeringly. “You’ll be made a fool of if he’s a no show Y/N.”

“I know.”

“I hope everything goes well for you both.” Your aunt kindly said, before waiting for your mum to say something nice too. That was a mistake though.

“Well it’s unlikely she’ll find someone again!” Your mother laughed and pulled your aunt away from you. You furrowed your eyebrows and let your heart sink low.

What were you thinking, letting Harry go like that? Your mum was right, you were never going to find anyone else again. You were so lucky with Harry. He was so kind and so patient with you, but obviously he’d run out of steam towards the end. It doesn’t surprise you. You’ve always been told you’re a mighty handful and you need a lot of work put into looking after you, so you understand why you were probably too much for Harry. The showbiz life had never really been something you’d completely submerged yourself into, whereas you guess for Olivia it was rooted in her from birth. She understood Harry’s world the same way he did hers. They would match perfectly for each other, if that’s what they wanted.

You watched the room continue as usual, but you couldn’t keep yourself here. There was too much sadness welling deep within you that you wanted to just run and then keep running. So you did, only to get as far as the bench in the front courtyard. The outside felt calmer and more freeing than inside, you sat and absorbed it for a while, not realising that you were crying until your pretty multicoloured dress had grown darker with a pool of your tears.

“Shit.” You tried rubbing the tears out, but only made you cry a little harder. You thought about your makeup running and tried to compose yourself, fanning your face to calm it down from the heat now.

“And here I was thinking weddings were supposed to be happy.”

You stopped fanning your face to look at him. You couldn’t believe he was standing there, dressed in a beautiful white suit and salmon pink shirt underneath to compliment the colours of your dress - the outfit that you’d helped him pick out over a year ago. He’d remembered. He trusted that you’d still be wearing this dress. He was a sight alright. A vision of beauty and love.

“Harry?” You questioned, wiping your under eyes to clear away any running mascara, not quite believing he was standing there.

“So what was it? Bad music playing? No vodka? Or maybe there’s nowhere for you to escape to go read the book I know you have stuffed away in your clutch bag.” He stood at a distance from you, hands in his trouser pockets, to make sure you were comfortable.

“I brought vodka instead of the book.” You chuckled, reaching into your clutch to prove it to him.

“Lucky for you, i’ve come to save the day.” Harry reached to the inside of his blazer pocket and pulled out a Kindle. You’d always been debating whether or not to buy one, because the feeling of having a book to turn its’ physical pages is a feeling second to none. “Take it, it’s yours.”

Harry handed it out to you and you stood up to reach for it hesitantly. Harry assured you that it was okay and that you’d been reading too many books if you thought it was a trap of some sort.

“Thank you, Harry.” You spoke sincerely. You stroked your thumb over the cover and turned the case lid over to start up the screen. The screen lit up and it was set to a picture of your favourite quote, annotated just as you would have in your own book. You chuckled and let a few tears drop from the kindness of all of this.

“And then…” Harry unlocked the Kindle with your birthday as the password, before clicking on the library so you could discover what was waiting for you on your virtual shelves. Harry had downloaded all your most favourite books, whilst also downloading the ones he knew had been on your to-be-read list. He’d even added a few of his favourite books too, just because you liked reading his recommendations.

You smiled, but felt so lost.

“W-why are you here, H?” You asked, closing the lid and bravely looking up into his enchanting eyes. You had to control yourself not to comment on how wondrous they looked.

“To save the day.” He chuckled in repeat, until he knew you weren’t taking that for an answer. “Because I fucked up. Big league time.”

“Yeah.” You whispered, looking down at your shoes to see that they weren’t that far apart at all. He was so close to you, yet he wasn’t yours to catch.

“And i’ll never forgive myself for letting you walk out of that door. The promotion shit with Olivia? Done. I’ve finished. I explained that the movie isn’t as important to me as you. You,” Harry paused to breathe out, and took the risk of guiding your jaw up to meet your gaze with his soft hand, “you are real Y/N. You’re so important and key to my life and it bloody terrified me, still does actually, to think that you make me feel this way. I want everything with you. Marriage, kids, a home. A life. I was so worried I would screw it all up, though, to the point where I did screw it all up. I lost you and so I lost me. It’s selfish of me to ask whether any part of your heart still wants me, but—”

“Yes.” You quickly interjected before he could say something he’d later regret. “There is, yes.”

“R-really?” He stumbled over his response, not expecting you to react so soon but his words had got to you. His feelings were vulnerable and raw and it reminded you of how much you love him and feel safe with him.

“Why? Would you like me to say different.” You teased.

“No,” Harry rushed, stepping closer towards you, “God now. Stay, please. Forever, if you’ll have me?”

“I can deal with forever.” You leaned up to where his lips were, craving the taste of them against yours so badly. “Can I?” You looked between his lips and his eyes, watching his eyes coo in admiration of you. His arms snaked around your neck and cupped the back of your head, resting his ringed fingers against your skin delicately.

“You don’t have to ask, angel.” And with that you didn’t hesitate to reclaim your clips on his. He tasted as sweet and as soft as you could remember. The hint of mint sweets he kept in his car could be tasted all over his mouth, and he could no doubt taste the vodka on yours. He took no time in rushing to have his tongue exploring your mouth once mouth, biting on your lip when he got the chance to. He wanted you to remember this moment and how much love he has for you, and always will. Just as you do for him.

Hesitantly pulling away you smiled at him cheekily, feeling so much lighter and happier to have him here. With you in his arms so expertly.

“What?” He asked, leaving a quick kiss to your nose, inhaling his scent as he did.

“Just can’t believe you’re here.” You stroked his cheek with your thumb, and he leaned into your touch so comfortably. He had missed you so damn much, and it showed.

“Let you down once before and I wasn’t going to do it again.”

“So you’d have shown up even if I hadn’t?”

“Not happily, but yes.” He laughed thinking about it.

“Why?” You laughed with him.

“I’ve got to make my impression on your family somehow. Need to remind some of them how amazing and beautiful their special Y/N L/N is.”

“Some are going to need a lot more persuading than others.” You sighed, side-frowning over your words.

“No offence, but anyone who doesn’t treat you as a fucking diamond doesn’t deserve you and should watch out for kick up their backside from me.” You laughed over his empty threat and buried your head against his chest, listening to the heartbeat and rumble of laughter that came from within. This moment alone felt like home. Safe and warm.

“I love you, H.”

“Bloody love you too.”

Harry ended up returning to the wedding with you, much to your mothers surprise, and you both enjoyed the celebrations together. You shut yourselves out from everybody and just danced, talked and drank the night away.

You were so in love.

Later, photos got leaked of the wedding and it showed you and Harry dancing away in one of the backgrounds of the photos. It was supposed to be a shot of just the bride and groom, but you two have managed to get caught in it. You looked so caught up in each other that you still weren’t even aware the photo had been taken. You and Harry had determinedly avoided the camera all night, exactly for this reason, but a part of you was kind of happy that this one photo got leaked, because it showed the world that Harry was yours and you were his. It showed that you were together, or back-together as addressed by some FBI fans, and that you were stronger for it.

[kuroopaisen]

cause & effect || chapter 7

➵ your work friend, kuroo, has a tiny favour to ask. unfortunately, that favour includes convincing his family that you’re very much in love with him and have been for a while now. let’s just say it’s easier than you’d assumed.

warnings: f!reader, mentions of divorce

wc: 5.7k

m.list | ch. 6 ↞ ch. 7 ↠ ch. 8

It’s frustratingly cold as you step out onto the street in the late afternoon, scarf pulled up around your cheeks and gloved hands stuffed in your coat pockets. Sure, it’s a bit stuffy inside a jumper, a jacket, and an outercoat, but it’s what you’ve got to do. It’s the sort of afternoon that you want to spend inside, curled up next to your heater as you throw on a shitty Christmas film. Instead, you’re going to brave the minefield that is your boyfriend’s mother.

Well, not your real boyfriend. But his mother doesn’t know that – and she’s certainly unlikely to be any less critical of you regardless. You’re not sure the whole ‘deceit’ aspect makes it any less stressful. If anything, you feel more pressure to play your part well; for his sake more than anything else.

The reason for this mess is waiting for you, leaning against the nose of his car, dressed in a surprisingly stylish black coat and red scarf. He looks so nonchalant, gazing down the street with the same expression he has when trying to figure out the most appropriate sign-off to a work email.

“Morning,” you yawn, shuffling towards him.

Kuroo grins at you, his nose and cheeks bitten red by the cold.

For how tall and intimidating he looks, he’s got a nice smile.

“You sure you can breathe in all that?” He teases, appraising your winter gear with a playful glint in his eye.

You glare at him, shuffling towards him in all your layered glory.

“Don’t tell me you’re one of those men who likes to brag about how he never gets cold,” you huff, tapping his foot with your own. He doesn’t seem the type to have such a lack of self-awareness, but it’s not impossible that he’d just say something like that to wind you up.

“Nah,” he grins. “I just go for fashion over comfort.”

“You’re doing a terrible job then,” you giggle. Of all the words that come to mind when you think ‘Kuroo Tetsurou’, fashionable is not one of them.

Kuroo places an aghast hand on his chest, the look in his eyes not quite matching up with his slack jaw. “And here I thought we were friends.”

“Aren’t friends supposed to be honest with each other?” You tilt your head to the side with a sparkle in your eyes.

The nervousness bubbling in your stomach is already subsiding. It’s a silly little thing, a bit of meaningless banter on a winter’s morning, but you feel better. Embarrassing, really.

“You wound me,” he chuckles, shaking his head. He stands to his full height, rolling his shoulders. “You ready?”

You nod. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

Recognition flashes in Kuroo’s eyes, his expression morphing from relaxed to mildly perturbed. “Thanks for doing this, by the way.”

You wave a hand at him before promptly stuffing it back in your pocket. “No problem. Also, I get a free dinner out of it.”

Kuroo raises an eyebrow at you, but his expression softens slightly. Although, you’re not sure it’s enough to ease the guilt he must be feeling.

(“Are you sure?” Kuroo asks, his brow furrowed as he leans across your work cubicle. His voice is quiet, hushed, as though he doesn’t want anyone else to hear. “You really don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”

“You sound like a broken record,” you laugh. It’s true; as surely as the sun rises and sets, Kuroo asks if you’re sure you really want to do this at approximately one in the afternoon. Sometimes at two. “It’s fine,” you smile. “I offered, didn’t I?”)

“Well…” He sighs, turning around and opening the car door. “Ladies first.”

You nod as you slip into the passenger seat. The stale heated air burns the inside of your nose; a sensation you firmly associate with the winter.

Kuroo is quick to join you on the other side, legs a little too long to fit comfortably despite his seat being pushed back quite far. You smile to yourself; he really is a strange mix of all the confidence and debonair of a successful businessman and all the awkwardness of an overgrown child.

The more you think about it, the more it makes sense that he’d be the one to ask this of you. But it’s on your own volition that you sit in his car, about to head off to see his mother.

Maybe this is going overboard. But something about his face while he was on the phone to his mother still bothers you. The panic, the exhaustion, the fear – he’s never acted like that with his dad’s side of the family. Something’s obviously up.

But you’re not sure how to casually mention that in conversation. ‘Oh, hey, I noticed things were kind of tense when you were on the phone to your mother, do you want to talk about it?’ It’s not even your place to pry.

At the very least, you want to support a friend ‘in need’. That feels reasonable enough.

✧ ✧ ✧

The drive is painfully silent.

You try your best to make light conversation, but it’s hard. Kuroo’s too deep in his own head to have a proper discussion. The joviality he’d greeted you with this morning quickly dissipated, replaced by an unusually sombre expression.

He’s never usually this quiet. There’s usually a quip, or perhaps a small observation he’d like to share. Seeing him this quiet, this withdrawn… it’s unusual. Well, for you, at least. Perhaps the Kuroo you knew was just a front, a mask securely fixed on to make workplace relationships run smoothly.

But… you’d like to think you know him better than that by now.

Forty minutes feel like eighty. But thank God it’s over.

He doesn’t even need to announce that you’ve arrived. The palpable air of dread that fills the car is indication enough.

That, and the fact that you’re currently parked in front of what appears to be a very standard house of the upper middle class. It looks rather fancy, with perfectly tended-to hedges and white walls. It almost looks like a show home, albeit a lot smaller.

“You ready?” Kuroo sighs, turning to you with tired eyes.

You nod. “I’m ready to charm the pants off your mum.”

You regret the words before they’ve even left your mouth.

Kuroo snorts. “Really? That’s the turn of phrase you’re going with?”

“I could run off and live a long, loving life with your mother,” you shrug. “You never know, ‘Tetsu’.”

He shakes his head with a smile. “Now that’d be a plot twist.”

“Mhm,” you nod.

Something in your gut wants to linger in the car, to put this off as long as possible. You don’t know what to expect; his father’s side of the family had been a breeze, perhaps even more kind and welcoming than you deserve. But something told you that won’t be the case with his mother.

Kuroo doesn’t knock on the door, nor does he shoot his mother a message. He fishes around in the mailbox and pulls out a pair of keys, reluctantly opening the front door.

You’re dumbstruck by how pristine everything is. It looks as if it’s been cleaned recently; probably in anticipation of your arrival. But you can’t comprehend this place ever being anything less than perfect, though. You can’t envision disorder here, neither in the little hallway or the charming little living room.

There’s something distinctly different about this house. It’s a little cleaner, a little more put together. Where Kuroo’s paternal household seems to revel in its rambunctious sincerity, this one seems more concerned with order.

Everything is where it should be; the design opts for minimalism over sentimentality.

There are still photos on the wall – a gangly, teenaged Kuroo smiling blithely next to a girl who looks a lot like him, a baby you don’t recognise, a group of people you’ve never seen before staring at you with tight smiles…

“We’re here,” Kuroo calls out.

“Yes, dear, I heard the door,” a woman’s voice calls back. Your stomach is tight, wound up like a pocket watch. “Come to the kitchen, would you?”

Kuroo glances at you before complying, shuffling towards the kitchen with the same reluctance as a petulant twelve-year-old boy. You follow, tottering after him as quickly as possible.

The kitchen is just as orderly as the rest of the house; a miracle, given the fact that Kuroo’s mother appears to be making curry.

She’s as tall as you expected her to be. She doesn’t share her son’s penchant for messy hair; instead, she looks like the sort of woman who’d be composed no matter what. She does share her son’s strong jaw and sharp eyes, and it seems like she’d look just as good in a suit.

Suffice to say, you’re even more intimidated.  

“Dinner’s ready, Tetsurou,” she sighs, hand on her hip and ladle in hand.

“We just got here,” he blinks, gormless.

“That’s why I told you to arrive at six,” she says.

You and Kuroo exchange a look.

“Thank you for being so prepared,” you say reflexively.

His mother offers you a smile in response. It doesn’t seem insincere, at least.

“Is Akari coming?” Kuroo asks.

You know that name – his sister. She must be the girl in the photos.

“She couldn’t make it,” Kuroo’s mother replies nonchalantly.

You watch Kuroo’s face as it flickers almost imperceptibly with understanding. There’s something like relief in his eyes – but also something like annoyance. Perhaps both.    

“And Haruki?”

There’s something to the way Kuroo says that name that sets you on edge.

“He’s working late,” his mother replies with a moment’s delay. Maybe she just took some time to process the question – but there’s enough dead air for you to be suspicious.

That’s when you remember.

(“So, your mum’s remarried?” You ask, tilting your head at him.

Kuroo grimaces on the other side of the table. “Yeah. To a lawyer.”

You chuckle, taking another sip of your lunchtime boba. “I take it that’s a bad thing?”

Kuroo bristles. “Well, he just… I just… we never got along, you know?”

“Ah,” you swallow. Incompatibility with a parent’s new partner is its own minefield, fraught with hurt feelings and expectations. “So, your mum remarried, and you stayed with your dad?”

“Mhm,” he nods. “Mum took Akari.”

“That’s your sister, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you talk to her often?” Your gut shifts. Siblings ‘separated’ in a divorce. Fraught allegiances, maybe?

“Yeah,” he takes a sip of his own drink. “I saw her last week.”)

Haruki must be the stepfather.

“I see,” Kuroo murmurs. This time, the look in his eyes is definitely relief.

“Go sit yourselves down,” his mother says, waving a hand at you two. “I’ll bring it out in a second.”

Kuroo obliges quickly, making a beeline for the dining table. You follow in suit, terrified of the prospect of being left alone in the kitchen with his mother. Kuroo pulls out a chair for you and you slide into it, folding your hands in your lap.

Well, the energy here is certainly… different.

Next to you, Kuroo sits with a clenched jaw. The only other time you’ve seen him like this is when dealing with particularly obnoxious sponsors; the ones that’d make even the most calm and patient of your colleagues want to tear their hair out.

But he shouldn’t have to feel like this, should he? It’s his mother’s house. Somewhere that’s supposed to be a home for him. And yet he looks so… so…

You nudge him with your elbow. He turns to you with a start, eyes wide. A smile is all you can offer him, as optimistic and genuine as you can muster.

His eyes soften ever so slightly; and, if you’re not imagining it, you swear you can see the whisper of a smile beginning to form on his own lips.

“Here you go,” his mother chirps, appearing so suddenly you’re not entirely convinced she didn’t just materialise out of smoke.

She sets a plate of curry down in front of you.

It looks gorgeous. Robust, richly coloured, with rice that looks like it’s the perfect consistency… it’s the sort of curry you’d expect to see on an advertisement, or maybe on a delivery app (where the image draws you in, only to leave you deeply disappointed when the real curry shows up looking significantly less appetising).

“Thank you,” you smile at her. Funny that your mood’s suddenly picked up, hm?

“You are most welcome,” his mother chuckles, sitting herself down in her own seat across from the two of you.

The three of you say your thanks before picking up your spoons. If there’s anything you can all agree on, it’s the fact that you want to dig into this curry immediately.

“Have you spoken to your sister recently?” Kuroo’s mother asks, scooping up some rice.

“Uh, yeah,” Kuroo nods, swallowing roughly. “I called her yesterday.”

“Did you tell her about your new girlfriend?”

“Not yet,” he mumbles, cheeks starting to glow.

“Afraid she’ll tease you?”

Kuroo genuinely chuckles at that. “You really think me such a coward?”

“You say that like I’m not also deathly afraid of your sister,” his mother smiles, “she could verbally tear me apart without even breaking a sweat.”

Kuroo’s chuckle becomes a genuine laugh. The sound brings you more relief than you could’ve ever imagined.

Even his mother seems to soften a bit.

She finally looks straight at you, a gentle smile on her face. “I hope it’s to your liking, dear,” she hums.

“Thank you,” you smile back, taking a spoonful of curry. It’s so good – warm and rich, with the sort of texture and flavour you’d expect from a comfort meal. You wonder if her penchant for cooking has passed down to her son.  

“I take it’s a success, then?” Kuroo’s mother smiles wryly, tilting her head at you. You blink at her with wide eyes and round cheeks. Had you… done something?

“Don’t tease her,” Kuroo chuckles.

“I’m not teasing,” his mother tuts. “I just pay particular attention when someone’s trying my cooking for the first time.”

A surprisingly comfortable silence settles over the table as everyone tucks into their dinner, taking a moment to enjoy this dish that tastes like a warm hug.

Kuroo’s mother is the picture of smug satisfaction, revelling in the implicit praise of a silent dinner table. Although, you can’t blame her; if you could make a curry this good, you’d surely be acting the same way.

You’re grateful for the silence. Silence means you don’t need to be quick on your feet, trying to weave a realistic story. This woman seems perceptive; more perceptive than you’d like. Where his dad’s side of the family seem to place trust that Kuroo’s telling them the truth, it feels as though his mother would be able to unravel this little pantomime in an instant.

“So how long have you two been together now?” She coos, looking between the two of you with a sly smile.

You look to Kuroo, trying your best to suppress the panic in your eyes. You hadn’t actually asked what the answer to that question would be. Foolish, really.

“It’ll be, uh…” Kuroo clears his throat, raising an eyebrow. “A few months now?”

You nod along, taking another mouthful of curry. Curse the swirling in your gut – this meal deserves to be enjoyed wholly, not forced down during a bout of anxiety.

“And you were working together before this?” She asks.

“Mhm.”

You reach over and take Kuroo’s hand on instinct. Your grip is firm, tense. Kuroo squeezes your hand back. The amount of comfort it gives you is shameful; this isn’t real. He’s just a friend. A colleague.  

“Ah,” Kuroo’s mother smiles. “So, it really is a workplace romance.”

The way she says it implies that the fact amuses her. Why? Had she not expected that for her son? Did she look down on a workplace romance? Perhaps some people might find it unprofessional, but… it’s not real. Not that you’d tell her that.

She asks a few more questions; where you’re from, what you like to do, what you studied in university.

You answer as truthfully as you can. The less lies you have to keep track of, the better. And, you hope, it might add some credence to your story – even if part of you worries that his mother might disapprove of you.

Not that it matters. You’ve had more than enough of this ‘method acting’.

The questions slow, although you’re not sure Kuroo’s mother is satiated. There’s a certain glint in her eye as she looks between the two of you.

“So,” she asks, her voice like cream, “when am I getting grandchildren?”

Your face flushes hot. The question isn’t being directed at you – well, not really – but the thought is enough to send you into a mental frenzy. Children? But you’re so young, and they’re a big commitment. There’s so much to think about – schooling, mental wellbeing, financial support—

“Be patient, mother,” Kuroo shakes his head, letting the question roll off his shoulders.

He must get asked this a lot, you think.  

“You’re getting on in years, Tetsurou,” his mother purrs.

You resist the urge to frown. If Tetsurou was past his prime, then does that make you an old crone?

“I’m only twenty-four,” Kuroo mumbles. No matter how frequent a question like this, it’s always annoying.

“And?” His mother raises an eyebrow at him.

Kuroo rolls his eyes. You swallow down a laugh with a sip of water.

“And,” Kuroo croons, rolling his head to the side, “I’ve got to focus on my career.” He threads his fingers with yours effortlessly, holding up your clasped hands for your mother to see. “And so does she.”

Your heart is pounding now, blood thrumming in your ears. If none of your words are enough to convince his mother that this is ‘real’, then surely your darkening cheeks must do the trick.

“Well now,” his mother coos, “seems like you’ve got it all worked out.”

Something’s off. It’s in the way Kuroo’s mother looks at him. In the weight of the silence that’s engulfed you. In the way he squeezes your hand a little tighter.

You’re missing something. You can feel it in your gut. There’s an important piece of information you’re not privy to, or perhaps a part of Kuroo’s personal history that you haven’t been told.

Regardless of what it is, Kuroo and his mother seem to be having a silent war over it.

“I never asked,” you cut in, desperate to bring an end to this tension, “but what do you do for work?”

Kuroo’s mother blinks at you for a moment, as if she hasn’t quite processed what you’ve asked. “Oh, I’m a teacher.”

“What grade?” You ask. If you keep this ball rolling, then maybe you’ll all survive the evening.

“Middle school,” she nods, “although truth be told, I feel like I should’ve gone for elementary.”

“Why?” You smile. “Are the pre-teens too hormonal?”

Kuroo’s mother sighs, sitting back in her chair. “You wouldn’t believe how foolish some of those children can be.”

“Tell her about those boys who tried to make a flamethrower during chemistry,” Kuroo chuckles. He’s smiling, but he still looks beleaguered.

“Oh my God,” his mother groans. You worry for a moment; is she mad? Upset? Embarrassed?

None of those, apparently. She launches right into the story, complete with hand gestures.

You laugh along. Next to you, Kuroo’s shoulders slump a bit.

It may not be a victory, but the energy in the room has definitely shifted. You’ve got something to talk about. That’s one problem out of the way.

All you want to focus on now is getting Kuroo through the rest of the evening.

✧ ✧ ✧

A few more hours of idle yet painful conversation maintained primarily by you, and you’re ushered off to bed. It’s barely even nine thirty, but you’re ready to pass out and stay comatose until the morning. And an early rise means you can leave even earlier.

You’re not sure what to make of this place. There’s love here. You’re sure of it. And you think Kuroo’s aware of it, too.

But it’s a different kind of love; one that’s shaped differently, that’s taken on a distinct pallor. A certain distance, maybe? Love expressing itself primarily as nagging concern – something that often doesn’t feel much like love at all. It’s a kind of love that’s difficult to swallow, one that makes you want to push someone away rather than seek them out.

But you can’t be sure of anything. You only know so much. And quite frankly, your head is starting to hurt from all the thinking and worrying.  

The room you’ve been relegated is Kuroo’s old bedroom, but you wouldn’t have guessed. There’s not much of him here; a few Shounen Jump’s here and there, a dusty volleyball sitting on the bookshelf next to a cheap-looking cat trinket.

There’s not much to imply that a teenage boy ever lived here, let alone a working adult. You wonder, briefly, how often Kuroo comes to visit. You can’t imagine he stays long.

The man in question looks far too big for this place, anyway. Even the double bed shoved up against the wall doesn’t look long enough to fit his entire body.

Unfortunately, it’s the only acceptable place to sleep in the room. There’s not even a couch for you to lie on, or even a spare futon.

Maybe you should’ve thought of this before agreeing to visit his mother for the evening.

But it’s too late now; the two of you are stationed on opposite sides of the room, both uncomfortably aware of the fact that there is, believe it or not, only one bed. You’re not against the idea of sharing a bed, even if for one night, but the prospect still feels… strange. Embarrassing, even.

Kuroo clears his throat, taking another perfunctory look around the room.

“I’ll just sleep on the floor,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Oh, no, I—”

“I dragged you into this,” he smiles. “It’s the least I can do.”

You open your mouth to protest, but he’s already leaving the room. The door swings shut behind him softly, leaving just the slightest crack.

You take a quick moment to change in your pyjamas, sitting yourself down on the bed with a sigh.

There’s no way this whole charade wasn’t going to have its uncomfortable moments. You were well-aware of that when you’d entered into it. But it has certainly thrown you some curveballs. If you’d asked yourself three months ago if you’d thought you’d end up sitting on a bed in a stranger’s house, after what was perhaps the most uncomfortable dinner of your life, waiting for your fake boyfriend to return as he sought out a blanket so he could sleep on the floor, you would’ve thought you were quite mental.

But you don’t mind. The thought of Kuroo having to go through this on his own, being lambasted with questions about why he hasn’t settled down and why he isn’t expecting a child… That must be frustrating to bear solo.

You hear voices in the hallway. His mother.

“Oh, she gets cold at night,” you hear Kuroo say, “so we usually use two blankets.”

His mother tsks. “That sounds rather high maintenance.”

Your stomach twists a little at that. So, you didn’t succeed. As soon as you’re out of sight, the façade drops.

“God forbid she gets cold,” Kuroo mumbles.

There’s an awkward pause. Somehow, the silence feels more honest. Like both Kuroo and his mother can talk with no holds barred without you there. Seems there’s a lot you still don’t know.

“I just think the two of you don’t have much chemistry.”

The words jolt through you. It’s not real. Your relationship isn’t real. But for some reasons, those words sting. Is it because they mean you’ve failed to do your job well? You were supposed to be helping Kuroo get his mother off his back, not give her more things to pick at him for.

“Excuse me?” Even Kuroo sounds frustrated.

“She’s no Ritsuko.”

It’s the way she says the word that betrays its relevance.

The silence that follows is pregnant with tension.

Ritsuko must be an ex. But that’s none of your business. He’s not your real boyfriend.

“I don’t want her to be Ritsuko.”

You’ve never heard Kuroo’s voice like that. It’s sharp, tight, unfamiliar.

“I still think you made a mistake, Tetsurou.”

“Would you just drop it?” There’s an edge to his tone, like his voice is armed with a kind of sharpness that people don’t tend to direct towards their parents.

“Well, you know what they say,” his mother sighs, a familiar kind of parental condescension in her voice. “Mother knows best.”

“If you want me to respect your choices, then you have to respect mine.”

Those words seem to strike her silent, the only sound the thumping of feet along the hallway.  

The light of the hallway spills into the room as Kuroo pushes the bedroom door open, scowl on his face and blanket in hand.

You sit up a little straighter.

Should you say something? Were you supposed to have heard that? It seemed intense…

“Can I have a pillow?” He asks. The edge in his voice is gone as he turns to you, the resentment in his face replaced with exhaustion.

“Sure.” You reach behind you and grab one of the pillows, passing it to him.

“Thanks,” he sighs.

He pays you no mind as he starts preparing his ‘bed’ half a step away from you, tossing the blanket on the floor haphazardly. His back is turned, but you don’t need to see his face to know he’s scowling.

“Hey, Kuroo?”

“Hm?”

“Are you okay?” You ask gently.

He sighs, his shoulders sinking. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about me.”

It’s almost comical, how ineffective that request is.

You reach out and take his hand. You’re not sure why; it’s instinct, more than anything.

But Kuroo turns around and looks at you, his eyes wide. The expression makes him look a few years younger, confused and hopeful.

“I’m willing to listen, if you need it.” Your voice is so, so quiet. Is it the right thing to do? Is this what he wants to hear? It’s hard to say. All you know is that he doesn’t deserve to go to bed in such a foul mood.

Kuroo swallows roughly, still staring at you. His hand tightens around yours. His palm feels rough; was that due to the years of volleyball?

He sighs, sitting himself next to you on the bed and leaning back against the wall. He’s still holding your hand.

“It’s just…” His voice is delicate; perhaps even childlike. “Every time I come here, it feels like I’m fourteen again.”

You nod. It’s easy enough to understand – and you’re sure a lot of people feel similarly – but…

“Why?”

Kuroo blinks rapidly for a moment, closing his eyes. “It’s like… any progress I’ve made is dashed, and I’m back to square one.”

“What do you mean?” You rack your brain for any idea of what he could be talking about. Kuroo’s always seemed so secure, so stable. Even when he doesn’t know what he’s doing, he goes at it with such confidence that it makes you feel like he’s got it all under control.

But that’s Kuroo at work.

It seems that his private life was an entirely different stadium – one he can’t navigate so smoothly.

He opens his eyes and looks at you.

There’s a lot he wants to say. You can see it in his eyes. Yet something seems to hold him back.

“I have a hard time letting people in,” he admits.

“Really?” That surprises you. And yet, it doesn’t.

Kuroo is the perfect picture of cordiality, with an enviable ability to get along with most people he meets. He’d been lavished with praise for it at work numerous times.

But cordial doesn’t mean vulnerable. And now you think about it, you can’t quite imagine him letting his walls down all that often.

“Mhm,” he nods. “I… struggle with being vulnerable.”

You nod slowly. The ‘shape’ of Kuroo becoming clearer in the fog. “If you don’t mind me asking… why?”

Kuroo drags his bottom lip through his teeth for a moment, deep in thought. “I think it’s because I’m afraid I’ll get left behind.”

It startles you. The honesty.

Maybe it’s because you’ve just been talking about vulnerability. Or maybe it’s because you’d given him the platform he needed tonight. But you couldn’t have prepared for the weight of those words, nor the way he said them.

“Kuroo…” You murmur. You’re not sure what there is to say. All you know is that you feel that, too. Maybe less intensely than him, but you understand.

“That, or I’ll break someone’s heart,” he sighs, running his hand spare hand down his face. “Every time I’m here, mum grills me about being single. Every damn time. And she likes to bring up…”

He trails off. You can make a good guess of what the rest of that sentence might be.

Ritsuko. It’s not your place to ask; but you can’t help but be concerned for him.

You let the silence sit for a moment. This conversation is for him – it’s his choice what you do and don’t discuss. Who knows, maybe asking about this Ritsuko would just bring him more distress.

“Mum really wants grandkids, if that wasn’t obvious,” he scoffs, running a hand through his hair.

You smile a little. “I figured.”

He presses his lips together, looking up at his ceiling. “I don’t… I don’t want to marry some poor girl while I’m young just to pump out a child or two to please my mother. I don’t want to start a family if it’s just going to collapse around the kids because me and their mother weren’t right for each other.”

It’s coming together in your mind. The need for a fake girlfriend. The fact his grandmother would be concerned enough to arrange a miai. The fact that, during your entire time working next to him, you hadn’t heard anything about a partner.

Kuroo Tetsurou is starting to make sense.  

“That sort of thing can really affect kids, you know?”

“Yeah, I do.”

His hand tightens around yours once more. You’d forgotten he was holding it. But, you suppose, touch from someone you trust can be a wonderful antidote for nerves.

“That, and…” He squeezes his eyes shut again, frowning. “It wouldn’t be fair on whoever I married just because it’s the ‘right’ thing to do according to my mother. It wouldn’t make either of us happy.” He pauses, his voice lowering ever so slightly. “It’d just be a waste of everyone’s time.”

“It sounds like a lot of pressure,” you say. It’s the truth.

Kuroo chuckles. “You could say that.”

He swallows, finally letting go of your hand. “Thanks for coming tonight, by the way. You saved me a lecture.”

“No problem,” you smile. “The food was good, at least.”

Kuroo cracks a small smile. You’re glad for it. He shifts forward on the bed and stands up, stretching his arms above his head. “I’m gonna try and sleep.”

“Good idea,” you nod.

Kuroo flicks the light off and the two of you settle down into your respective beds, shifting uncomfortably under the sheets. Yours feel new; a bit stiffer than you’d like, with all the firmness of that damned blouse you had to wear in high school. Uncomfortable as it is, it’s not the reason you feel so restless.

Today keeps running through your mind, random moments deciding to hang in your mind with startling clarity. Nothing had gone wrong, but it feels like nothing went right. It’s this strange limbo, a skinny path running flush against a mountain, hugged by a steep, seemingly unending drop.

Something clicks into place. Something about how Kuroo sees himself.

Kuroo Tetsurou doesn’t feel whole; he feels like a patchwork, a collage shambled together, drawn from a whole range of other people. Things that seem so certain to other people are lost in a fog for him; ideas about love, about family, about security.

For Kuroo, there’s doubt. A fear that something will fall apart. A fear that he’ll repeat the same mistakes as his parents – the feeling that he already has.      

Divorce tends to do that to people. To families. It’s not as simple as a family unit being cleft in two. Instead, it’s like they’re torn off into chunks, bits of themselves overlapping with bits of everyone else, but with edges that don’t line up nicely anymore. Even when the parents tell their kids they don’t need to pick sides, it feels like every choice you make, every little thing you say, betrays an allegiance that can be weaponised. It leaves people as a bunch of glued together fragments without a place to belong.

Some kids respond with a staunch loyalty to one parent, simplifying their experience into a straightforward tale of good and evil. Others are left adrift, lost in the knowledge that perhaps both parents are wrong, perhaps both have performed acts of cruelty against one another.

But it’s impossible to known which Kuroo is. You have your suspicions, of course, but you know better than to make assumptions.

You roll over onto your side, seeking out his shape in the dark.

“Hey, Tetsurou?”

“Yeah?” His voice is already laden with sleep.

“Thanks for opening up to me,” you murmur. “I really appreciate it.”

There’s silence for a moment. Then, a confused little chuckle. “Shouldn’t I be thanking you?”

It doesn’t sound like he’s teasing you. Thank God.

“Well, it can’t’ve been easy,” you say, trying to find the right words to express yourself. “So… thanks.”

He hums in response. “Yeah, well… thanks.”

Nothing more needs to be said.

As you finally drift off into an uneasy sleep, you hope that, at the very least, you’ve managed to bring your friend some comfort.

[phoenixyfriend]

Time-Travel feat. Ino, Sakura, TenTen

The short of it is "Ino, in the Founders Era, sees Izuna and makes it her personal mission to Tap That."

The time-travelers are Ino, Sakura, and TenTen. Why them? I like girls being badasses, these three make a badass trio, and I don't want to deal with Caged Bird Seal politics. (Hyuuga just... complicate time-travel plots.)

Ino is the one that is clearly clan, and they make a group decision that the benefits of Yamanaka backing (and by extension Akimichi and Nara) outweigh the potential drawbacks.

It's pretty easy to convince them that they're Worth It. Ino doesn't bring anything new, really, but she's clever and knows the clan techniques and is very good at them, so the clan head (after performing a mind search to confirm the story) is like Sure, You're In.

Meanwhile, Sakura is a terrifyingly competent medic that knows hundreds, if not thousands, of medical techniques that don't even EXIST yet, and TenTen might not be a medic like the other two, or capable of explodey punches, or clan-trained, but the girl is a taijutsu powerhouse that's probably fast as hell because she was trained by GAI, and she's got at minimum a journeyman-level training in fuuinjutsu.

(Also just, don't argue with the 100% accuracy lady. Just don't. The reason she doesn't have a body-count to rival Minato's eventual count is because she doesn't want to and basically no other reason. There are some opponents that a Kunai to the Neck won't take down for whatever reason? Iron-skin, water body, super healing/shapeshifting, but for the rank and file? That's a one-hit. And she can throw hundreds of kunai at a time, so... if you take the 100% accuracy statements literally, she's a nightmare if she decides to go lethal.)

They run missions for a bit, and Ino is... usually the one sent out on field missions, because Sakura's busy teaching people how to save lives, and TenTen is currently the closest thing the Yamanaka have to a seal master--she's not a master, not on the level of an Uzumaki or even a Senju, but she's way better than most on account of village training schema and it's cheaper to give her a long-term role in the triple clan system than to hire independent contractors--but sometimes they all go out!

And... okay, I'm gonna be real here: Nobody approves of the way Ino dresses other than Ino and her girls.

Sakura extends her pants a bit. TenTen's fine. Ino refuses to stop wearing crop tops and short skirts, and none of you can stop her.

It helps that Ino's response to guys propositioning her is to tell them to back off, and then if they get handsy, she breaks their wrists. If they're ninjas getting handsy, she starts a fight, but most ninjas are smarter than that because they realize she's not just A Kunoichi, based on how she's moving, but a kunoichi with long, free-flowing hair, which is like... basically a big "I'm A-rank or better, come at me if you dare" flag. On the off chance that someone tries to fuck with Ino and they're actually out of her league in taijutsu, she has Mind Scrambling or, if absolutely necessary, an ear-piercing scream that summons a woman that can fistfight gods.

(And absolutely has.)

But anyway, The Girls go for a Girls Night Out one day. No plans to get laid, but they want to go shopping and have fruity drinks and maybe cause a little trouble.

They visit a blacksmith at one point, because weapons shops aren't quite a thing yet due to lack of centralized shinobi systems, and TenTen's talking up a storm with the smith about things like carbon infusion and alloys preferences, and Sakura's just standing off to a side reading something because most of what she wants/needs can be made by Akimichi blacksmiths, so she's not really in need of anything specialty. She wanders off after a bit, tells them all she wants to visit the apothecary to see if they have any herbs she's running low on. Ino is browsing examples of the blacksmith's more esoteric handiwork When In Walks An Uchiha.

TenTen has a VERY basic look, more or less civilian who got some ninja training, so Izuna doesn't pay her much attention, but blonde isn't a very common color in the Land of Fire, unless one happens to be a Yamanaka or Senju, and even among them it's not like EVERY clan member. (Or Namikaze but imo Minato's color is actually from Land of Earth immigrants and is a BLATANTLY different shade from characters like Ino and Tsunade.)

Senju is obviously, uh, bad, but the Yamanaka and Uchiha are basically neutral... mostly. There's some tension. Izuna isn't expecting to be attacked, but he's constantly darting glances out the side of his eye just in case.

Ino is... not unaware of Izuna.

She feels his eyes on her, notes the fact that he keeps making faces like he's not sure what to think, and Ino... Ino is of the opinion that this is funny.

She decides to drop something on purpose just so she can beeeeeeeeeeend over to pick it up and see what happens. Ino, again, does not dress appropriately for the decade she is in. Izuna chokes on his own spit.

Ino: I'm gonna be a bit of a ho. Yamanaka Clan: Please don't, our reputation is-- Ino: I'M GONNA BE A BIT OF A HO.

So Ino's fucking with Izuna's head by just... being Ino, really, she turns around like "OMG are you alright???" and lets him see that her eyes are lacking pupils so he doesn't keep worrying about whether she's a Senju, pats him on the back, coos over him, flatters his hair, and then insults his fashion sense.

She is of the firm belief that his expression is hilarious. Flirt Flirt Flirt "but you're wearing that? Really? Oh honey, you should know better."

(Ino pulls pickup artist shit on Izuna.)

Ino is fucking with him, and she is enjoying herself. She's a flirt, she's gorgeous, she's a bit of a ho, and Izuna is a hot, main family clan boy who keeps blushing. He's maybe two years older than her and he squeaks when she squeezes his shoulder and compliments his muscles.

And after all that, after Ino has wound him up and turned him around and gotten him confused and flustered and a little angry...

That is when they feel the ground shake and hear Madara screaming for The Pink-Haired Bitch to "come back here so I can kick your ass!"

So. Yes. Sakura has picked a fight with Madara. I don't know how or why, I just know that Sakura and Madara are fighting, Ino and Izuna are both going 'dude WHY' about their respective fighty person and fleeing the blacksmith to go stop whatever's going on before they get banned from town--because really, they can force their way in, but it's way easier to get those tasty daifuku mochi from that one shop when people WANT to serve them--and TenTen is... still chatting up the blacksmith. The girl is going to get a discount.

Sakura leads Madara on a bit of a merry chase so the fight happens a mile outside of town--Ino loves her more than ever--and there's a flare of "Sakura punches a Susanoo," and by the time Izuna and Ino get there, Sakura is yelling in Madara's face about how he's fucking up his eyes.

Madara is. Offended. Izuna is also offended. Those are clan secrets, and Sakura is just looking him in the eye without fear and I'm like. Half convinced that they want to just tear her throat out.

Except Ino is there, and Sakura called her by name, and they know that names with 'Ino' among the Yamanaka are only for clan heirs, and they can't just pick a fight with the entire clan.

They. They can't afford that right now. Tajima is ramping up the whole Thing with the Senju again and they do not have the resources to add another front.

"For fuck's sake, will you let me go alive if I fix some of the damage you've done to yourself?" "You can fix the Mangekyo?" "Uh, no, nobody can fix that hellscape of a doujutsu without some incredibly invasive surgery that I refuse to do in a non-sterile environment unless there's literally no other choice, but I can reverse some of the chakra strain on your ocular nerve if you stop trying to pick a fight because I got the last of the [some medicinal plant that only grows up in the badlands around Iwa]."

Izuna shrieks and demands if that's really what they were punching down trees for and Madara yells at him to fuck off and Ino just laughs at all of them.

Sakura is like. Two seconds away from putting Madara in a headlock and calling him a nerd. He's like a solid five years older than her and she's smarter than he is and he's a jock but she's going to dunk his head in a toilet, I swear to god.

[Image Description: a gif from Will and Grace where a man in a dark shirt approaches a woman in a white shirt for a hug. Both characters have their arms spread wide in greeting, but the woman subverts the expected hug and pulls the man into a headlock with an angry expression.]

(Tenten is just, she's having a good time with a random blacksmith, talking shop. She just comes out to see all this crap has happened and it's like she came back with pizzas to see the apartment wrecked.)

Anyway, Sakura does some Medic Mojo on the Uchiha bros, Ino continues to flirt with Izuna until he can't tell up from down anymore, and when they're headed back to meet up with TenTen and see if there are any ruffled feathers that need smoothing, Ino declares that she's going to get that boy to propose to her.

"Don't people usually say 'I'm gonna marry that boy' or--" "Nah, I don't know him well enough to make that decision. I just want him invested in me. Whether or not I do anything with that... depends on how well he woos me."

And anyway, things spiral from there, Ino keeps hitting on Izuna whenever she gets a chance, Izuna keeps being Very Overwhelmed by this girl that shows off so much of her body and has the confidence of a god--because Ino is the epitome of confidence and always will be--while Sakura fucks off to badger the Senju into peace by making friends with Hashirama and bribing Tobirama with medical developments and flirting with Touka (except Touka's almost a decade older than her and is flattered but not interested, thank you), and TenTen is... honestly I'm not sure what TenTen is doing except that there's a very solid chance she's sneaking off to meet with Uzumaki specialists to help her build a Zetsu Trap.

Our trio of badass ladies decides that Hm, Actually, Having Bijuu Backup Would Be Nice.

Ino's the best sensor of the three, but even she's not feeling out where the nearest bijuu is, so they go for the by-that-point tried and true method of "Sakura goes and hassles Tobirama for information while TenTen and Ino play cards with Hashirama."

Tobirama does point them in the direction of the nearest bijuu--it's the Kyuubi, even!--and Sakura just... invites Hashirama along.

Hashirama: Oh! What do I have to do if I come? Sakura: Stand there and look pretty, mostly. Hashirama: Yes, I can do that. Sakura: And then interfere if we piss off the Kyuubi enough that he attacks. He probably won't, but Mokuton is useful if he does. Hashirama: Oooooh yeah, I can do that.

Tobirama is so tired but these gals are pretty determined to do the whole Peace Thing and Hashirama can mostly take care of himself, and Butsuma isn't quite dead but almost there (idk some disease or infected wound, it doesn't matter), so Hashirama isn't a Clan Head ditching his job but there's nobody around that can stop him from running off, so Tobirama's just like "Cool, don't die."

Butsuma: [dying] Sakura: [sipping a mixed drink wearing sunglasses inside] Shame.

So they go find Kurama, and try to barter with him about the whole Zetsu situation, and... ngl okay I have an entire conversation in mind about "your evil goo uncle" and "none of us know how to seal a bijuu without taking away your autonomy, but sealing is the best way to hide you from Zetsu, so do you have any ideas on a compromise" and "I can SORT of figure out how to--"

And then Kurama just. Summons a smaller fox. Which has a scroll. And pokes it towards TenTen because she's the one that's Impressed Him The Right Way over the course of the conversation.

(Mostly by being vaguely sparky about fuuinjutsu and easily distracted by the Ifs of it instead of the Whys.)

And once she's signed--which Ino and Sakura are just like 👀 about because Oh???--Kurama nods and just. Presses his snout to her hand. And without telling her what he's doing, he just enters her body and settles in as a consenting jinchuuriki situation. He can leave without killing her if he wants, but he can also just chill out. He's hidden from Zetsu, TenTen gets a boost, and nobody's in prison.

(Time to belatedly note that TenTen was earlier suggested as the best jinchuuriki option since, among other things, she had the least to lose as far as chakra control went.)

TenTen: My chakra control is pretty shitty, but I can fight hand to hand for literal hours without feeling like I've done more than a light jog, is that good?

TenTen is such a different brand of ninja from most of the heavy hitters. Because her main attack is just More Knife.

Team InoShikaCho has their whole human yoyo thing, Sakura can punch gods, Naruto and Sasuke are literally insane levels of power, Kiba turns into a giant three-headed dog and Shino can insert exploding bugs into people, Lee can kick hard enough to make a bijuu pause, Neji and Hinata are... okay I don't have much to say about the Hyuuga, but... TenTen. She's just here with some seals and whole lot of sharp and pointy things.

Founders era, you have Madara and Hashirama with their god-level techniques, Tobirama is usually sword but has a bajillion other things like his Suiton, Izuna has a Mangekyo, Mito has her chains and was the first jinchuuriki... and then, here’s TenTen, with Many Sharp.

Her special attacks are Throw, Stab, and Kick the Shit Out Of because she still trained under Maito Gai.

TenTen is the current queen of "catch these hands."

After the village is founded, she challenges one of the og founders to taijutsu only and the literal only reason she doesn't win against Hashirama is that he has a healing factor and is built like a brick house.

TenTen: Hey, Izuna, if you beat me in a taijutsu fight, Ino might be impressed. Izuna: No weapons? TenTen: No weapons, no bijuu, no Sharingan. Izuna: Cool, I can do this. [five minutes later] Izuna: [screaming]

The triple clan alliance: We will gladly join Konoha on the condition that-- Izuna, internally, chanting: That I marry Ino That I marry Ino That I marry Ino-- Madara, internally: Please don't say that Izuna marries Ino Tobirama, internally: [math meme because he can imagine like eighty conditions] Hashirama, internally: [elevator music] The triple clan alliance: That you put Haruno Sakura in charge of the hospital. Izuna: [internal screaming] Madara: [sigh of relief] Tobirama: [internal cheering] Hashirama: That sounds great! I've seen her work, she's a great choice for hospital management, do you think she'd be willing to spearhead a medical training program on the side?

Izuna just wanted the politics to be his wingman here, she's killing him.

Ino has broken this man.

(At this point she's mostly made up her mind... unfortunately, she deeply enjoys messing with him! He's too fun to tease!)

Ino: I want to marry him, yeah, but did you see his face when I teased him about visiting the Daimyou's court and looking for a rich husband to bring to Konoha? He even knows I'd never marry a civilian, and yet.

(He knows, it's just that his brain is dumb when she is involved.)

TenTen asks Hashirama if he's opposed to threesomes, mostly because Mito is amazing and TenTen's a little in love with her. Hashirama is NOT opposed to threesomes, but only with Madara, sorry.

Ino is just... the queen of self-confidence. I want to include some gifs to explain but there are just too many.

As a rule, Ino wears high collars, but... she might try to pioneer Tiddy Shirts out of spite because people keep trying to tell her to dress More Appropriately.

Ino, adjusting her wrap top to show more of the chesticles: Relax, Hashirama, I'm just taking a page out of your granddaughter's book. Hashirama: [verbal keysmash]

This one twitter post.

Sakura: You can't just use your tits to get what you want! Ino: I didn't see you complaining when I got us free dango. Ino, misunderstanding Sakura's point: Uh, yeah I can? Watch. Ino: [gets drinks for the table and a free dessert too] Ino: See? Sakura: Oh my god. TenTen, cutting a slice of cake: Yeah I think she's got us here Sakura. TenTen: I love using Ino's tits to get what I want. Sakura: No!

Sakura: Why am I the only one of us who isn't down for Ino using feminine wiles for material gain? TenTen: Does it have anything to do with your unresolved childhood crush on her? Sakura: ..... shut up.

Sakura: Was Sasuke descended straight from Izuna's line? What if you just negated his existence? Ino: I mean, his soul still exists, right? Or will exist? It's not like we could have lined the genetics up perfectly anyway, don't worry about it.

Once Ino finally lets Izuna woo her, they turn into that couple that's just constantly making out in dark corners. PDA is over 9000. Sakura throws erasers at them to make them stop. TenTen catcalls. TenTen just. Not interested in being a thot in the slightest, but delighted by Ino being a thot.

Izuna: Help I don't know how to BDSM and my hot wife is a dominatrix. Madara: Sucks to be you.

(Ino being a bit of a ho fits and feels fun because she's also just like, very convincingly an actualized character. If Ino is acting like a bit of a ho it's very definitely because she wants to and is absolutely going to make that everybody else's problem.)

Ino, at any given moment: Did you miss the part where I'm the hottest person here?

I'm honestly considering platonic-marriage TenTen/Tobirama on the basis of Seals And Sparking. There aren't enough women in the Founders Era for me to ship Sakura with one so I'm going to say she ends up living in domestic bliss with a Nara kunoichi.

Sakura: Can I just. Can I just be Gay here? Like, can I just Be Gay and get Big Gay Married and have 2 dogs and lead a prestigious medical program? Tenten and Ino: Of course you can, hon! We'll be up to our nonsense the entire time, though.

Sakura: Well... at least Shikamaru isn't here to complain about Ino being the way she is.

OH I forgot to mention TenTen wearing Externalized Small Fox Kurama around like a scarf.

Kurama: [Gets to be out of the seal and See Stuff] TenTen: [Constantly has a companion around who is never tired of hearing her Special Interest Rant about smithing techniques and what will eventually be Aerodynamics after TenTen accidentally builds a plane while tinkering]

TenTen: I wonder if I could make Temari's giant fan thing work for me without wind chakra. [two years of tinkering later] TenTen: I can't remember what I was trying to do at the start but I can definitely fly now.

(Sakura's honestly lucky that Karin isn't there.)

(And tbh Sakura's only The Sensible One until Madara pisses her off and then it's time for people to remind her that she can't just go around Punching Things.)

When Sakura is forced to be the Voice of Reason she is always frustrated. When TenTen is freed from the responsibility of being the Voice of Reason? Shenanigans. TenTen's defense is that she never got to be the crazy one in Team Gai. Like, she’s still a little nutty, but she couldn’t go all out because she was constantly overshadowed by the YOUTH and also Neji’s fate situation.

ANYWAY. TenTen and Tobirama.

TenTen: Your brain makes me horny. Tobirama: Oh, finally, someone sensible.

I remember that while I was brainstorming, I had "TenTen tells Tobirama to marry her within five minutes of meeting him because they vibed so hard on weird fuuinjutsu stuff" followed by "Izuna sputtering and saying that everyone told him that he couldn't just propose to a girl he liked, why does Tobirama get to accept a proposal from a clanless kunoichi when Izuna can't even--"

The proposal is from TenTen to Tobirama, which imo is hilarious in the context of the Warring Clans Era, and also is done on a whim and is basically just.

Tobirama: [says a clever thing about one of TenTen's theories] TenTen, grabbing his hands and looking him in the eye, her own eyes full of stars and the classic Team Gai sunset genjutsu around her: Marry me. Tobirama: ...do we have to have sex? TenTen: No. Tobirama: Do you plan on children? TenTen: Students yes, adoption maybe. Tobirama: I'm sold. Hashirama:

[Image Description: Stephen Colbert, in a suit, dramatically crying at the camera. He has running mascara, and the caption says “I just feel like my heart is going to burst because it’s full of rainbows.” End Description.]

They're Nerd-married and it's the best.

I love the idea of Hashirama just being an Elevator Music Mind when it comes to Tobirama and TenTen. Like. An orange cat. Like, okay, yes Minato is the Hokage with the orange cat energy. And Hashirama is usually golden retriever energy.

But when it comes to Tobirama and TenTen, Hashirama is completely oblivious to their intention to do such things as Raise The Dead For Science.

They're not even raising a specific person for a specific reason, they're just vibing Super Hard and haven't slept enough and forgot this is a bad idea. Got so obsessed with "Can we" that they forgot "should we."

(And I feel like Kurama just encourages them like a chaos entity.)

Tobirama: It was a theoretical exercise. Hashirama, gesturing at the zombie army trying to eat its way out of a Mokuton Cage: !!!! Tobirama: We realized it didn't need to stay theoretical. TenTen: In our defense, we were left unsupervised. Tobirama: It's true, we were.

Sakura: TenTen! I expected better of you! TenTen, with sincere confusion: Why? Sakura: ... TenTen:  Like you knew my team, and my sensei, and also I agreed to help you go back in time and alter the past.

Overall.......

Ino: [here to fluster her pretty boy husband] TenTen: [got platonic married to a necromancer who shares some special interests and hyperfocuses with her] Sakura: [just wants 2.5 kids and a steady paycheck as she runs a world-changing medical program]

Anyway

Back to TenTen being Wild.

[Image Description: TenTen in her Shippudent outfit, which is calf-length red pants and a white qipao top with red trim, turning on the spot while flourishing a pair of scrolls that expel weaponry on her command. End description.]

I like to imagine TenTen has an abundance of common sense, but she just never, ever applies it to herself. She can only common sense when other people present her with their problems. TenTen: What if I combined Ribbon dances with the noble art of YEET, then made it into a fighting style?

"I've got 99 problems and all of them can be solved with sharp and pointy objects."

[This section of the brainstorming is removed on account of being deeply inappropriate for a post that should max out at rated M. Just know that Ino and Izuna are freaks, and TenTen and Tobirama are enablers.]

BACK TO TENTEN BEING ABSURD

Tobirama: Ugh, I can't match Hashirama's energy levels for another entire day. TenTen, a member of Team Gai: I can do it. Tobirama: Hashirama is literally inhumanly happy and-- TenTen: No, no, I got this.

(You have no idea how much practice she has at this Tobirama, no idea.)

Tobirama: I am currently the fastest man alive. TenTen: Only because you cheat with Hiraishin. I could totally beat you in a five-hundred lap race around Konoha. Hashirama: ...five hundred? Tobirama: Wait, what. TenTen, already stretching: Yeah, let's do this! It's been a while since I had a solid challenge, you know? Hashirama: ???? Tobirama, is she serious? Tobirama: She runs two hundred laps around the village every morning, so... probably. Hashirama, wheezing: That's a lot. TenTen: That's a warmup.

Someone, probably Madara: Okay but that's cheating because you have inhuman stamina from the fox! Kurama, chilling on a tree stump napping: No the fuck she does not. Hashirama: What do you mean she doesn't? Kurama: I don't just leave the faucet running 24/7 Senju, besides, she doesn't need my help to be a ridiculous persistence hunting nightmare monster in this regard. TenTen: Awww, Kurama, you flatterer.

TenTen: I was running 150 laps of the village every morning by the time I was fourteen. Hashirama: Why? TenTen: My teacher was fun.

At least one shitty joke from a stranger about stamina In Bed and TenTen and Tobirama just stare at the person.

Maito Dai would be... maybe a little older than the Sannin, younger than Hiruzen. Solid age for TenTen to take as a student, probably. Very feels-worthy, with the whole Passing the Torch thing that that whole family had going on, and that Gai passed it to his students since he didn't have children of his own, the idea of TenTen taking that shot to make sure she's still part of that... family, for lack of a better term? Even in this strange new world they're making by altering history like that.

And that’s about it.

As per usual, most of this was brainstormed with @firebirdeternal​.