#I’ll be lurking for the rest of the week bc work

[moodymisty]

hola, it's imarvelatthestars 😎 I was looking through your request rules and kink prompts bc. well. it's me. and hoooooo boy I just wanted to share some Thoughts that I was having about Wrecker.

I usually tend to think of Tech when I have a fantasy including toys, but the thought of Wreck trying some out on you? maybe it's something you've been wanting to try but you're not sure how to ask him for it, you don't wanna make him uncomfortable, but these desires tend to build up and lurk in your mind until they come out in dreams. you dream about him using a vibrator on you, edging you, making you come too many times to count, making you squirt, and when you finally wake up, you find that Wrecker's 😳 in bed next to you, unbearably turned on hearing you moan and whine in your sleep but he's too polite to touch you without asking. maybe you tell him to wake you up with his mouth or his hands next time if it gets him going so much. and maybe the next time you have that dream and Wrecker does decide to wake you up properly, maybe then you tell him about this new fantasy of yours. how you want him to try vibrators and dildos and oral simulators on you, you want him to overestimate you until you can't even function and then you want him to fuck you as rough or slow or frantic as he wants. and then he does.

just a Thought 😏

Author's note: Hola! ¿Que tal? I just gotta respect the fact that we are on the same wavelength when it comes to Wrecker like -chef's kiss-The kink prompts isn't a comprehensive list, i'm sure theirs plenty more I could add, but I'm glad it's helping people give me tasty ideas >:3 Tasty Wrecker ideas… I kinda took this idea and ran into the wilds with it, so I hope you still enjoy X’D If not feel free to hit me with a bonk and I’ll change it

Relationships: Wrecker/Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, Size difference, Sex toys (A vibrator), Unprotected sex, Squirting, Vaginal sex, Wet dreams,

Sitting down on Wrecker’s bunk you find yourself keeping busy by fiddling with the edge of your fingernail, before the toes of two boots come into view not far from your own feet.

“You look awful.”

You look up at Crosshair mouth agape, baffled by how out of complete nowhere his observation was.

“Uh, thanks?”

He shakes his head and rolls his eyes, the toothpick in his mouth resting against against the corner of his lips. The stubble on his face is more visible than usual; Making an audible noise as he rubs his jaw.

“Not like that. You look like you’ve been getting shit sleep.”

Oh, well that makes more sense. So he wasn’t being a completely incorrigible ass.

He’s not wrong; You’re always beside yourself when Wrecker is gone, and sometimes it’s more than a bit hard to get rest knowing that he’s in the line of fire. Especially when he can’t comm, and you have absolutely no clue what is happening out there in the unknown. It’s a situation that just breeds anxiety, and extension poor sleep. Even if he’s been back for a few days now, those weeks of strain still linger.

“Yeah, that’s a way to put it.”

There, was also another reason; But not one you’re going to mention to one of his brothers.

“Oh what, you still miss the big lug? He’s right over there, you know.”

He jerks his head in the direction of the cockpit, where Wrecker is indeed standing. Hunter had wanted to talk to him for a moment, leaving you alone in the back of the Marauder to stew in your own thoughts for awhile.

Crosshair was not too off the mark, but he wasn’t entirely right about the source of your sleep troubles either.

You’d made a bit of an, impulse buy, recently. During this most recent deployment.

It’s not much of a secret that it can get lonely, in more than a few ways, and so you’d decided to buy a nice vibrator to keep your more, carnal thoughts in check. It had worked for a time, but now with him back, you’ve been having the same problem, but a different root. You’re no longer missing him, with him back in your arms but your thoughts are still filthy, though now of him using the thing you’d bought to dull the pain of his absence.

You have absolutely no idea on how to approach the matter of your desire with him, and any time you think about doing so, your face grows so hot that the idea of speaking any words through your choked throat becomes impossible. The last thing you want to do is make him uncomfortable, but in doing so you’ve made him worry instead. He now thinks something is absolutely up with you, but you don’t want to speak about it. He’s been keeping a closer eye on you than usual, trying to figure out what’s been bothering you.

And speaking of the man of the hour…

Wrecker returns to you and comes partly in-between you and Crosshair, looking down in your direction.

"Hey, it’s getting pretty late; You gonna head back to your place or sleep here?”

You can quite clearly tell Wrecker doesn’t want you to leave, and while you think it’s adorable, he also seems to have a small layer of what almost seems like concern.

"I’m find with staying here, as long as no one minds."

Crosshair’s eyebrows raise when you look at him. He sleeps in the bunk above Wrecker; Always a fan of sleeping up high and out of the way. You’d called him a tooka once, when he’d mentioned considering sleeping on the storage racks away from the lot of you.

And so the sniper rolls his eyes, muttering something about you keeping them up all night as he climbs up into his own neck.

“Cross…” Hunter gives warning tone, having overhead the sniper’s quip.

“Stay as long as you like, sorry about the mess.” You can’t help but snort at Hunter apologizing about the mess, as if it isn’t the Marauder’s default state.

You take off your outer layers, trying to hold back a yawn as you slip into Wrecker’s bunk to settle down. Wrecker himself quickly slides in as well once you're good, effectively trapping you in. Since he's too big for you to both sleep on your backs, you sleep partly on top of him, and he gets a weight to put in his arms. It helps him sleep, in the same way Lula had before you.

Echo is the next one to slowly wander his way back to the bunks after you two, hopping in and laying back to relax. When Tech eventually comes back he’s dragging his project with him, hauling the mass of wires onto his bunk and then his stomach. Without a shadow of a doubt he’s going to fall asleep with it on his lap, but no one bothers to try and convince him not to.

And as time slowly ticks by one by one of them each fall asleep; Tech’s humming replaced with gentle snoring, and Echo’s foot tapping slowly fades off into nothing. Wrecker is asleep underneath you as well, so other than Hunter, you're now the only one awake. Hunter might even be asleep honestly, you have no way of seeing like you can the others. He’s probably dozed off with his boots resting on the control panel, now that Tech can’t yap at him for it.

You want nothing more than to sleep, but you keep tossing and turning in your little nook of space between the wall and Wrecker. But no matter how much you try and blank out your mind and let sleep take over, it’s still racing enough so that you still feel as wide awake as you did in the middle of the day.

They’re all so lucky. They all get to sleep, while that little vibrator still sticks in your mind, much to your annoyance; Floating around like a buzzing little bug that keeps dodging your attempts to swat it down.

You can't afford to be having these sorts of thoughts right now, not when you're less than three meters from four other people. You’ve made a decision to sleep, and you are going to follow through with that; No matter how much your body attempts to fight you.

That vibrator was meant for when you were all alone, missing Wrecker when it was the middle of the night and he’s lightyears away, but nothing excites you more than the idea of giving Wrecker the reins with it. He’s sweet; Wrecker never denies you a single thing you ask sweetly for, in a way that can have you unwound underneath him. You have no doubt he'd have you trembling and leaking all over yourself, begging him to stop and begging for more.

Oh come on, not now. shoo shoo.

You wiggle slightly to try and adjust into a more comfortable position; But the minute, the second you close your eyes and try to sleep, your mind instantly moves from counting tookas to seeing every scene lingering in the recesses of your mind play out against your eyelids.

It would make it far easier for him to tease you and yet still deny you what you really want, A way of preparing yourself for him while still yearning for the cock that’s weighing down your tongue and stretching your lips. You’ll never deny having eyes too big for your stomach when it comes to Wrecker, but the possibilities of setting him free with something like this knowing that he’s already so much for you to handle fills you with nervous excitement.

When you wake up the next morning you're not incredibly tired, but you can absolutely feel that you got less sleep that your body had needed. Again. You can still remember bites and pieces of what you assume was one of your dreams from during the night, and you end up having to take a quick trip to the refresher to clean yourself up. Your underwear were noticeably damp and stained, your wet dreams having physically effected you once again.

Some food should keep your mind busy, as Hunter had decided to grab the Batch some food that for once, wasn’t GAR regulated slop. You pitch in a few credits for your own portion, needing some food to fill your empty, almost nauseous stomach.

The sudden sound of metal on metal startles you nearly upright however, looking up from your food and seeing that Wrecker had kicked an ammo crate across the floor to skid to a stop in front of you.

"Wreck, what are you doing?"

He's holding his meal in his hands as he rounds the crate, standing between it and you.

"They're being boring up there. I wanted to sit with you." Plopping down on the crate, he cracks open the meal box and starts digging in, quickly surpassing what you've eaten in no time. The two of you sit in a comfortable silence for awhile, until Wrecker decides to stop chowing down for a moment to speak up.

"You alright?"

Wrecker's sudden question has you confused, brow furrowing before you take another bite of your food.

"Yeah, why?" He's already finished most of his food, swallowing before speaking.

"Last couple nights you've been moving a lot in your sleep; Thought you were having nightmares." Needless to say, that was the exact opposite of your current problem. It's sweet of Wrecker to have noticed something was off though and ask you about it, however.

"Oh no, no it's not that. No nightmares. At least that I remember." Wrecker shrugs and takes another bite of his food.

"We all get em sometimes."

You'll keep his words in mind for later; But at least for the time being, nightmares are the least of your problem. You'd almost prefer they were at the moment, given they'd be far easier to explain that what is currently plaguing your mind. You’d hoped him being here would tame it, but instead you look at the muscles of his neck and your thoughts wander.

It continues throughout the entire day, swimming around in the back recesses of your mind no matter how hard you try to push it away. No matter how much you try and throw it out into the ocean, the current just keeps bringing those thoughts right back. It’s, distracting. More than a little bit so.

Normally when you finally manage to bring Wrecker back to your place you’re excited and reeling with so many things, but now you just feel tired, eager to make up on some sleep. The ride back is slow, feels slow, and the moment your door opens Wrecker is following behind you, noticing the way your body is lax and sluggish.

“Tired?” He jokes, watching the way you smile and nod.

“Yeah, haven’t got much good sleep the last couple of days.” Bless him, you can tell Wrecker is still a little incredulous on your denial that it’s nightmares, but he doesn’t press on it anymore tonight. The two both get into bed, Wrecker adamantly making sure you’re comfortable before finally letting himself relax.

With the soft weight of your own bed and your own blankets, Wrecker safe at your side you’re finally out like a light, the soft sounds of speeders and air taxis along with his soft breathing lulling you off.

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

Wrecker slowly cracks his eyes open, feeling the dry sticky taste in his mouth from deep sleep. Nothing is making noise and no one's yelling for him, so at first he doesn't realize why he even woke up in the first place.

Until you jerk quite harshly in your sleep again, and Wrecker instantly realizes you were the cause.

Another nightmare? He thinks, watching the way your body fidgets, and your hand grips the black fabric of his bodyglove tighter.

He watches your face, sees it furrowing and relaxing with whatever is going on in your head. Your body moves again, though much more softly than the motions that he assumes had woken him up. You also mumble, lips barely moving as you utter:

"Wreck..."

Your words are barely noticeable, slurred by sleep and your brain only working from ingrained habits. A gentle sigh escapes your throat, muffled by his arm that you're clinging to. Just as your lips close he feels your hips brush forward, rubbing against his body.

This is not a nightmare.

Your hips jerk forward again, even rougher than the last time as you let out a soft little sigh from the bottom of your throat.

Definitely, not a nightmare.

Wrecker's body instantly goes ramrod straight, and suddenly his cock isn't very far behind. He feels it go right down his spine, cock almost jumping as your hips twitch forward. Your little hands are gripping at his bodyglove, pressing your body against him as you desire more of whatever he's doing to you in your dream. He knows it's him, you keep mumbling his name like a prayer slipped between the cutest little noises.

Now each time your body brushes against him he feels his cock throb, swallowing thickly the knot in his throat. He wonders what you’re dreaming about, as it surely seems to be pleasant, your face softening as you mumble incomprehensible words to his dream self.

This is torture. Every single round of resistance training the Kaminoans put him through now pale in comparison to this.

But he can wait; It'll be all of his allotted patience for the next few months, but he's not going to wake you up just because he has a hard-on. Especially since you had specifically said you needed to get some sleep. He’d feel so guilty to wake you up over something so, carnal. No matter how much he desperately wants to, or how badly he wants to just, touch you.

If he moves his leg a bit, he can maybe find some relief, trying to slowly move while you lay tight against him. The moment he attempts to do so he feels your body jerk fast enough that he quickly freezes, watching your head raise up away from his bicep.

When your eyes first open he thinks you're still asleep, until he notices you looking around the room searching for what had woken you up. Nothing around the room catches your interest, so when your eyes eventually look to him, you notice his looking your way. He’s never been one to wake up in the middle of the night, that you’ve even seen.

"Hey gorgeous,"

Your body perks up, brow furrowing though your eyes are still hooded and tired. It’s clear you’re still half sleeping, but slowly the fog is lifting.

"Wrecker? You're... Awake?"

How could he sleep? He had his girl clearly dreaming something absolutely filthy about him and nearly humping on his arm. He'd have himself declared brain dead if he didn't react.

“You were dreamin’ about something… Think you were moving around and it woke me up.” He can feel the way your hand against his chest is fidgeting, the illumination from the buildings outside giving you a soft, glowing backlight.

"Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up." Your eyes are darting all over his face, watching the way his eyelids seem hooded and the corners of his mouth are just barely crooked upward.

"You kept moaning my name."

Your body raises up. His eye is noticeably dilated, looking at you with that soft, confident smirk he gets when he knows what he's going to say will rile you up.

"Were you havin' a good time in that little head of yours?"

Good would be, more than an understatement. In your head you were almost sobbing because of how good he was making you feel. He had you a completely malleable mess, both physically and mentally under his body, leaking all over the toy in his hand and then his cock.

"Maybe I was..."

Your leg moves from where it's against his thigh, trying to cling to him closer. When you do, you brush against his cock and instantly feel that he's completely hard; Seeing him bite his cheek and hiss through his teeth.

Your embarrassment by getting caught red handed in the woes of a wet dream fade away by the realization that Wrecker was so turned on my it; But this whole time had been relegated to listening from the sidelines.

"If you’re this hard, you could've woke me up... I wouldn't have minded."

In one motion Wrecker moves from laying on his back to his side, before raising up on his left forearm. His right knee settles between your thighs, forcing them apart.

“I’d be happy to have your hands or mouth wake me up in the middle of the night.” He catches your sly glance, the not so subtle suggestion. He’ll keep your words in mind for another time; For now he has a more important thing in the front of his mind. He leans down to steal a kiss from your lips, his stubble rough against your skin.

"This the same dream you’ve been having? Making you roll around in your sleep?"

His hand is touching your side, feeling your body arch upward closer to him as he cradles just underneath your ribcage. His touch is gentle yes, but there is a distinct unyielding firmness to it. You’re not leaving his grip to go anywhere. "Yes, it was..." His hand moves over your stomach, sliding down past the band of your underwear. The instant his fingers touch your outer lips he feels the dampness of your underwear, fingers curling between your folds and instantly becoming so overwhelmingly slick.

"Kriff, you're so wet,"

His hand could cover your entire cunt if he wanted to, rubbing two of his fingers up and down your pussy to warm you up to his touch.

"What were you thinking about, pretty girl?"

Your moans are more so little sighs and pleas for more, hips pushing upwards towards him as your hands grip the sheets like a lifeline. Your pussy aches, empty. Begging for him to fill you.

"I- fuck, I decided to get something recently and... I kept dreaming about it..." Wrecker's fingers keep pressing against your clit, rubbing circles around the hood. His touch is so soft you know he’s absolutely teasing the answer out of you, watching you writhe underneath him. You’ve missed him so much, how you love to finally have him touching you again.

"Yeah? What was it?" He keeps touching you so much you can barely get out the words, muttering them between your breathes. Your voice stays a whisper; A habit from the Marauder.

"A vibrator; I missed you and… I wanted something while I waited for you to come back." One of his fingers pushes inside of you and you nearly cry out, pulling the sheets upward like you want to tear them apart. You’re almost so lost in the feeling that he has to bring you down to reality to his voice, his lips on your neck before pulling back.

“Sounds like there’s a bit more, gorgeous.” There is, it’s just a matter of getting the words out of your mouth as he slips a second finger inside of you, burying down to the base and rubbing them against the inside of your cunt.

"I kept thinking about you using it on me. While you fucked me."

If the mere thought has you dreaming about it and making you wet like this, enough to take over your mind, he'll make your dream come true.

"Where is it?" Your thighs are trembling, face feeling fire hot as your pussy leaks all over his hand.

"Left nightstand." It's resting at your side of the bed, and Wreck only has to pull his hand away from you and lean over to find it. He digs through for a moment and you can almost feel the way your head is beating against your chest. It’s the same beat that throbs in your cunt, body desperately awaiting him. When he finds it, your eyes trail his hand as it dwarfs the vibrator, almost looking like a pathetic little toy in his grip.

Before he puts in on you however he realizes he’s still clothed, and quickly moves to remedy the matter. He starts peeling away at his bodyglove as you watch him, seeing the way his muscles flex and squeeze as he does so.

His body his massive; Sometimes you forget how much so. He really could just destroy you if he wanted to.

The thought makes your grip the pillow your head is against tight enough to squeeze it down to it’s thinnest margin, before you let go and grasp the sides of your panties instead; Peeling off the underwear you’ve made a mess of tonight.

And once it’s off of him he throws it aside, down to somewhere out of view and thought.

“You ready for me, gorgeous?” He sees your head nod even in the dim light of the room.

“Yes, yes please.” Wrecker wouldn’t consider himself cruel, but oh how he loves to hear you beg.

You can see how hard he is once he pulls away his bottoms, precum leaking down after some has already smudged across the head of his cock. He grips your thigh and pull your closer, enough so that he can rub himself against you and coat his cock in your wetness. You can’t help but look away for a moment, his eyes too intense to keep contact with for more than a few glances.

“I would’ve told you sooner, if this was how y- Oh gods-”

In your distracted speaking Wrecker suddenly turns on and presses the vibrator against your clit, jolting you out of your sentence as your hips instantly jerk upward. He’s gentle at first, testing your limits sliding it up and down your pussy before pressing it harder against you.

It’s not the most intense setting, but it’s already making your thighs shake and cunt throb, stomach tensed as you feel the vibrations go through you. You can feel him just barely teasing you, cock grinding against your and a few times pressing against your entrance before popping out, and continuing along your outer folds. Each time he does it makes you gasp, mouth agape as you feel like he’s just about to fuck you, but backs off.

He pulls the vibrator away from you for a moment, wrapping a hand around his cock and pumping it a few times before just barely pressing against your entrance. He isn’t teasing this time, but he’s so, so slow.

“Relax, pretty girl; I’m not gonna fit if you don’t.”

You want to, more than anything, but your muscles are so tight that it requires a conscious effort. You feel just as the head of his cock pushes past your entrance, moaning as he stretches you to your limit.

Slowly slowly, he pushes himself down to the base, sinking his cock fully inside you. He’s gives you more than a moment to let your body relax, pressing the vibrator back against your clit and moaning at the way he feels your muscles instantly tighten around him.

“Kriff, that feel good?” Your legs tighten around his hips as he slowly pulls halfway out then thrusts back into you, hand gripping your hip to keep you close as your hips attempt to raise up higher.

“Yes, yes, I should’ve told your sooner-” You remember using this toy a few times when Wrecker was deployed, and you were more than a little lonely. It never felt this intense, your toes curling as he drives his cock deeper into you. Wrecker is the only common denominator that would explain it.

It’s bringing you so close to the edge it almost feels like the world is spinning, glancing downward to see his cock disappearing and reappearing as his hand holds your toy to your clit. When you suddenly cum around him it’s almost like seeing stars, biting your lip he fucks you through it.

Your fingers dig into the sheets, as if you want your nails to pierce the fabric and tear it to ribbons.

His hips hit the backs of your thighs, hard enough to fill the room with the lewd sounds of slapping skin and the wet sounds of your pussy around him, his harsh, ragged breaths and your desperate moans.

But it’s within moments that you already feel another one being pulled from you, gasping as your hands start to hurt from how hard they’re holding on. He pulls your vibrator away from you only for a moment to adjust his grip, as it’s so slick in his hands from how wet you are. The moment it touches you again, he feels the way your cunt clenches and your hips twitch upward.

You’re going to cum again you can feel it, he’s bringing you so close you can barely take it; Your stomach tight enough to snap. Each thrust of his hips, each press of that dastardly little toy against your clit, it’s wrapping your legs around him tighter, feeling like your absolutely going to burst.

“Oh gods, Fuck Wrecker I’m gonna-”

You cum again around him legs nearly thrashing around. Your hand claps over your mouth, a habit Wrecker hates but you feel forced to do. You didn’t want your screams to echo through the walls, gods forbid. Your body goes from so tight to limp, as he slows down to fuck you through it but barely so, as any rougher he’d fear hurting you.

"Kriff, gorgeous you’re-,"

Wrecker swears under his breath, his hips uneven and sloppy; He’s been so close for so long that he just needs this little bit to push him over, seeing your body almost limp underneath him. Your so slick against his cock, even his hips and thighs that he can tell you squirted all over him, making a complete mess. He couldn’t care in the slightest, he never would; Especially when you look almost ethereal laid out on your bed like this.

You can hear the moment he cums inside of you by the way his breath hitches, driving himself as deep inside of you as possible. His hips twitch, pulling back before just as quick driving himself back deeper inside of you, the hand gripping your thigh holding you tight enough that you might’ve feared it would bruise, had you cared. You care far more about the way you can feel his cum inside of you, almost already threatening to leak out.

You’re wet, he’s wet; Thighs trembling. It takes you at least a minute to come down from your high to realize, though once you do you can’t do much more than apologize.

"Oh g- Wrecker I'm so sorry," Your heart is still pounding in your chest, the muscles in your hips still twitching no matter how much you try to still them.

Wrecker doesn't seem to mind, and if anything he seems almost proud. If he thought you could handle it, he might’ve considered trying to get you to do it again. He slowly pulls out of you and watches your thighs twitch and tense, cum leaking from your abused pussy. When he notices your glassy stare and flushed face, his hand gently cups your face, feeling your warm skin on his own.

"You should get cleaned up before you pass out, gorgeous. I’ll fix this." You raise a hand. As much as you might want to move, the idea of doing so at this moment seems dangerous, at best.

"I just, need a minute." Wrecker leans over and pushes a small bit of hair away that's stuck to your forehead before pressing his lips against you.

When you do manage to get up, it's still wobbly legs, stumbling your way to the tiny refresher and cleaning yourself up enough that you can comfortably sleep. You doubt that you’ll have any problems doing that now, as you take one more glance in the mirror before turning away.

When you leave, It's a surprise to see Wrecker standing outside the door, before he suddenly picks you up off the ground. It pulls a little noise of surprise from you as you grasp his shoulders, as he carries you hooked with one arm under your thighs.

"Wrecker!? The bed is right there why are you carrying me!?"

He stops walking and stands, adjusting you in his grip.

"You're tired, and you don't let me carry you..." He gently plops you down on the bed.

"I don't let you in the Marauder, because last time you almost made me kick Hunter in the back of the head." Wrecker slides onto the bed with you and assumes a similar position to the one you were both in earlier, curled up against his side with his arm around you. Head resting against his bicep you feel his hand gently resting on your back, so warm and gentle.

You're so completely wore out you don't remember even falling asleep, only the look on Wrecker's face as he leans over you, breath on your face as he whispers:

"Wake up wake up, princess."

His face and body obscure almost all of your vision, though the warm light bleeding through the window and onto his body shows it is indeed morning. Instead of raising up you pull yourself against his chest, groaning as your hands attempt to hold him still. You’d never be able to, but he always attempts to play along for a bit.

"Mmm, a few more minutes?" He doesn’t as long this time, pushing your shoulder back just enough that your face is forced away from him, and he can see your puffy, sleepy face.

"Nah, Hunter’s already yelling at me to get back to the base." That's interesting enough to wake you up a bit, though just as you begin to lean up, his comm starts ringing presumably for the second or third time. Wrecker groans, loud, before scooping his comm link up off the blankets.

“I know I know!” Wrecker instantly starts out with, listening to Hunter on the other side.

“Hurry. We ship out in an hour.”

You watch the way Wrecker’s shoulders drop and he rolls his eyes, having to cover your mouth with a hand to keep from laughing out loud.

“Oh my way, I’ll be there when I’ll there.” Hunter sounds like he’s going to say something again, taking in a breath that’s just barely heard. But...

“Never thought I’d be glad to be off-planet," What is quite distinctly Crosshair’s voice says, picked up from the background.

"If I have to deal with those two necking nonstop any more, I’m going to stick my head out the airlock."

#finishing this fic had me like Frodo at the top of mount Doom #wrecker x reader #Wrecker/Reader #tbb x reader #the bad batch wrecker x reader #the bad batch x reader #mywriting #reader insert #reader

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Update // September, 2022

where: room

doing: laying, listening to Kokomo, IN by JP

hey! it’s been a while. i stopped entering new blogs after covid, school, and work started picking up again.

Well now it’s 2022 and i’ve finally graduated! this was back in may, so it’s been a couple of months. I now have a BS(haha) and am planning on applying to grad school this fall (this month act HAHA) AHHH i’m terrified. i work full time now at a place related to my degree. i love my coworkers, although i wish we got more employee appreciation such as free food jeje. bare minimum pizza parties?? cmon yall. I’m still at Target here and there, mostly to start saving up for grad school cus a bitch is BROKE. holidays are coming up so that’ll be fun. i started physically journaling as well but that didn’t last long either. i started therapy this time last year. i liked her at first but definitely caught some red flags. finally almost a year later i got the guts to terminate and got a therapist that has a similar background and is a beast at processing. she did call me out tho LMFAO on stuff i’m a bit hypocritical on.

life was pretty much become work, rest, work, rest. i have been drifting a bit from my college friends because they’re still in school, but i try to reply in the gc. my hs friends i’ve pretty much lost contact with. the only person i actively speak with is aracely who i adore. but i only see her irl like twice a year. trying to get better at catching up with friends. i haven’t been worried about my social life bc so much of it is online, so it’s easy to communicate. my twitter bud cameron keeps me updated on twitter drama and bs that the internet shits out, and my other pals i keep in touch by watching their stories LOL. my friend sun told me he cannot go a week without speaking to his friends which makes me feel bad for him. i couldn’t imagine being so dependent on others like that. now for the juicy stuff. i’ve been pretty much single for the entirety of this blog. i actually started this as a way to see my progress mentally. although i haven’t scrolled ALL the way down, i already can tell it’ll be cringey as FUU. teenage me was dramatic asf. i’ll be 23 this year, and at a place where i can feel my frontal lobe finally forming lolol. dating apps have always terrified me, mostly bc i felt a form of embarrassment from having others see me. yet, they can’t judge cus they’re also on the app as well LMFAO. so i never went through with it. instead i lurked through the internet in places where i was the most comfortable in. and after a few months of slithering through the cracks, i stumbled upon a post that caught my attention. this was about spring time this year. i didn’t have the guts to hit this person up and instead contemplated the idea for some days but eventually talked myself out of it. the next couple of months i went back to walking through the back rooms of the web. early this summer that same person posted something, i recognized their user, so i said “fuck it” and hit them up. i did use a burner account tho and not my actual account from when i was 18 LMFAO. roach milk some would call it. he ended up replying and we started talking online. once it hit the weekend, he asked if i wanted to hang out irl which i started panicking and trying to come up with excuses LOL i was just scared. the first date went great imo and we kissed at the end. the kiss SUCKed bc i was uncomfy on our location and also bc i had just met this person.

i just need to stop my brain from trying to sabotage my happiness. my body image has also gotten a bit better, especially considering he’s seen every spot in my body lmfao. i’ll be bring up the self sabotage to my therapist next week so hopefully i’ll have something to update y’all on soon.

[yuruse]

It’s late at night and I’m looking at writing resources. Of course it gave a brief rush of inspiration. (:

Also I’d love to start up a few threads with Naruto, Hinata, or Itachi. Or talk about doing a pre-est thing. Give this a like if interested.

I’ll drop into your IMs, with that said I’ll be slow since work.

#ooc #.plot call #mutual only #also if you’re interested in Sasuke or Obito let me know! #I left Sasuke out since I ha w a few threads for him and Obi is a WIP #but still willing to do them !! #I’ll be lurking for the rest of the week bc work

[shorkbrian]

Street Cat hybrid shoto seems to like you so much, even more than he likes his owner Momo

When you come to see momo, he is 24/7 by your side, following you around all day long, touching you and your things, licking your neck just like he always did since he was a lil baby cat *W* and even worst, he still cries when you have tô tô home!

Why aren’t you his owner? It was you who saved him, but you couldn’t have a hybrid at your apartment, so you left him with your best friend.

It was you who made him more human. Without you, shoto would be still living in the street. But how could he feel at home when his home is you?

One day, Momo sends a message asking you to take care of him while she works for a few days in another country. She says he only wants you, and gets pissy and teary when someone else comes

You are happy to help— i mean, things are being so stressful at your new work! It has been a week since you saw Shoto.

It just happen that you carry so many new smells

Shoto doesn’t like that >:(

(This is a prompt/request. Feel free to change things or deny this shit. I just want some beastial sex with yandere shoto who cries while humping your pussy bc he finally feels at peace)

hoooooo my gosh 

(What to expect - NSFW, noncon, scenting, thoughts of watersports)

Hybrid Shouto who’s long and lean, milky skin scarred and marred in places from the various fights he’s had while living on the street.

He’s got enough muscles to crush you when he hugs you, to put significant weight on you when he tries to cuddle up in your lap as you talk to Momo. 

You’re close with Momo, having fun “girls night” when you and Jirou go over and drink wine, do each others nails, and talk about whatever been’s going on that week.

Shouto never interrupts, is always quiet as long as he’s by your side, purring when you scratch behind his ear, stretching out so he’s sprawled across your legs where you’re sitting on the floor.

Jirou and Momo think it’s cute how attached the hybrid is to you, coo at him whenever the hybrid jumps to follow you around Momo’s house, touching everything you touch, rubbing his cheek against your shoulder, hovering one step behind you like a clingy shadow.

It’s hard to say goodbye, especially with Shouto clinging to you, jaw set, unshed tears shining in his eyes as he begs you to stay, just a little longer.

So “girls night” turns into a fun sleepover, no big deal.

It’s adorable when you wake up to find the hybrid curled up at your feet, tail tucked around his body as he snores softly, ears twitching. When you go to make coffee, you bump into Momo, and barely begin telling her about the cute occurrence, before Shouto is padding into the kitchen, frown on his face, immediately jumping towards you.

Crushes you in a hug, pushes you against the counter as he comforts himself by stroking your shoulder, licking at your neck. “Thought you left...” The hybrid whines.

It’s easy to see how much he cares for his savior.

When Momo asks you to watch him, of course you say yes. He’s easy to please, with an even temperament and hardly any bad habits. You’d say his worst habit is his clinginess, how you can’t even go to the bathroom without the hybrid lurking outside of the door, waiting for you to get out so he can be close to you again.

But it seems he’s developed some unsavory traits living on the streets, as he pushes you to the floor as soon as you cross into Momo’s home.

“You smell different.” And it’s not a question. The hybrid’s cold nose is tickling your skin, first at your hands, then your throat, ghosting over your face before he drops down, pushes up your shirt a little so he can nose at your stomach.

“Hey! Shouto wha-”

“You smell awful.” He hisses, tail puffing up, ears flat against his head. 

“I’m-I’m so sorry, I didn’t even realize.... I’ll go shower and change right now, okay? I’m sorry Sho’, I forgot you have such a sensitive nose.”

That calms him down a little bit, until you’re locking the bathroom door, Shouto stuck on the outside while you turn on the shower.

“Please let me in, I won’t look, just want to be close to you.” Comes his soft voice, and he sounds so sad, so plaintive, and you find yourself biting your lip.

“No, Shouto, I would like some privacy please while I shower. Afterwards we can cuddle or something, alright?”

There’s silence from the other side of the door, which is a tad worrying, but the quicker you can shower and change, the quicker you can go comfort the sensitive hybrid.

You find him curled up in his bed, buried underneath his blankets, frown on his face. It’s easy to slip in behind the hybrid, snuggling up against his furnace-like body heat.

No words are spoken, but the hybrid turns, buries his face into your neck, huffing and chuffing against your skin while you try not to squirm from the sensation. His little kitten licks tickle, especially when he starts grooming you, rough, textured tongue pulling rhythmically at your skin.

He dips too close to your chest, licking over your collarbone, but it’s innocent, harmless. Cats do this to each other when they feel safe, when they have a bond. You know Shouto is probably just trying to self-soothe after being left home all day. You know he’s a needy hybrid.

Shouto moves to lick at your arms, and that tickles even more, and you can’t stop from squirming and giggling a little when he licks at the crease of your elbow. Next thing you know, he has both of his slender, pale hands wrapped around one of your own hands, stuffing a few of your fingers into his mouth so he can suck on them.

You’re gasping in shock, surprised as you feel his fangs scrape over your flesh, the sensation strange and unexpected. “Shouto-!”

But the hybrid has his eyes closed, nose wiggling a bit as he falls into a rhythm, muscles relaxing as he settles down.

Another self-soothing gesture, you figure.

Today was a long day, and it doesn’t take too long before you get used to the unusual sensation of the hybrid’s tongue working over your fingers; it’s easy to fall asleep.

But when you wake up from your nap? Chaos.

Your shirt was askew, half your chest exposed, nipple pebbling in the cold as a neatly manicured hand rested over the meat of your breast.

The shorts you had slipped into out of the shower were still in place, but you were able to clearly feel the meat of Shouto’s erection as it rubbed against your mound, the hybrid’s hips stuttering forward as he panted above you, resting on an elbow.

He was gasping into your neck, quiet little breaths and held-back moans, trying not to wake you up.

But as soon as you got your bearings, began pushing at the hybrid, not even sure what to feel in this situation; Shouto lifted his head, blinking slowly.

“Want you to smell like me.” Is all the explanation that he offers, completely unmoving even as you get your hands underneath his chest and push.

“No-no, stop it, stop it right now Sho’.” Your voice is filled with panic, scratchy from sleep, weak.

Shouto shakes his head, buries it back into your neck as he starts licking at your skin, trying to comfort you, soothe you, calm you down. “I can’t...” But you knew what he was really saying, what was really running through his mind. I won’t.

The hybrid doesn’t settle until you’re drenched in sweat, wet and sticky from his cum as he’d pulled his cock out of his sleep shorts, came on your stomach, and thighs, and all over your shorts.

It doesn’t matter how much you squirm, how much you tell him that it’s wrong, how obviously unwanting you are of this treatment, Shouto doesn’t care.

Cum gets smeared on your face, into your hair, rubbed messily into your skin as Shouto nuzzles against you, purring as you tire from fighting him, grow limp underneath him, eyes staring blankly ahead as he violates you.

A small part of himself wants to go even further, to spread his seed into your mouth, down your throat, into your stomach. Shoot it deep into your womb, make you sticky and wet on not only the outside, but the inside too. An even worse, disgusting part of himself, a voice that Shouto refuses to listen to, gives him an urge to mark his territory in a primal, animalistic way.

Piss all over you, your belongings, until no one will come near you without smelling him.

Shouto wants you to smell like him, to smell claimed. By the time he’s done with you, it won’t matter how many showers you take - you won’t be able to rid yourself of his scent.

#Shouto #shouto todoroki #todoroki shouto #shouto x reader #bnha shouto #hybrid au #hybrid #bnha hybrid #todoroki #shoto todoroki #bnha todoroki #todoroki smut #Shouto smut #yandere todoroki #Yandere shouto #Yandere Shouto todoroki #Yandere todoroki shouto #Yandere bnha #tw.dubcon #tw.noncon #cat hybrid

[littlemisslipbalm]

“Harry’s stylist, right?”

Summary: Harry and his personal stylist are great collaborators, on screen and off. She helps his visions come to life and in turn they’ve become close friends. As she helps him to bring his fashion dreams come to life during the Fine Line era, will some other dreams come to life as well?

or

Harry and his stylist go from colleagues to friends to lovers because they’ve been in love with each other from the jump

this fit is very important to this part lmaooo - I literally have no idea what to call this lol, anyway I've been sitting on this for forever and I wanted to get something out for yall and i love this story there will be a part 2 when i get to a writing mood. I love this story bc its my literal dream - anyway!! pls enjoy and reblog and lmk what you think :)

Word Count: 14k | Warnings: swearing, drinking, tame for now, should be smut eventually - aka slow burn (what else would you expect from me at this point i guess)

part 2

-

“Hey, H, I just had a question about one of the SNL outfits? Do you have a sec?”

Harry looked up from his phone and raised his brows at his stylist, Y/N.

Y/N had worked with Harry previously. In photoshoots for Another Man magazine and his most recent Gucci campaign. As well as some other random times, such as one-off award show looks and specific appearances. However, this past summer Harry had hired Y/N to work fulltime for him, exclusively. He had told her that he was planning on releasing his second album in the winter and he wanted someone there to help him plan his clothes for music videos, award season, interview appearances, as well as tour outfits.

Y/N stood just inside the doorway of the room, leaning her back against the wall, looking expectantly at him. Her eyes were wide and her lips were pursed. She was dressed simply in a white satin skirt and a matching cropped button-up, they both had cream flowers embroidered on, paired with horsebit slim Gucci mules. Her style was eclectic, but she had definitely noticed an increase of Gucci in her wardrobe since starting her employment with Harry.

Y/N’s passion in life was fashion and clothes and she constantly worried that one of Harry’s outfits wouldn’t deliver as much as she wanted it to. He was quick to tell her not to worry so much though, as long as they both were happy with it, how could anyone else not love it. Plus, he’d always add, it didn’t really matter what anyone else thought. But as more and more events began to crop up, Y/N’s worry over her work grew. She had only been the head stylist for Harry on projects that were still underwraps - except for Lights Up which had been released a couple weeks ago now.

The first project she ever worked on with Harry as his full-time personal stylist was the Lights Up music video. She had never worked so closely with one person for so long on just one project. Harry was insistent in vision and came in the first day filled with ideas, what he imagined for the video's concept and how he wanted to incorporate clothes. She had been happy to make his dreams become reality.

The two of them spent hours at his house for weeks, pouring over every detail of every outfit he planned to wear. They both wanted it to be perfect. And eventually, it all came together, exactly how they had planned. All of the garments for the video took up two entire garment racks. Y/N had made Harry pose in every single outfit for polaroids that she dated and then put into a lookbook she started for him. She had told him she planned to document every outfit she styled for him and Harry had been so excited. The outfits he wore in the video were received with praise when it was finally released, and Harry and Y/N were overjoyed. There was already a party for its release, but they both were especially happy that night. Throughout the evening, Harry and Y/N would gravitate to one another and fall into side conversations about the outfits and what people had been saying. Even if Harry said it didn’t matter, he and Y/N both knew, at the end of the day, they loved when people were happy with their work.  

“Sure,” he bounced to his feet, but Y/N made a hand motion telling him that he could stay seated. He settled back down as she crossed over and sat beside him on his couch.

She was at his house in London today planning his next few appearances that were promotion for the upcoming album, Saturday Night Live was next. Harry had been taking a break from their work until she had come in.

It wasn’t unusual for Y/N to be at his house, they had been working together for months now. First, it had been for his outfits in his music videos that were filmed in late summer and early fall, like Lights up, but also a few other ones. Now, it was clothing for promo appearances, interviews, and listening parties. Next, it would be tour outfits, which she had already started planning, but officially, they hadn’t started discussions yet. Harry had helped her to get a flat closer to his house in London just for her to be able to head over and help with the planning or fitting of his outfits more easily. She also was constantly traveling with him to his appearances, making sure outfits were perfect right before whatever show it was or making last minute adjustments in case either of them decided something wasn’t right.

While Harry was a big guy, his waist was far trimmer than a usual man built to his size, this meant she had to take in a lot of his trousers at the waist. As well, with his shirts and coats, she’d have to take them in or out depending on how Harry wanted the fit to be - either perfectly tight or perfectly oversized. He was particular, but she appreciated his drive for fashion and how he cared for his appearance. Before performances, she often had to take things in or out based on any body fluctuation that had occurred since the initial fitting.

She was looking at her sketchpad that held all of her notes on his clothes - which was different from the lookbook of polaroids - including patches of the actual colors and little Harry figures dressed in what he was going to wear. Right now, she had the pad opened to a page titled “SNL Opener - November 16, 2019”.

“So I was thinking with your opening monologue outfit, it might look better to have a different colored blazer? A matching yellow would be great, but if you did more of a toned down - maybe light tan or beige - blazer with gold embellishments, you’d elevate it to look sophisticated and stylish, rather than just stylish. It’d be exactly like the runway look - which I know you sometimes don’t like, but I think it’s what looks best.”

She ran her finger between two swatches of what she thought would be the better blazer color and the one Harry had originally wanted. He wet his lips and gazed at the page as he thought about what she said. Normally, she liked monochrome on him, but she thought the deep blue underneath a completely yellow suit might wash him out on the stage.

“Yeah,” he pointed to the top beige swatch, “I think I do like this better.” He paused and turned his head to Y/N, looking in her eyes before asking, “Is that all?”

“Er...no,” Y/N ran a hand over her unstyled hair, slightly fluffed by her constant musing of it. She often fiddled with it while she worked, better than biting nails she always said when confronted about her tick. After a sigh Y/N continued, “I was just on the phone with Jane from Gucci and she said that for Look 57 they could only send your technical size, for some reason they can’t custom make it. Meaning, I’ll have to tailor the whole thing to you when it arrives. Is that alright? Or do you want to choose something else?”

She flipped to a page that said “SNL WS.” Harry followed her hands and nodded realizing she was talking about the Gucci suit he wanted to wear for Watermelon Sugar. It was a watermelon’s inside red. When he had found out the suit came in that color, he had danced around the dining table for what Y/N had felt like was an hour, humming the tune of Watermelon Sugar excitedly. Finally, she had coaxed him to sit back down and get back to their other work, which was still picking out clothes.

“No, that’s fine,” Harry shook his head and used his thumb to scratch under his lips absentmindedly, “It really needs to be that color.”

She nodded, she knew what his answer was going to be, but she also knew he still liked to make the final decision.

“Alright, we’ll just have to meet for longer when everything arrives, to tailor that one. Then the rest of them should just be making sure the fit is perfect.”

She rose up from her seat and patted Harry’s shoulder, leaving him to his thoughts, as she went back to finish up the calls with Jane and the designers.

He caught her hand in his before she completely walked away, “Thank you, Y/N.” He was so grateful he had hired someone who was as driven as he was and understood his fashion sense and wanted to help enhance what he was thinking, rather than someone trying to control him or just going along with whatever he said. Neither would be productive or helpful, thankfully Y/N loved her job and cared to do things right.

She grinned before exiting, “H, you’re going to be this century’s style icon if it’s the last thing I do.” He laughed as she walked out of the room, leaning back on the couch to continue his lurking on Instagram.

-

One week later

“I’m here, H! I come bearing Gucci and more!” Y/N said as she shuffled through Harry’s front door, she held a deconstructed rack and a garment bag filled with heavy suits and things. Inside were Harry’s four most important outfits for SNL, some other garments for SNL, and some clothes they had talked about for his upcoming listening sessions later in the month. Y/N needed to check the fit on all of them and begin tailoring the Watermelon Sugar suit. The key Harry had given to Y/N, previously, had let her in, but she assumed he was home. He said he’d be.

When Y/N rounded the corner she found another empty room. Confused, she set down her large items and went to search for Harry. Y/N literally needed him to be here for this part. It was the only real time she actually needed to see him in person - but that was beside the point.

“H?”

She wandered through the different rooms of his home. Normally, Y/N didn’t go into the other rooms, she was always mainly in his lounge area, the dining room, and a little casual office room he had - sometimes the kitchen for water, his bedroom once. Still not finding him, she decided to venture to the furthest door, Harry’s bedroom, she remembered.

Harry groaned at the sound of a knock on his door, he rolled over in his bed. After a few moments of hearing nothing else than his groan, Y/N felt like she had to go in and check on him.

“H, it’s 12:30 and we agreed we’d meet at noon. Are you feeling alright?”

Y/N moved into the room and found a shirtless Harry surrounded by rumpled sheets, clutching at a pillow. He groaned into his pillow again in response. Her legs bent at the edge of the bed and she reached out to smooth some of his chestnut hair out of his face, “What’s wrong?”

He moved his head to allow his eyes to look at her, “‘M so tired, don’t know why. My stomach kind of hurts too…” Y/N looked at him quizzically, before running her hand over his tan forehead once more, this time checking for a fever. “You don’t have a fever. When did you go to sleep? Have you eaten anything today?” With her help, Harry moved into a seated position, head tilted back against the bedpost. He sat silent for a moment before blowing air out of his mouth. “Went to sleep kind of late for me, I guess...Haven’t eaten.”

“Ok, you’re just tired from staying up late, you old man, and you might be a little dehydrated and hungry. Listen, I’ll go make you some food if you get up and prepare yourself for the day. We need to get all your clothes fitted so that I can fix anything before next week.” Y/N was always good at getting Harry back on track when he got distracted - or even out of the station, when he wasn’t in the mood to work on something. She slid from her perch on the bed and walked to almost the edge of the room before Harry called her back.

“Can you pick out my clothes for me?” His soft, tired voice whined. “So hard...and you’ve got the best eye. Pleaseeee,” he pleaded softly.

Rolling her eyes, Y/N sighed and made her way back into his room. Crossing to the door that led to his walk-in closet, she set to work. As silly as he was being, she could never pass up on a chance to pick out an outfit for Harry.

“You’re literally going to be changing the entire time, H, you could have just thrown on sweats,” she called back to him once inside the smaller room. He repeated how she always picked the right thing, even for just around the house. Again, Y/N rolled her eyes at Harry, but she also couldn’t hide the warm smile on her face that was due to his compliment.

She couldn’t believe how dramatic Harry could be sometimes. Right now, he was a lesser form of hungover and he was acting like his life was ending. Y/N had made a note a while ago to never agree to a meeting on the day after any partying. She learned the hard way one particularly terrible Sunday. She had come round his house at a similar time, noon-ish and found Harry dead asleep, backwards in his bed. When she had roused him, his only responses were grumbles and groans. She had to not only pick out his clothes, but also help dress him. Then, after providing water and aspirin, she moved all their work into his bedroom so they could work from there. Harry had proved to be a baby when it came to hangovers.  But, she hadn’t realized he could get like this even without being truly hungover.

After settling on his live aid t-shirt, that Y/N was eternally jealous of, located at the front of his drawer and his favorite corduroy trousers, she walked out and threw them in the direction of his toned, but slumped body. “I will not get you boxers, that is most definitely not in my job description, Boss.” Y/N sent a pointed look in his direction, moving to finally leave the room. While he was technically her boss as her employer, their work relationship was extremely collaborative and it never felt like he was in control of her, she just liked to give him shit for being a drama queen.

“Guess I’ll be going commando. How’s that going to work with me changing in front of you a bunch of times?” He teased right back, taking the clothes you had thrown at him and giving them a onceover. His teasing signalled that he was already feeling better.

Y/N shook her head and walked out of the room, “For the love of God, Harry, please put on underwear before you come out and continuously strip in front of me!”

The words he shouted after that were muffled, but they were something along the lines of how the human body is beautiful and shouldn’t be covered up. Unbelievable. As she set to work on making both of them some lunch, she finally heard Harry begin moving around. They had a lot of work to do as it was and whenever Harry was in a mood, whether it be a good mood or a bad mood, they always seemed to have a hard time focusing.

One night, that could be seen as the poster child for Harry and Y/N’s procrastination, was during the planning for the Adore You music video. Harry was in a super good mood that day and he had brought that energy to their meeting at his house. Y/N was supposed to be fitting him for the various outfits, but Harry, in his mania, ordered an overzealous amount of Chinese food. It took her and Harry hours to even make a dent in the food. And while they passed the time with eating, Harry and Y/N got further and further from their tasks, opting for conversations that included more fun topics than work. They had gossipped about some of the other people they worked with, Harry had begged for “the tea” about some of his other staffers and Y/N was happy to oblige. As much as Y/N would hate to admit it, she loved when they got off of work subjects and talked about how their day’s had been and what has been on their nerves lately. It was a nice way to decompress, it was like hanging out with a friend, except it wasn’t, not really.

Harry shuffled into the kitchen wearing what Y/N had picked out for him. Her smile grew knowing that he hadn’t changed what she’d picked. His confidence in her and her abilities never failed to feel like the biggest compliment.

“Go sit at the dining table, I’ve made us some little sandwiches and then we can decide the order we want to go through the outfits in.”

Before following Y/N’s orders, Harry continued his shuffling around, first to the cabinet for a glass, then to the fridge for water. At the end of the table, she set the plates between the head of the table’s spot and the one to its left. Harry took the side spot, so Y/N was on the end. After a bite of his food, Harry moaned loudly in contentment. This caused an amused look on Y/N’s face, there had been nothing special in his house so she had just made what was possible. This meant that Harry’s satisfaction was a little over the top.

“You’re acting like you haven’t eaten in a week. What did you do last night that got you in such a twist?” Y/N asked as she took a sip of her own glass of water. Harry nibbled at his lower lip after swallowing, trying to understand why he was particularly tired today.

“I guess I forgot to eat properly yesterday and then I went out running. And I stayed up late on the phone with,” he paused, eyes flashing to Y/N and then away again, “someone for SNL.”

Y/N hummed at his words before going back to her own eating. She didn’t understand why he hesitated about telling her he’d been on the phone last night, it especially irked her that he wouldn’t even say with whom. Professionally, it wasn’t really her business, but Harry was never secretive with her. Plus, it seemed to be work related so why was he being so flighty about it.

Moving forward, Harry peppier from eating and simply moving around, the pair set to work. They decided on trying on everything else first and then saving the Watermelon Sugar suit to the end. The other three main pieces for the night fit perfectly, Y/N had to only do minor reworks of certain areas.

“H, I need you to hold still…” Y/N interrupted Harry’s ramblings as she was crouched beside him.

She had to take up the hem on the pant legs so right now she was trying to pin them in the place she and Harry had agreed upon, without messing with the pleats.

“Sorry,” He mumbled, straightening out his back to stand taller.

He stayed quiet for a bit until Y/N popped back up, she looked at her notebook for reference on what she still had to tailor.

“Okay, next, the pants crotch is looking pretty fitted, so I assume you want it taken down a bit,” Y/N said as she got back into her crouching position. “Look in the mirror and tell me where you think letting it out looks best, I don’t have the best vantage point when I’m up this close…” she trailed off, placing her measuring tape directly on top of Harry’s crotch and running it down his leg a ways.

Once done with her first attempt at where she thought was best to let the pants out, she turned her eyes to the mirror that showed Harry in his suit with Y/N on her knees before him. Harry cleared his throat as he looked in the mirror, seeing Y/N with her eyes wide in anticipation in the position she was in made him want to run and hide. Her hands were extremely close to his dick, but it was literally her job, he knew he had to shake the thoughts that were running through his mind.

“Maybe just a bit further up actually, as much as I like the high waist with dropped crotch, I want this suit to have that specifically tailored look,” his hands motioned for Y/N to bring the drop up a ways.

Her hands then brought the measuring tape up, once again grazing over his area. Again, Y/N looked at Harry through the mirror for approval, and this time he gave it and she placed a single pin in the place where the pants would be let out to.

Standing up, Y/N hoped Harry didn’t notice the blush gracing her face. She was a stylist and used to being around naked bodies as well as touching around a man’s crotch when working. But Harry in this suit must have been magic, because she had felt extremely vulnerable on her knees in front of him in it. She had felt flushed the minute he hadn’t liked what she had done initially and she hated that she felt that way for some reason. Beginning to work on the sleeves of the suit set her at ease, Y/N was thankful to no longer be kneeling or in such close proximity to what was under Harry’s pants.

“Anything on your mind of late?” Harry broke the silence.

Y/N hummed with a pin stuck between her lips, folding up the suit jacket’s right sleeve. Plucking it from her mouth after a few silent moments, she said, “Not really, haven’t had time to do much else lately. Always thinking about you,” Y/N flushed as she realized what she had just said. “I mean, thinking about you like about your clothes and when they’re going to arrive and what I need to do about them, not you personally, sorry that came out wrong,” her blush intensified as she rapidly fumbled through her last sentence.

“Ow!”

“Oh my god!”

While Y/N had gotten flustered with her words, she managed to stick the pin she was using straight into Harry’s flesh. She immediately removed the pin from where it had stuck him.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry, H, we’ve got to get this off. I need to make sure you’re not bleeding onto the suit.”

Y/N rushed around to Harry's backside and began slipping off his suit jacket as Harry chuckled and began to unbutton the shirt as carefully as possible.

“‘S alright, Y/N, if there’s any blood on the shirt it’ll blend in, blood is practically the same color.” She glared at him through the mirror and Harry continued to laugh, “That is not funny, H, I shouldn’t have stuck you in the first place.”

“No, no,” Harry hushed Y/N as she began to slip off his shirt from one side to the other, taking off the sleeve on the side she hadn’t poked, “you’ve got so much on your plate with all the planning for the upcoming events. Then you worked yourself up over a little slip.” As Y/N carefully unbuttoned the cuff of the sleeve to try and slip off the shirt with the least amount of blood on it as possible, Harry finished with, “I wouldn’t mind if you were just thinking about me, though, an’ not the clothes.”

This time, Y/N was very in control, not willing to let herself slip up a second time today. She didn’t know how to respond to what Harry had just admitted. It wasn’t like this hasn't happened before. Both of them were guilty of making little comments that made it sound like they were interested in each other in a way that was a little different than professional or friendly. But every time the other person always had the responsibility to shut the idea down or completely blow past what their counter had just said.

“Harry…” She began, it was soft and pleading, like she was saying she couldn’t entertain that idea. Examining his forearm, after pulling the shirt completely away and resting it on a nearby chair, she saw a little spot of blood protruding from the pin prick she had caused. “Where do you keep your bandages?” Y/N decided that it was best to brush past Harry’s words this time and went off to find his first aid kit. Harry stood there, shirtless, staring at the blood on his arm. It really wasn’t a lot and it wouldn’t have done anything to the suit, but Y/N was always so careful and never wanted to ruin any of Harry’s clothes.

On her return, Y/N came upon a shirtless Harry perched on the edge of the table, with one arm crossed and his other - that was bleeding - being held slightly away from his body, as if Harry was afraid to touch it. His posture was slumped so Y/N could see his spine curving beneath his tanned honey-soft skin and his shoulder blades slightly flexed. While most of Harry’s body was covered in tattoos, she noticed how the closest tattoo to his back was the small line drawing of a guitar on the back of his left shoulder. Other than that his smooth back was bare. Y/N found it interesting that Harry had never chosen to ink his back. She jogged lightly back into the room and Harry’s head turned to watch her approach. His bottom lip was caught between his teeth as he regarded her. She noticed he was being particularly quiet, but she had no idea why. Maybe he was still tired.

Y/N set to work on finding the correct tissue, neosporin, and bandage for Harry’s small wound. As she worked on fixing up her mistake, Harry’s eyes followed her movements. Green eyes flickering between her hands on his arm and her own eyes focusing on her task.

“After this, I actually can just head home and finish the rest of the work,” Y/N said as she unpackaged the bandage, “I already know where I need to take in the suit sleeves and the shirt’s sleeves were looking fine. So, I can get out of your hair and you can get to sleep early tonight.” She placed the nude toned bandage over Harry’s arm, she was a little sad to find he didn’t own fun bandages. That was something that she expected from Harry, but she resigned that maybe she didn’t know everything about Harry.

Before Harry could speak, Y/N continued, “Don’t rehearsals for the show start tomorrow? When are you flying to New York?” She ran her hand over the bandage, smoothing it in place. Her hand lingered there as her eyes looked up and met Harry’s. Harry twitched his arm away from Y/N’s touch and scratched his nose slightly.

“Yeah, I’m flying out tomorrow morning. When are you set to fly out?”

“Friday. I’ll get in before the final dress rehearsal and then I’ll be there for the show.” Y/N stepped back and began to rehang the suit jacket and shirt that they had discarded in her haste to not get blood on them.

Then Y/N stood there staring at Harry. He looked at her slightly confused by her doing nothing when she said she was leaving. “Pants, H.” She said finally when she realized he had forgotten he was still wearing the suit pants. “Oh! Sorry,” Harry exclaimed as he began to unbutton and remove the pants he was wearing. He handed her the pants and she exchanged them with his live-aid t shirt. He took it graciously before slipping it on and disguising his toned body beneath it. Then he took his pants from earlier and fully redressed himself.

“Damn!” Y/N said and Harry’s head flipped to watch her as she began to put all of the clothing back in their garment bags and take down the rack.

“What’s wrong?”

“I just pinched myself with the rack, I’m all left feet today.”

“Here,” Harry chuckled as he walked over to help Y/N, “let me help you with all this. Just in the boot of your car, yeah?” Y/N nodded and smiled in appreciation for Harry. He grabbed her keys laying on the table and then took the rack and a garment bag. Even if things sometimes got tense between them, for whatever reason, he was always quick to move past it and be thoughtful and kind in the best ways for Y/N. After shaking her hand out, she grabbed the last garment bags and followed Harry out to her car. Harry shut the back of her car softly and turned to face Y/N, she stood beside her car door, ever so slightly leaning against it. He walked to her side and smiled.

“I’ll see you in a week,” he said before wrapping his arms around Y/N’s much smaller frame. His body was radiating heat and it felt good against Y/N in the crisp night air of London. She pressed into his hold and wrapped her arms around his waist and squeezed him hard. “Less than...Can’t wait to see you make an absolute fool of yourself out there.” Harry protested her tease with a small, “Hey!” but mostly focused on his hands on her back and the way her hair felt especially soft under his chin. Finally, Y/N pulled away, “Kidding! You’ll be amazing and you’ll look killer while doing it.” She winked before opening her car door and driving off. Harry was left with the lingering scent of her perfume and shampoo mingling in his nose.

-

It was the Saturday night, November 16th, 2019.

Harry and Y/N were in his dressing room before the show started. His outfits for the night were lined up, except for his opener one that Y/N had just dressed him in. His first change would be for Light’s Up, then a couple skit outfits that had to be moved elsewhere for quick changes, then the Watermelon Sugar suit, and then finally his end of the show casual look. The opener looked incredible, it’s fit was impeccable and Y/N knew people were going to love it.

She stepped back from Harry to give his whole body a once over, the SNL hairstylist had just blown out his hair and given him a sort of middle part. It definitely looked good and paired with the suit - Y/N could already tell it was going to be a hit by all accounts. Harry grinned back at her, doing a little dance to show just how much he was loving his clothes and how excited he was.

Grabbing the lint roller, Y/N gave the lapels of his suit jacket a once over and then moved it slightly out of the way to roll the big collar of Harry’s shirt and the bits of the body of the shirt that were showing underneath the jacket. Basically, Y/N was lint rolling over Harry’s clothed abs. Apparently, that was a ticklish area for Harry because he began to squirm and giggle under the tool’s touch.

“Seriously, H?”

She smiled as she said it, so excited for Harry that she couldn’t be mad at his relestness.

“Can’t help it. ‘M so giddy. Plus, I’m a wee bit ticklish.”

Y/N gave him a single laugh before removing the lint roller and smoothing over the shirt against his stomach and then over the lapels when she put the jacket back in place. She adjusted the Gucci reader’s she was wearing today, that were more for decoration than anything, but she liked to pretend they made her see better.

“You look smashing, Mr. Styles. Absolutely gorgeous, if I do say so myself.”

“Are you talking to me or the suit?” Harry asked as he flipped to look in the full length mirror in the dressing room.

“Can’t it be both?”

“Sure,” Harry said, he noticed the clock and realized it was his time to get in places. He leaned down and placed a small kiss on Y/N’s cheek, “It’s my time, thank you, Y/N.” She blushed at his words and actions. As he walked out the door, she called after him, “Break a leg, H!” He sent a final air kiss in her direction before completely disappearing.

She looked at the clothes hanging on the rack in the room and palmed over the fabric. Checking the lapels and brushing the lint roller over the, she finally stepped back and was happy with how they looked. When the show was just about to start, she flitted to the part of backstage where she could watch Harry perform. She giggled along to his monologue and grinned whole-heartedly when the crowd would roar with approval. Y/N had heard all of the jokes already because of the dress rehearsal yesterday, but it didn’t matter. Harry was killing it. She also took time to appreciate how good Harry looked in his suit on stage. In front of the lights and all the people, his suit shined brightly with the pops of blue and yellow and the oversized grey-iege jacket. His soft chestnut hair billowed perfectly to frame his forehead as he sipped from the faux martini. Y/N bit her lip to stifle her laugh. The fact that Harry, her boss and friend, was up on the Saturday Night Live stage with pink and blue nails sipping from a faux martini, it was perfect.

When Harry came back for his first performance change Y/N was right there waiting for him.

“Hi, that was really good,” she smiled up at him as he began to take off his coat.

He smiled brightly back at her as he exhaled a hefty breath, “You think so?”

“Yes! C’mon, everyone loved it. You delivered it all perfectly…” she took over undoing the buttons on the shirt because Harry was moving too slowly. “I’m in a man band now…” Y/N mumbled under her breath before chuckling.

“Did you just imitate my accent?” Harry said, now pulling off his sleeves.

Y/N moved around his back to take the shirt to hang and grab his Lights Up outfit. They worked like a well-oiled machine together, constantly taking over roles to get things done more efficiently, but never stepping on each other’s toes.

“Nope,” she winked before handing him the black sequin jumpsuit and exchanging it for his yellow pants. After rehanging the pants and bringing over Harry’s different set of boots, Y/N said, “Y’know, I’d have to say that your hair is giving your suit a run for its money.” She placed the shoes on the table beside Harry and began to fix into the place different parts of the jumpsuit, moving to zip up the back and then coming to the front to smooth it.

“What do you mean?” Harry looked in the mirror and delicately touched the edges of his hair, considering Y/N’s statement.

“No one ever really sees it how it is, nicely blown out but not too much product so it falls to frame your face. What’d you tell the hair person you wanted?” Y/N stepped back to allow Harry to change his boots from one Gucci pair to another, like he did with most of his wardrobe.

“Just told them to make me look mature. You think it looks good?” He looked up at Y/N when he asked the question.

“Think it looks sexy, that’s what I’m saying, no one’s gonna be able to focus on your clothes with how good your hair looks.”

“Ah,” he deftly runs his hands down his suit as he looks in the mirror.

Y/N just stares at Harry, checking him over one more time. She wasn’t lying about his hair, it was sexy and she wanted to run her hands through it to feel how soft it was. In a complete friend way of course.

“I like it…”

“It looks like you just rolled out of bed, but the bed was made of angel feathers.”

Harry laughed at Y/N’s description. He shifted his body to face her more and moved closer to her in the process.

“Alright, you should probably get back out there,” Y/N closes the gap between them and adjusts the chain of his jade and silver crosses and brushes over his broad shoulders.

They’re professional touches, but her movements hold an undercurrent of intimacy that neither of them realize. If anyone had been looking on, they would see how Y/N’s fingers delicately caressed Harry’s skin right before she cradled the pendants to move them in place. They would also see Harry instinctively lean forward into her touch and breathe slightly deeper to take in her scent. When she brushes over his shoulders, he straightens up at the touch and shows he’s ready to get back out there. It’s as if she prepared him to go.

Harry sings Lights Up and the crowd loves it. Sarah kills her drumming and Mitch eats up lead guitar. The backup singers bring out a different tone to the song. It is all around an amazing performance.

As Y/N clapped along with the crowd from backstage, Aidy Bryant approaches her.

“You’re Harry’s stylist, right?”

Y/N turns her head at the woman next to her, “Yeah?”

Aidy smiles, eyes slightly gleaming, “Well, you’re wonderful at your job.” As Y/N is about to thank her, Aidy continues, “And Harry knows that too, he talked about you all week. We all thought you were his girlfriend at first.”

Y/N laughed lightly and had to keep herself from letting her jaw drop at Aidy’s words. She even choked a bit on her own spit and had to cough slightly before even being able to think of a response, “Well, um, yeah...no, H, Harry is just my employer and...friend. No dating, we just get along well. Which is important since we spend a lot of time together - for work of course!”

Aidy smiled sweetly at Y/N, “Yeah, Harry explained that when Beck asked him how long you’d been together. At first he had said a couple months and then said ‘wait, Y/N is just my stylist, we’ve been working together for a couple months’ and then we all felt really dumb.”

“Don’t feel dumb,” Y/N reassured her, unsure why she was actually continuing this conversation, “He loves to talk about clothes and that’s where I fit in to his life, so I’m sure my name would come up a fair bit. Was that it?”

“Yeah I guess, but-” Aidy began to say more, but Y/N cut her off.

“Oh gosh, I’m sorry, but Harry’s finished and I’ve got to go help him change for his next song.”

Aidy was left in Y/N’s wake, chuckling to herself, fully reassured about the reason that they had all thought Harry had been dating Y/N. Because they already acted like a couple. And they were both helplessly in love with one another and neither of them knew.

The rest of the show went off without a hitch. Harry continued to wow the crowd and Y/N sent him off from his dressing room always looking fabulous. Just as he was about to walk back on stage for his final farewell, Y/N noticed a tiny string on his trousers zipper. Unable to stop Harry and unable to grab at the string without looking odd, she had to let him walk on stage with it. It wasn’t actually a big deal, but Y/N sighed in annoyance because she knew that string was going to bug her for the rest of the night.

“Treat People With Kindness!” Harry finishes off his farewell.

Applause begins to sound and the cast is out front hugging and chatting, while Y/N is watching from the side still fixated on the string on Harry’s pants, now simply dangling. Finally, they begin to clear the stage because it’s time for the after party. Y/N knew there was no stealing Harry away to fix the problem that was now fixated in her mind. Every cast and crew member was trying to talk to him, congratulating him, hugging him, anything to spend time with the incredible man. Y/N couldn’t blame them, but she also wanted to be able to go some place quiet and debrief with Harry about his outfits. She wanted to look up what people were saying about his clothes and discuss the critiques with Harry. She also wanted to start discussing what was coming next with Harry. But most of all, she just wanted to hang out with Harry.

What Y/N wanted wasn’t going to happen anytime soon, which she knew, but it still only grew her annoyance with that string. If only she could get it off of him, maybe then her mind would be able to relax a little.

She meandered backstage, resigned she wouldn’t be talking to Harry for a while. There she went to find the band’s dressing room, knowing she would find Mitch or Sarah who she’d be happy to talk to. They weren’t ones for the spotlight and no one ever really seemed to want to brownnose with them at events like this. Y/N had met them a few times.

The first was when Harry had asked Y/N to meet him in the studio in mid July, Mitch and Sarah had both been there helping Harry finish up something for the album. Y/N never asked what, she liked music quite a bit, but when it came to the technical part of it, it went completely over her head. Harry had introduced them both and they seemed lovely. After that, she had seen them around for an event or two of Harry’s. It wasn’t much, but it was more than any of the other people around right now.

Just as she was about to knock on the door it swung open, revealing Harry’s entire backing band. “Hey,” Y/N said sheepishly, “Harry’s being fawned over by the masses and I don’t actually know anyone else here. Is it alright if I hang out with you all at this after party? I doubt there’s going to be anyone really dying to meet the stylist.”

She smoothed her own clothes as she spoke. Y/N wanted to look professional tonight because sometimes when she was dressed in more fun or “young” clothes she got mistaken for someone who had snuck in. The only thing that got people to not question her authority to be where she was, was a card that read ‘staff’ that she would clip onto whatever she was wearing at places like this. Tonight, she chose a pair of purple plaid pants, a sleek lilac tank underneath a cream knit shawl, and cream Gucci mules.  Ever since Harry took an interest in Y/N’s pearl necklace, she had largely stopped wearing hers because she hoped never to be photographed matching with him. However, she had known the pearls would have completed the look, even putting them on in her hotel room, twisting a pearl in her hand as she looked in the mirror, and then taking the necklace off again and settling on a different silver necklace instead. The ‘staff’ card was clipped to her pants pocket tonight.

“Of course!” Sarah said as the band began to file out of the room, “You might want to take your tag off now, though, you’re done working for the night.”

Her laughter rang sweetly through Y/N’s ears and she smiled back before removing her identifying card. She hated the piece of plastic and was glad to take it off, it never went with her outfits, but she had gotten tired of taking out her business card every time someone asked what she was doing. Y/N was sure that during the tour she’d be fine without it, but as Harry’s show appearances were beginning to ramp up she knew it would be helpful to have.

“Thanks...you all were amazing out there tonight. Second time on the SNL stage right?”

The group of you began to walk in the direction of where the after party was being held. Mitch piped up, “Thanks. Yeah, I love their box stage setup, it’s pretty cool.” Y/N was happy that she had people who were easy to talk to so that she wouldn’t be alone tonight.

Arriving in the room of the party, they were all quick to grab the alcohol that was being provided at the pop up bar. Y/N wasn’t normally a fan of drinking at events like these, mainly because she was not usually invited to this part of the night and when she was she wanted to be alert. But she figured there wasn’t much else to do so she took a hearty sip of the champagne. It was a little sweet, her face scrunched.

“Too sweet?” Mitch questioned when he saw Y/N’s face.

“Just a little for my taste.”

“Harry’s not going to be drinking tonight then. So particular about his alcohol,” Mitch continued.

Y/N laughed, “Well I’m glad, then I don’t have to deal with him being a baby about his hangover tomorrow.”

Mitch quirked an eyebrow at Y/N’s statement. Sarah and the others in the band had dispersed to mingle with the SNL party goers, leaving Mitch and Y/N to their conversation.

Realizing what she said could be seen as slightly weird out of context, Y/N quickly started again, “because I’m supposed to go shopping with Harry tomorrow. He wanted to go to Gucci and a couple other stores here before flying to LA. I’m going back to London until the listening parties, so we need to figure out the finishing touches for those and..” Y/N trailed off trying to remember which looks weren’t completed yet for the next few shows, Mitch waited patiently, “a few of the suits for the Late Late Show. He’s not happy with one of them so we might switch it. But anyway, you know how he is with a hangover. Proper child.”

Mitch threw his head back in laughter at Y/N’s serious look that she gave him. “Yeah, he can be...a lot. I meant to tell you, Harry looked great tonight. All of the clothes were fantastic,” Mitch added.

He was kind and Y/N appreciated him sticking with her. The two of them had rested themselves against a wall near the bar, sipping their champagne and enjoying each other’s company.

“Thank you.”

Mitch opened his mouth to say something else, but Heidi Gardener, another SNL member interrupted.

“Y/N, right!?”

Y/N and Mitch both turn to her, equally taken aback by the sudden burst of energy from this person they didn’t really know. Y/N nodded.

“Oh my gosh! You have to tell me where you got the jacket Harry is wearing!”

Heidi even goes as far to point in Harry’s direction. Y/N knows what she’s talking about, but her eyes still wander to where she pointed. Harry stood in a clump of people, surrounded by Ben Winston, James Corden, and the Gerbers who had all come to watch. She sighed as she watched his eyes shine as he laughed with a smile on his face. She hoped that by now the string had fallen off his pants by now, if not she was going to kick herself later.

“Oh, it’s Bode,” Y/N’s eyes coming back to meet Heidi’s happy face, “but it’s custom made from a vintage blanket. There’s only two that exist.”

Y/N and Mitch watched as Heidi’s face dropped.

“And I’m pretty sure the designer owns the other one,” Y/N added, “Sorry.”

Heidi smiles and jokes, “Know any ways I could possibly get Harry to give me his?”

“He loves that coat. I have no idea what you could possibly do to convince him he didn’t need it anymore.”

“Sex, probably,” Mitch says under his breath.

Heidi doesn’t catch it as she walks back off and Y/N turns to swat him with her free hand.  

“What? He always gives away his clothes to girl’s he has crushes on.” Y/N rolls her eyes at Mitch’s words.

“Probably best if you don’t inform the masses about that,” a new voice says.

Unbeknownst to Mitch and Y/N, Harry had broken away from his entourage to steal a few minutes with his two friends, his best friends if he was being honest. They laugh together as he wraps his arms around their shoulders and pulls them both into his chest. Y/N feels the warmth radiating from Harry’s body as she snuggles into his side. Her hand wraps under his jacket and around his waist to squeeze right about his hip bone. His face is gleaming with a small sheen of sweat, but his smile is so big she barely notices his perspiration as he looks down at her.

“Heard you were talkin’ shit?”

Mitch quips, “Us? Never.”

Harry scoffs, “Come off it!”

When he releases Y/N and Mitch from his grasp, Mitch straightens up while Y/N’s eyes immediately go down to Harry’s crotch. She’s not paying attention to their conversation as she tries to make out in the dim light whether the string is gone or not. The men realize she’s not listening and they both follow her gaze.

Confused, Harry asks, “Y/N, any particular reason you’re staring at my dick?”

Her head shoots up, eyes wide and cheeks flushed from embarrassment.

“I wasn’t!”

Mitch laughs and decides he wants another glass of champagne right then, mumbling something about how that was his cue. Harry smiles, knowing she wasn’t doing what he had said, but still intrigued to know what was going on in her mind.

“You had a string right on your zipper and it’s been bugging me since you went out for your outro. This is the first time I’ve seen you on your own and I couldn't exactly go up to you in a random crowd and grab at your crotch. But now I can’t see in this light…” Y/N bit at her lower lip and furrowed her brow still trying to see if the string was there.

“Have you really been thinking about it this whole time?” Harry asked, slightly concerned.

“Yes...I know it doesn’t matter, but I just want your clothes to look perfect.”

Harry takes a deep breath as he makes a small smile at Y/N. Then he brushes over the front of his pants, hoping he removes the string if it's still attached to him. “There, I’m sure it’s gone now. I’m sorry you had to worry about that. Just know everyone I’ve talked to has been raving about the clothes.” He placed his ring-clad hand on Y/N’s upper arm and squeezed it.

“You did an amazing job,” Y/N said.

Harry pulls her into his chest one more time. This time without Mitch so both of Harry’s arms go around her shoulders and both of hers go around his slender waist. Again her hands disappear under his coat and thumb over his warm white t-shirt, her face resting on his chest right next to the word ‘Sex’. His arms tighten around her back as they rest there for a while. Y/N always has to make herself pull away, knowing that Harry will stay there for as long as he can - in anyone’s embrace - and remembering they’re in a public setting, she didn’t want anyone to assume things, even if she had already been made aware that people had.

“We’ll debrief more later tonight, yeah? The champagne is terrible so I won’t be drinking,” Harry said.

Y/N laughed under her breath as she smiled at his words. Mitch and her knew Harry too well. She nodded about getting together later, “Alright. Get back to your fan club.” Harry narrowed her eyes at her words, not sure if she was trying to sound sarcastic or not.

-

Hey, I’m back at the hotel. Just let me know when you want to debrief :) x

Y/N texted Harry the minute she got back to the hotel, she had no idea if he had left before her or was still at the after party. All she knew was that it was late and she was starting to get tired. Still, it was important for them to talk about their plans for tomorrow and she also really wanted to just be with him alone. Whenever they would debrief after big events Harry and Y/N would laugh at all the outrageous stuff they had seen go on throughout the night.

When she was still a freelance stylist she had helped Harry to plan his Camp outfit at the Met Gala. That night, they never even went to bed and had to debrief about the clothes the next afternoon over tea at the Palace. Both her and Harry were recovering from their exhaustion and nursing equally terrible hangovers. But there they were, sitting in the center of the dining area of the hotel, being served some of the nicest tea and sandwiches Y/N had ever had. It was amazing. Y/N had never felt that rich in her life before and Harry had told her the craziest stories about the most famous people in attendance. It was almost unbelievable what these people would reveal to Harry and Y/N was happy to listen to all of it, promising to never tell anyone else. That outing was probably the first time Harry realized he really liked Y/N and wanted to work more closely with her.

While tonight wasn’t quite as wild as the Met Gala had been, Y/N was still excited to hear any funny stories Harry might have in addition to their clothing talk. They really hadn’t had much time to chat since she had gotten to New York yesterday so it would be nice to just be alone together. Even if Y/N chalked their debriefs up to ‘shop talk’, she was always very excited for them.

As she reached her hotel room door, her phone buzzed with a message from Harry.

I’m still out, but should be heading back soon. Up to you if you want to wait up or we can just debrief in the morning while we shop. x H  

Y/N sighed at the message, she wanted to wait up and debrief before tomorrow, if not for alone time with Harry but professionally for being able to plan out their shopping tomorrow. Where Harry was carefree, Y/N was meticulous and planned out. She liked to have fun, but she knew when she had to get her work done, even when Harry was off in his own mind. Their work styles mostly coincided, Harry could be serious and focused, too, but often when he was surrounded by all his famous friends he had a hard time saying ‘no’ to whatever came up. So Y/N knew that Harry’s definition of ‘soon’ could range from actually soon to almost dawn. She really hoped he actually meant soon, so she shot him a text saying:

Just knock on my room and if I open it we can debrief lol x

Harry smiled down at his phone when Y/N’s text came through, slightly chuckling before double tapping and placing a heart reaction of her text. Then he was pulled into the limo that one of his friend’s had gotten them and was handed a flute of champagne.

Back at the hotel, Y/N threw her phone on the bed and decided to change and simply settle in for the night. If Harry made it back, he made it back and if he didn’t she’d wake up well rested.

Maybe thirty minutes into scrolling on her phone, Y/N heard a rough knock on her door. She was actually quite surprised that Harry had indeed been back soon. Rising from her snuggled place in the bed, she shifted around her night clothes and padded to her door. There stood, rather hung, a slightly disheveled Harry. His hair was whipped into disaster, something was smudged on his face, and she noticed a stain on his t-shirt that hadn’t been there the last time she’d been with him.

He slurred her name as he stumbled through the doorway. Y/N closed her eyes and sighed in exasperation. She was in awe that somehow Harry hadn’t gotten off his ass in the past hour and a half.

“What happened to not drinking tonight?”

She walked beside him and helped shove him into a sitting position on her bed. He flapped his arms, chaotically trying to get his plaid jacket off. Throwing her phone in the direction of her pillow, she moved to help Harry with his jacket. After quite a bit of strugglings, Y/N finally got the Bode jacket off of him successfully and threw it onto the nearby chair. Sighing, she settled beside him.

“So, Harry, care to explain?”

“Hi, Y/N…” He swayed slightly, attempting to face Y/N more. She threw out a hand to his shoulder, gripping him tightly to try and steady him.

“We went in this limousine, and they had champagne - good champagne - and I drank a bottle or so pretty quickly.”

“Or so? Oh Harry...I mean you’re free to make your own choices, but I don’t know if this was one of your best.”

“Wasn’t...wasn’t my idea. I was planning on just going back to the hotel. Then James convinced me to come out for a bit. Then the champagne was looking good so I went for it.”

“Like I said, you can make your own choices,” she patted his arm and went to the en suite bathroom to wet a washcloth to clean off his face.

“So, is it champagne on your shirt or am I going to have to go through hell to get the stain out?” She called.

Harry groaned and leaned back on the bed, fingering at the crisp white sheets. “Champagne,” he finally muttered as Y/N reappeared into the dim room, only the outside world and the light in the bathroom lighting this area.

“And on the face?”

She climbed onto the bed and kneeled beside Harry’s prone body, beginning to swipe at the smudge on his face. He tilted his head to face her, bringing the cheek with the dirt to lay facing perfectly up. His jawline showed perfectly and she felt the strength that laid beneath the skin she was washing.

His eyes flitted up to her face, trying to stop the spins he was currently experiencing. He hadn’t thought he was that drunk until he had been required to find his way up to their floor on his own.

“Lipstick?”

She sighed, running the washcloth over his cheek once more, and tried to push the image of some woman (or man who wore lipstick, she guessed) with her lips all over Harry’s face. She didn’t want to know who it was or why it was. It was too hard, especially after the day of people asking her about Harry and her relationship and insinuating things about him and his romantic life. She just liked to keep the words Harry and romance apart as much as possible, it made her life easier that way.

“It was only from-”

“It’s ok, Harry, I don’t need to know who you were…” She stopped herself, not even wanting to say ‘kissing’ or ‘snogging’ or even worse ‘shagging’. Adults were human beings and they could do a lot in an hour and a half. And again, she didn’t want to know.

“You keep doing that. Are you mad at me?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Calling me Harry, not ‘H’. Is it because you’re mad at me?”

“No,” she sighed, shifting to sit more casually, “No, I’m not mad at you. I just wasn’t expecting you to show up at my door like this. I try not to worry about you, but then when you show up like this, it kind of affirms I had reason to be concerned.”

She took a hand and smoothed over Harry’s tousled hair, he rolled his head back to face the ceiling. “Like I said, you’re an adult, capable of making his own decisions. And, I am just your stylist. I’m just glad you made it up here and knocked on my door. Probably would have given someone else a fright.”

He laughed, starting to sober up as the spinning in the room stopped. Her hands on his face and hair were soothing and sobering.

“Thank you for caring about me, love. And going beyond being just my stylist, you’re my friend Y/N.”

His eyes flickered shut and Y/N stared at his soothed features. His words were still slurred and she was sure the use of love was just his britishness slipping through his drunken state. The part about being more than a stylist, she tried to push it away, telling herself not to read more into it than her heart would like to. Even though he said she was a friend as well as a stylist and not anything more, it still sent so much joy through her body. He didn’t just see her as a work colleague and he had said it. But in his inebriated state, Y/N didn’t want to take everything he said as gospel.

She moved him up the bed with a little bit of his sleepy self’s help into a more comfortable position. It was pretty late now and she wasn’t going to kick him out. It would have been rude and unkind and that were two things Y/N rarely was. She went and grabbed the extra blanket from the cabinet and draped it over Harry’s large body for extra warmth since he refused to get under the covers. She also slipped off his boots and stained shirt per his request before getting into the other side of the bed and falling asleep.

-

She awoke to a shifting body beside her and she sat up confused as to who it could be. Quickly, Harry showing up drunk at her door came flooding back and she turned to look at the groaning Harry beside her. His arm was thrown over his face as he moaned, just waking up as well and experiencing the first bits of his hangover. This was going to be a long day.

“Hullo,” his voice was especially low, groggy and hoarse from the night before. He peaked over at her from behind the crook of his elbow. His eyelids barely open and his eyelashes weighing them down so much so that she could barely see his sleepy jade eyes.

“Good morning, H. Have a nice rest?” Y/N sat up and began to ready herself for the day, rummaging through her suitcase for an outfit and moving about the room.

Harry’s arms went to his sides as he worked to sit up, eyes following her figure as she moved around, seemingly not groggy very much unlike him. “Erm...I’m sorry for showing up pissed.”

“S’fine, H. Just glad you didn’t end up in a ditch or someone’s bed - someone’s that you might regret…” She barely regards him, throwing a single glance his way before shuffling to the bathroom to change. She knows they’ll be photographed today, it’s almost inevitable right now. Everyone knows Harry is in New York and people are buzzing to see him after his performance last night. She slips on the 70s inspired dress, the v-neck and long sleeves settling perfectly on her frame, it hugs her curves and lands around mid-thigh. Rolling on the bold mustard yellow tights and strapping up the brown leather mary jane heels, she looks herself over in the mirror. She then tries to tame her hair and do the rest of her routine, knowing she needed to get on with the day, shopping first and flying home second. Making sure Harry was okay was also on that list, but she couldn’t pretend like she wasn’t a little disappointed in him after last night.

When she returns, Harry is sitting with his legs hanging off the edge of the bed, head hanging as he’s hunched over himself. “C’mon, you gotta get going, kid. Lots to do today.” She’s pacing over to Harry’s deflated figure to pick him up and prompt him to get moving. When she arrives by his side his head lifts and his now more awake eyes stare up at her.

“I’m sorry for yesterday, really. I mean it.”  

“I told you already. It’s fine.”

“It’s not - or it wasn’t. You called me ‘Harry’ last night. I don’t think I’ve heard you call me that to my face since we started working together. I took your answer last night because I was swimming in it, but now, thinking about it. I know you were upset.”

She huffs, taking a seat beside Harry on the bed, choosing to not look at him, slightly confused why she had been so upset and why he was pushing it. “Ok, yeah I was annoyed, but I was also genuinely worried. I didn’t know you could physically get that drunk in that small amount of time. And then you show up at my door with somebody else’s…” Y/N falters, catching her slip up and deciding to fix her gaze on her shoes and their intricate design built into the leather.

“You’re upset that I had lipstick on me?” He’s trying to meet Y/N’s gaze, but her eyes are really interested in her shoes. His tone is confused, he’s trying to understand what’s going on in her mind.

She scoffs, risking a glance to Harry but then returns quickly back to her dress this time. “Please...it was just inconvenient for me, okay? Thought we were going to debrief and stayed up late for you. Then I had to take care of you after you hung out with your famous pals and I had barely even seen you all day. Felt a bit used.”

Harry shifted in the bed, turning to face her by tucking one leg beneath him. He places a hand on hers that was placed on the end of her dress. Her eyes finally meet with his and she feels her breath slightly catch in her throat. His eyes are piercing, his gaze intense, maybe even a tinge of anger. “Y/N, I would never have come to your room if I even had an inkling that this would be how you’d interpret it . Even though I was drunk, I wanted to see you, that’s why I came up here, because I wanted to be with my friend, one of my best friends, not because I just needed some pushover to care for me.”

She sighs, feeling icky still about the whole situation. She sometimes found herself in fights that she never intended, she wished she hadn’t said anything at all. But she also knew that wasn’t healthy either. Flipping her hand, she intertwines her fingers with Harry’s and smiles for the first time that morning. His expression softens at it. “Look, I’m sorry too, H. It honestly wasn’t that big of a deal, but I appreciate that you’re such a great guy and boss to want to truly apologize and make sure I’m comfortable and happy… Oh, and I promise I’ll never call you anything but H from here on out - unless you tell me otherwise.”

He cackles unabashedly at her words, before suddenly clutching at his temple with his free hand. “Fuckin’ hangover,” he mumbles. She smiles and stands up, beginning to throw his shirt and shoes from the end of the bed at him, “You need to get ready. Go pop some advil or whatever. My flights at 5 so we haven’t got all day, H.”

“There she is,” Harry grins, beginning to put back on the stained ‘Sex’ shirt.

As he hustles out of the room, shoes in hand, she calls to him one last request, “When you’re in fresh clothes make sure you bring me that stained shirt. Gonna have to spot clean it when I’m back in London!”

“Of course! And we’ll debrief as we shop, yeah?”

“Yes!”

The two of them were shouting to each other as the door continued to close on them. Chuckling to herself, she begins to pack up her room, knowing she had to check out before they left. Her spirits already lifted, she doesn’t even notice as she throws Harry’s forgotten Bode jacket into her suitcase with some other items that had been on her chair. She wouldn’t notice it until she was back in London unpacking from the trip.

Shutting the case, she springs back up from her crouched position and walks to look in the full length mirror again. Her fingers run the length of her dress, leafing over the slightly darker brown embroidered flowers that were woven into the tan fabric. She squints as she turns sideways and pops a heel up behind her. It looks good, but something is missing. Rummaging through her carry-on she pulls out her old butterfly bandana she used as a head scarf and begins to fix it into place on her head. Placing large sunglasses on the bridge of her nose, she feels like the look is complete and gives herself some poses in the mirror; a peace sign, an air kiss, a Marilyn Monroe. She laughs at herself.

A knock on the door shakes her from her childish fun. Straightening up, Y/N saunters over to the door, swinging it open with ease. “H?”

“You ready?” Harry stands in a fresh pair of Marni trousers paired with a striped orange and mauve Marni sweater. He, like Y/N, had this thing about wearing the brand you planned to shop at. He didn’t always stick to his rule, but he usually didn’t like to wear Gucci when he shopped at Gucci.

“Yeah, just need to check out and drop my baggage at the front to be held for later.” Y/N slips through the door and notes how his outfit compliments hers. She wouldn’t mention it, but it's something to think about since he had known what she was wearing. She wasn’t sure why she noticed things like that, if asked, her answer would probably be that it was the stylist in her, just her job.

-

Stepping out of a black town car on the side street next to Gucci to go in the side entrance would never get old for Y/N. She had never really enjoyed the idea of fame, but from a young age she had known she wanted to be able to afford the finer things in life. Going into the Gucci store now, especially with Harry, was like going to the candy store once you’re a grown up and can buy whatever you want rather than what your parents will allow you to.

Today, Harry and Y/N didn’t have as much time as they would usually like to spend in the store, but they were just happy to be doing what they loved. Y/N had been ecstatic to find out Harry found shopping to be an essential part of his life and that he liked to do his outfit shopping in person rather than online. Trying on clothes and picking out things you liked just was so much more fulfilling when you were in the physical store. Then make that all happen with Harry Styles as the buyer, then it was a real party. The stores liked to pull out their Champagne and clear the store to allow him privacy, specifically when it was for clothes for projects under wraps. In the beginning of her employment, it was only ever Harry who would do the trying on of clothes, but as the two of them got acquainted and comfortable with each other, she found herself trying things Harry would pick out for her. At first, she would veto some items saying they were too expensive for her, but eventually she learned that her new salary covered whatever it was. She had always enjoyed designer labels and choosing to be a stylist meant she had nice clothes, but only working for Harry had caused her closet to double in size and triple in value.

“So we are looking for some trousers today,” she tells the worker at the store, reminding them of what she had already called ahead about. The employee nods and proceeds to lead them into the room where they had laid out an assortment of pants for Harry to pick from.

“What do you think of these?” Harry walks out and strikes a pose, popping one of his hips to the side and his hands on his hips. The pants strain around his thighs, but fit practically perfectly everywhere else. His slim waist is perfectly encircled by the fabric and he’s decided the sweater he was wearing didn’t match them and he’d rather go shirtless. This choice technically should allow her to solely focus on the pants, but it actually makes her focus that much more diverted. She makes a spinning motion with her pointer finger as she purses her lips. He takes a quick spin and the boot cut slightly flares with his movement. The pants are a dark brown with a single plaid crossing in a lighter brown. They are only lightly flared, which she prefered to the extreme flare that some of Harry’s suits had. She narrows her eyes at the pants to keep her gaze from shifting to the taut muscles of Harry’s arms and torso or the dark ink that licked over his skin in the beautiful designs of his choice.

“They’re nice,” she pulls up a picture of the top part of the outfit he was planning on wearing, “Do you think they match with this though?” Harry walks over to her seated position and bends to look at her phone. His skin radiates heat and the smell of his cologne and she sniffles slightly with her sensitive nose. His eyes flicker to her face when he notices her little noise, but returns to looking at the phone when she doesn’t spare him a glance. She felt his gaze on her, but couldn’t bring herself to look from the phone. She knew his proximity would make it even harder for her to keep her eyes off his naked torso. The expensive smell of Harry mixed with the expensive smell of the store was a lot to handle.

“Yeah...no. You think they’re not right,” she widens her eyes at Harry’s words when he pulls away. He turns to the mirror in the open dressing room and fiddles with the waistline of the pants. “I agree,” he finishes before stalking back into the room and shutting the heavy velvet curtain that worked as the door to it.

He tries on five more pairs of trousers and finally settles on two pairs for the two different listening parties. A heavier, wool-tweed pair that was dark brown and then a lighter brown tweed pair. He was still in the lighter pants as he stared into the mirror. He beckoned to Y/N, and she quickly set down the flute of Champagne she had been sipping at lazily as he admired himself.

“Is it possible for you to take it in a bit more,” he says in a hushed tone to her, not wanting the workers to overhear. They were helpful but if they overheard they would wait for the store to tailor the trousers and he preferred for Y/N to do it. He rubs at the waistline again and she moves closer, her hands going to his sides. Her fingertips graze the naked skin above the trousers and Harry shivers at the coldness of the new touch. She ghosts softly over the waistline herself and smooths the fabric until she’s pinching a small amount on each side. She hums, pulling back from Harry and looking at the fit of them now, examining whether that makes them look better.

Then she nods and smiles up at Harry, “Ever the slender waist,” he grins right back as she admires him. She knew how much he liked praise and she was happy to give it to him, especially when he was so deserving. “I’d say size down, but then your thighs and bum might strain the fabric too much.” His face turns to a smirk as she blushes at her words. She releases the fabric and takes a hand to pat Harry’s smooth chest before walking back to her seat on the lovely couch.

“You sure you don’t want to try anything on, Y/N? Saw some killer boots when we walked in that screamed you.” Harry calls from behind the curtain, presumably getting redressed. Her laugh comes through the curtain slightly muffled, yet still a sweet melody in Harry’s ears.

“Definitely not now, we’re leaving any minute. Plus, I’ve got plenty of Gucci boots, don’t even show me them or I’ll be tempted.”

His laughter rings through the curtains, loud and unrestrained. She smiles to herself, unable to discourage the pleasure that weaves through her at the sound. His presence in all the different ways she experienced it was instantly comforting.

-

When she arrives back to her London flat, she practically flops on her couch once she’s inside the door. Her luggage forgotten at the door, as she shrugs off her coat. It was around 7 am because she had chosen to take the red eye for some reason. She groaned as she thought about the day ahead of her. Even though Harry was halfway across the globe, she still had plenty of work to do. She had to finalize the outfits for the listening parties now that they had the pants to complete the looks. Then she had to start thinking about Harry’s December appearances. She had sent ahead his Late Late outfits that he had needed in Los Angeles for the pre-filming, but she still had to deal with the outfits for the live part of the show.

Today, she was set to go pick up the other pieces needed for the listening parties as well as items for the Graham Norton Show and Jingle Ball. She was most excited for her travels because that meant looking at brand new clothes that were perfect and gorgeous. She also knew she needed to spot clean Harry’s shirt, which didn’t spark as much joy in her tired mind.

The idea of the shirt staining with alcohol was what brought her out of her snuggling with her comfy couch. Sure, it couldn’t get that bad, but still she was a worrier and it would pain her if the iconic shirt got ruined. She padded back over to her luggage, now without her jacket or shoes. Her major suitcase got flipped on its side and she began to unzip it. It came open easily seeing as it was stuffed with her clothes and various items. She had to rummage a minute for Harry’s shirt that seemed to have run away inside the bag. Finally, the large white shirt made itself known and she grasped it happily.

As she looked over the stain near the collar of the shirt, her eyes traveled to a piece of fabric peeking out of her suitcase. It was a familiar blue, cream and white. A specific fabric she would never misplace, would never not recognize. Harry’s plaid Bode jacket. It was iconic and she loved it, but why did she have it in her suitcase. She definitely didn’t mean to have it, it’s genuinely just one of Harry’s jackets so it wouldn’t make sense for her to bring it back with the show's wardrobe. She tries to think back to yesterday, when she was still in New York. Thinking about why she would have it, she places the memories of Harry coming to her room, taking off his coat, and accidentally leaving it in her room all fit together. She must have just absentmindedly placed it in her suitcase without even realizing. She’s sure Harry wouldn’t mind, she’d shoot him a text, though, to tell him she had it. So he wouldn’t worry about whether he’d lost it or not.

When she gets ready for the day, she finds herself being drawn to blue and cream. Her outfit is understated and she just knows the jacket would finish the look. She loved that jacket and now that she had it, would it be a big deal if she wore it out. She figured it was fine. After she grabbed her purse, keys, and other essentials, she slipped on the coat. Harry was very broad shouldered and it hung oversized on her. She loved the look and snapped a selfie in the mirror before she headed out. While it felt a little narcissistic to constantly take photos of herself, she felt like as a stylist it was important to document her looks just as much as she documented her clients.

What she didn’t think about is just how much the rest of the world liked to document her client and those who were seen with her client. She didn’t think about how she had just been seen with Harry yesterday. That thought didn’t even cross her mind as she walked around the streets of London picking up her work. As she saw some photographers out and about (whom she assumed were for famous celebrities, not her). How it might seem with her wearing the Bode jacket Harry had worn on SNL two nights ago. The Bode jacket that there were only two of.

None of it crossed her mind. Not until it was the end of the day and she had a whole slew of texts from Harry’s manager. A few from Harry, and others but the other fifteen were solely from Jeff. She was a bad texter so as she walked into her flat and finally looked at her phone after putting down all of her garment bags her eyes went wide.

Please tell me you’re not out in London right now!

What are you wearing??

That cannot be Harry’s jacket Y/N

Seriously?

Please call me.

CALL ME. NOW.

      - All from Jeff.

She grimaced. The others from her friends including Harry would have to be ignored right now. Even if Harry was her boss, Jeff was who she had to deal with when it came to public appearances and it didn’t seem like she could get around this one. Normally, she never had to deal with him, but it seems today wasn’t normal.

- 

part 2

#harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x reader #harry styles #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles smut #harry styles fan fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles oneshot #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #smut soon #part 1 #harrys stylist right? #agh pls enjoy im so nervous #feedback is needed or ill be sad #hopefully you enjoy #lmk!!

[brittledame]

Characters: Ushijima Wakatoshi, Tendou Satori, Yamagata Hayato, Reon Oohira, Semi Eita, Shirabu Kenjirou, Kawanishi Taichi, Goshiki Tsutomu

Word Count: 5.7K

Tags: SFW, gender neutral reader, first date nerves, fluff, ages not specified

Notes: I did this instead of working on the other projects bc I wanted some fluff and here it is!

Ushijima:

On a visit with his grandmother is when he’s told about a local pottery masterclass happening the following weekend, piquing his interest

After some research, he comes to learnt that pottery is the perfect relaxing hobby with the added benefit of fine tuning his dexterity

It didn’t take much else to convince him to go

It was only after talking to a friend that he realises he should probably invite someone to tag along

After his grandmother politely declines, he follows her coy suggestion of inviting someone he likes

He invites you seemingly out of the blue

You’ve known him for a great deal of time and done some activities with him that could be construed as “romantic” and only started dating when Ushijima stated your relationship status to his team nearly a month ago

The look on your face when you found out at the exact moment as his team was priceless

After that, Ushijima left your relationship status on no uncertain terms and practically broadcasted it in his own unique way

This pottery class serves as another way to spend more time with you

After a few minutes of the pottery teacher painstakingly going through the motions to make a basic pot, a whirring noise followed by wet splattering steals your attention away from the clump of clay that is slowly taking form.

You glance over to find Ushijima looking at you, nonplussed at the mess of what was his pot now decorating his mock and forearms, his face is not left unmarked with the few splotches painting his cheek

You gape at him as he blinks as if coming out of a daze and looks down at the poor clump of clay and murmurs a small, “Oh.”

You didn’t mean to laugh, not really, but the utter surprise in his tone topped you over

After a mild scolding from the teacher and a new clump of clay, the two of you were good to go once again

The both of you took longer than most of the class, you with fussing about the tiny bumps you just couldn’t seem to smooth out and Ushijima with his second try

The class seemed to have unlocked his innate mastery of the ancient craft, as the pot looked near store-quality, you note with an ounce of envy

The group takes a break over some snacks and drinks as the pots are loaded into the kiln

Ushijima meticulously picks through the various glazes they had to offer, seeking your assistance after you picked your own out

You suggest the purple as homage to Shiratorizawa, where you two met, and the dark-rich brown, claiming it reminded you of his eyes

He considers you for a moment, a long enough pause for you to think over your words and begin to regret them before he nods decidedly and proudly presents the glazes he picked to the lady

With the class wrapping up, the lady running the class pops up as you two inspect your creations.

“Do you mind if I take a picture to post on our social media?”

Ushijima shakes his head as you answer, “We don’t mind.”

She flashes a wide smile and aims her phone in your direction. “Great! Say ‘pottery’.”

On cue you plaster on smile and brandish the clay creation as the camera clicks.

The lady, who is somehow even more dirtied than Ushijima, inspects the picture.

“You two are so cute together!” She fawns over the two of you. “I hope you enjoy the rest of your date together.”

She disappears before either of you can correct her.

You blurt out, "Is this a date?"

A pause. Then a hum, "I suppose it is."

A shared smile, you leave the studio with linked hands.

When you get home, you prowl through the studio’s page and find the picture and break out into gut-clutching laughter at the almost-pained looking smile Ushijima makes, tiny pot perched in his large hands adding a comedic effect.

After you recover, you end up saving it and making it your screen saver.

Tendou:

For all his casual confidence, you’re the one to ask him out and he’s the one to officially declare it the “big” first date

The plan was to go manga/book shopping and eat at the in-store cafe

It sounded like a pretty cut-and-dry standard date but with Tendou anything can turn into an adventure

Ecstatic is an understatement on how excited Tendou was for the weekend

He was nearly berated a dozen times for not paying enough attention to what he was doing and almost caused a small fire at one stage

You didn’t fare much better, either

The pair of you got a great deal of laughter from relaying it to one another in the late night hours before meeting up

Although underneath it all lurked the residual anxiety he tried to fight away, so he reminds you during the call, just to check that you didn’t regret inviting him out

As much as he despised the thought, the dark voice whispering at him that you would stand him up were quickly silenced when you show up with a bright smile and his name on your lips

Tendou reckons it’s the sweetest noise he’s ever heard, right after your laughter that he coaxes out with the little melodies he sings to himself as the two of you make way to the popular bookstore

After arriving, you wonder apart to check out separate sections and end up meeting at again the in-store café with books in hand

Over the chocolate cake slice Tendou brought to share, you take turns to gush over the selected choices spread across the tabletop

“I mean it isn’t that over done.” You argue, popping another forkful of the overly-sweet cake into your mouth.

Tendou throws his hands into the air. “Are you serious? Hero meets bad guy, then they fight a whole bunch, bad guy kills a bunch of people and the hero never kills the guy because he ‘doesn’t want to stoop to their level’,” You don’t mask your laughter at the overexaggerated deep voice Tendou imitates. “It’s not fair to the people that the bad guy goes to hurt later on.”

“Oh, I entirely agree with you there.” You take a moment to wonder how Tendou has eaten nearly half the thing to himself already, you’ve barely been seated for longer than a few minutes. “When done wrong, the whole ‘taking the high ground’ troupe is really tacky.”

Tendou blinks at you like he didn’t expect you to respond. You raise a brow at him as a toothy grin spreads over his face, a slight pink painted across his pale cheeks.

“What?”

“Nothing. I like talking to someone that knows their stuff, is all. Don’t get me wrong, miracle boy is great company, but I can only try to convince him to read more than the ads they run for so long before I go insane.” He chuckles under his breath, words heartfelt enough that a matching heat spreads across your cheeks.

“I enjoy this too.”

A wide grin overtakes his face at your admittance.

“Well then, let’s not stop!” He offers, stretching his hand towards yours. You clasp it, feeling delicate against his larger one. “I still have to tell you about the whole ‘boy is given power he doesn’t know how to control and needs to find a grumpy mentor’ troupe next!”

You squeeze his hand. “I’d love to hear your thoughts on that one.”

Tendou clicks his tongue and wags his finger at you. “It’s not necessarily about my thoughts, it’s the conspiracy I think the troupe ties into.”

The seriousness in his tone made you pause, looks like you were in for a long one.

Amongst him linking the heroes journey and the innate desire for power over others, you marvel at the way his whole body comes alive when talking about something he loves.

It’s much later on, when he’s introducing you to his friends at a reunion, that you notice the bubbly and animated way he presents you to his friends, love evident in each and every word.

Semi:

Now you would think he’d be the calm and collected one after knowing each other for half a decade and dating for a month

Nope.

He's the type to plan to ask you at the perfect time, and will be in a pissy mood if he misses the "perfect" opportunity to ask

When he does finally pose the question, you’ll say yes and he’s ecstatic

Though, he will play it cool and be like, "Ok I'll text you the details later." And flash you the biggest smile that has you melting inside just a little

When he's trying to sleep that night it finally hits him

Oh shit he has to plan a date with the girl he’s been hopelessly pining for

After one text from you confirming you don’t mind where he picks, he’s both relieved and more stressed because now he has to analyse every little thing he knows about you and eventually starts doubting himself

In the end, he decides to play it safe and go with the popular, family owned cafe that plays live music Saturday afternoons

It was perfect, the music act would be quiet enough to still talk if you two wanted or serve as a mediator to break any awkward silence should it pop up

It is honestly the perfect date, in his mind

Comes the day and he swings around your place after agreeing to walk to the café together

The walk is characterised with the brisk autumn wind and catching each other up on what’s been going on during the week

The conversation doesn’t stop from there – something Semi could cry happily over

After ordering and grabbing a seat close to a stage set-up to the side, you note how bright and talkative Semi is and vow to yourself to see this more often

As he takes a sip in the middle of explaining the difference pick positions affects plucking sounds, you comment on his excitement

Even with the flush on his cheeks, he holds a suave facade and merely says that it’s hard to unwind when his friends can be so chaotic when they get together

From there he starts opening up and imparting little facts about himself that you commit to memory

You come to learn that his favourite colour was corn-silk yellow before he went to Shiratorizawa, now it’s royal purple. He loves tekka maki and boasts his mum’s hand-made ones to be the best in the world and offers to share it with you next time she makes them

All of these things slot into what you know about Semi, filed alongside the nuance’s you’ve noticed yourself.

When he’s unsure or embarrassed, he tousles his hair. And when he talks about something he’s passionate with, his hands start gesturing all about the place

You could’ve spent the whole afternoon like that, in the intimately-lit café, hidden amongst the dull chatter of the surrounding patrons, just listening to Semi’s soothing timbre

But life had other plans

The lights on the stage brighten as someone wearing comfortable clothes strolls on and perches up on the stool set-up in front of a lone microphone. She didn’t give off any signs of discomfort at being stared at as she sets up her guitar, giving a few testing strums before introducing herself and launching into her music.

It was only then that conversation broke and ushered in a lilting voice floating on gentle notes.

“They’re amazing.” You breath, eyes not leaving the stage until the musician dismounts from the stage.

“That’s what I want to do one day.”

You turn to him. “Really?”

“Yeah.” The corner of Semi’s lips quirk up a bit, a secret shared unto himself.

“Why?”

Genuine curiosity spurs you to ask, to know. While you could picture Semi perched on the same stool with a guitar all too easy, you never really thought Semi would pursue a career in the industry.

Semi finally turns to you, a fire in his eyes that was normally caused by volleyball and a good challenge. “I want to make people happy and sad - all the emotions really. I want someone to look at me like you did to that girl.”

Tilting your head you say, “Looking at her like what?”

Semi audible swallows. “Like someone that loves the music I make.”

Reaching over the table, you run your thumb over the backs of his knuckles, a comforting gesture. “Semi, I already love talking to you and hanging out, so why wouldn’t I like the music you write?”

The resultant blush on Semi’s face was answer enough to that, even though he tries to hide it behind his cup.

After that, meeting up at the café ends up becoming a weekly occurrence, an oasis that you both look forward to in the midst of life’s chaos.

Yamagata:

Yamagata actually is the smoothest out of them all

After a two weeks of dating, he bounces up to you after a particularly hard day and offers to take you somewhere fun the next day

Your definition of ‘fun’ varies from his, as you soon find out

Where Yamagata believes the best way to get to know someone and have fun simultaneously is putting them through challenges, whereas you believe sitting down and chatting to be the most optimal method

Unfortunately for him and fortunately for you, the paint ball range is closed

Amusement park it is

He leaves it as a surprise and doesn’t tell you until you question the sign of the park he visited frequently as a kid

Overall, you have an absolute ball with him, never a dull moment

Especially after the ferris wheel when Hayato goes to reach for his phone to check the time and finds it missing

The only reason he had it out in the plastic swinging booth was to take a sneaky picture of you looking carefree and relaxed as you gazed down at the park – not that he admitted to that when you asked just how it escaped his pocket

Obviously, it was a very slippery phone since this was the third time this week alone he lost it

After tracking it down with the help of the kind but tired ride operator, the two of you were on your merry way to the next ride, but not without a few light-hearted digs at Yamagata’s forgetfulness

You get to learn a lot about each other personally while waiting in line and over lunch after recovering

At the end of the day, your cheeks ache from much smiled

“I don’t remember it being that crazy as a kid.” Yamagata says, looking pale and breathing shallowly, as if to keep himself from being sick.

You couldn’t blame him, the rollercoaster he convinced you to go on under the guise of “This was my favourite one as a kid! You wouldn’t deny a man from reliving his childhood, would you?”

And like a fool you caved under the pout like a badly cooked soufflé. Now you wished you put up a bit of a fight against going on it. The screams of the riders before you were not exaggerated in the slightest.

“I don’t know how they allow kids on that.” Is all you supply, feeling a little green as well.

Yamagata directs you to the nearest bench and you follow his lead and slump into the seat.

“I don’t know how I forgot how much that thing threw me around. I must’ve just about fell off as a tiny kid. Remind me to thank my dad for coming on with me.”

You try not to laugh at the image of a tiny Yamagata ecstatically cheering as the ride swings around corners at full speed as his dad frantically tries to keep his clueless son from getting tossed out of the cart.

“Your dad is a brave man to go on that thing wilfully.”

Yamagata grimaces. “Brave is a nice way of putting it. I’d call it being insane to put up with me wanting to ride it eight times over.”

This time you do laugh.

“It must be hard saying no to your own kid, though, so cut him some slack.” You joke, knocking your elbow against his side.

He playfully pushes you away, widely grinning once again. The heat from the sun blaring ahead suddenly floods into your cheeks. The sensation of your heart feeling too large for your ribcage seizes you.

And the feeling doesn’t leave, it sticks with you as he laughs, as he drops his ice cream and pouts like a child. It intensifies as a dreamy look enters his eyes as he recalls a fond memory associated with a ride.

You hope that one day that he makes the same expression when he recalls this day spent with you.

Reon:

For some reason, Reon seems like the kind of guy to be inherently talented with gardening

He’s the resident green thumb alongside Ushijima, people pass their dying plants into Reon’s hands for magical resurrection

So it was a no-brainer for him to take you to the local botanical gardens

Rife with both native and exotic flora, there were many scenic walks available, thus was the perfect place for a first date to Reon

Reon meets you at the gates with a soft greeting and an outstretched hand – you two walk through the park with your hand intertwined like that for the rest of the day

Throughout the walk, he points out flowers and gives you their common name and their meanings, along with the meanings he gave them as a kid

It was entirely too cute for your poor heart

“And those are yellow carnation.” He points to a patch of bright yellow flowers with soft-looking ruffled petals. “They represent dislike and disappointment towards the person you give them to, but as a kid I thought they meant that she was my sunshine because of the colour. My mum got quite the kick out of it when I gave them to her for her birthday.”

You burst into laughter, unable to smother it even with Reon’s apparent embarrassment at the event

If your allergies start to play up too badly, Reon will take you to his favourite part, a densely packed section of the gardens filled with trees, concealing a secluded tiny red bridge stretched across a large koi pond with the largest and most colourful koi you’ve seen

Everything within you wanted to stretch this moment out, you could easily live in this moment forever. The buzzing of cicadas in the distance, the grass blades tickling the palms of your hands from where you sat, the soothing rumble of Reon’s voice – this is your personal slice Elysian peace

You did not want to give this up

It’s there that he finally unlinks your hands and brings out the packed lunch he made.

“You made all this?” You gape, taking in the diverse range of food he brought out of his bag.

From seared fish placed neatly atop seasoned rice, to perfectly rounded onigiri. In the next box he opens sat seasoned chicken and beef slices that made your mouth water. Not to mention the salad of rich greens, reds, and yellows that called your name.

Reon chuckles at your awe. “Yeah, I did. I thought it would be nice to eat something home-made while out here, but if you wan to grab something else-“

You cut him off immediately. “Definitely not! This looks and smells amazing. It would be a crime not to eat it.”

The corners of Reon’s eyes crinkle as he smiles, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I did try not to burn it, so I hope it tastes nice.”

“If it tastes even half as good as it smells, you’ll have to fight me to stop eating.” You reply, accepting the plate he holds out and give thanks as he starts loading your plate.

“I’d never stop you from eating,” he clicks his tongue in false sternness, to which you grin at. “If you’re hungry, I’ll feed you until your happy.”

“I’m happy right now, but I definitely still want the food.” You cheekily fire back.

Reon shakes his head, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Well then, eat to your heart’s content.”

Taking a bite, you startle Reon with your enthusiastic reaction.

“This tastes better than I imagined.” You gush after swallowing, immediately scooping up another forkful and eating it.

Reon brushes off your compliment in favour for leaning forward and brushing some crumbs off your face. The proximity as your breath stalling in your throat as he lingers for a heartbeat longer, then withdraws.

“I hope we can do this more often. This is the most fun I’ve had in a while.” He quietly admits, the mood taking an intimate turn even with the shouts of kids playing in the distance.

“Me too. I don’t want this date to end.”

Shirabu:

This man prides himself on being observant and not oblivious like how his friends are

And yet, contrary to this, it takes him several trips to realise that he’s been on what would count as a date with you

You'll talk about needing a new jumper for winter and Shirabu will ask to tag along. You wanted to watch a movie? Shirabu is coming too. Like having someone besides you while studying? Shirabu was your go-to study buddy, whether in silence or as a conversation partner when your brain was overloaded

Out of the blue, he asks with no certain amount of panic, "Were those trips I went on with you dates?"

"I never really gave it much thought…” You match Shirabu’s expression as you consider his question. "I didn’t want to be presumptuous and assume that they were, and you never brought it up, so I left it be."

"Let me have a re-do." Determination flares in his usually guarded eyes and you couldn't refute.

“Gladly.”

Shirabu glances away from your face, unable to bear looking at the fond expression you wore for too long without his heart suffering. “I want to take you somewhere nice.”

“Everywhere I go with you is nice, Shirabu. It’s less about the place and more about the person.” You rebuke.

Shirabu looks away before you catch the full extent of his blush at your words. “No, I mean I want to take you somewhere that can become special for the both of us.”

You catch his hand in yours, tugging it for him to turn back towards you. Gone was the characteristic impassive façade, now replaced with a tenderness that makes you near melt.

Your first official date with him is a picnic in a park on top a hill to watch the sunset

Something he thinks is extremely cheesy and overdone but the look of excitement on your face immediately silenced his rebuttals

There was no way in hell that he was going to be the reason for your disappointment if he can help it

As such, he went all out

Hiring the gazebo and ordering food to be delivered from a restaurant he knows that you’ve wanted to try out for the longest time

Not that he actually tells you, but it wasn’t hard to deduce his excitement when he waits for you at the gazebo with a small smile, dressed nicely in pressed slacks and a dress shirt with a bundle of flowers

Upon the wide-eyed stare he receives from you, he spends the first minutes of the date describing what the florist thought best for him

A bunch of camellias ranging from a deep and vivid red to the first blush of love pink to the innocence of white gathered in a golden ribbon. He doesn’t exactly tell you their meanings other than a short, “Flowers are flowers, all I want them to show is that I love you.”

What he didn’t know was that the florist had the foresight to hide a card detailing the meaning of each flower amongst the paper holding them

White camellias meaning “You’re adorable” to red camellias meaning “You’re a flame in my heart” (something you blush at in the security of your own home) and the pink one representing longing

As the meal arrives and the two of you eat, the conversation drifts from current events to bits and pieces of everything and anything

The highlight of conversation was Kenjirou’s answer to the question “What do you think you’ll see first: a ghost or an alien?”

Apparently Kenjirou was secretly a space-lover

From the lecture he launched into about the statistics of it all and you come away from that conversation with more knowledge of possibility of E.T's versus spectres than you would’ve thought

The afternoon starts fading into dusk quicker than you realised, too wrapped up trading short anecdotes of your respective families

Shirabu only realises the fading light once the fairy lights decorating the space become brighter, and it is only then that Shirabu like a gentleman, brings out a blanket and escorts you to the grassy knoll besides the gazebo

Laying out the blanket, you notice it’s the perfect position to watch the sun set and you can’t help but give him a quick hug in gratitude before you sit down and make yourself comfortable

It floored you how much effort and consideration he put into this one afternoon amongst all his classes and assignments – it made you feel incredibly warm against the cool night air creeping in

As you shift to get comfortable, your hand lands on top of his. You’re just about to whisk it away, but he shoots you a soft smile and twists his hand in your grasp and gives it a squeeze

Your hands stayed intertwined as the blues faded into pinks and oranges, then into purples and the deep satiny blue of the night sky

The sunny photos with matching smiles from that afternoon soon decorate your wall

Kawanishi:

Unlike the others, Taichi really doesn’t care about being seen as “basic” for taking you out to watch a movie and grab dinner afterwards

He asked you out so casually, you agreed without it even hitting you that it was a date until he grinned at you and cheekily replied, “Great, it’s a date then.”

The movie in question was one you’ve been waiting forward for its release and Taichi was interested in it as well, so really it was an excuse for the both of you to watch the movie together instead of alone.

It went great, asides from the old couple staring the two of you in line, not so quietly reminiscing their first date

Embarrassment aside, Taichi was sweet throughout the entirety of it

Arguing to pay until reluctantly splitting the bill when you argued that it wasn’t fair

Waiting outside for it to start, Taichi and yourself bide the time by guessing what the other movies were about by their posters and making each other laugh

Once the movie starts, the chatter between you two dies down, yet the casual intimacy doesn’t fade in the slightest

Sharing an arm rest, the both of you exchange glances at one another throughout the movie, and bump elbows when something interesting or funny happens

It was a far-cry from the intimacy of the other’s dates, but it was perfect for the two of you

By now, the two of you have been friends much longer than you have been dating

Neither of you wanted to rush things, happy to take it as it comes and retain that familiarity from years of friendship stay untainted from the innate awkwardness of new love

Coming out of the theatre, Taichi is the most talkative you’ve seen him yet as he offers his opinion on the film

You avidly listen without a word of complaint

It was nice to hear what went through Taichi’s mind when he always kept his emotions close to his heart, you felt damn-near jubilant over him coming out of his shell – even after all the years of friendship

He offers to grab dinner and after a mild debate over which place is better, you end up flipping a coin and grabbing some fast food and eating it at a near-by park

Eating the meal in relative silence, it was only broken to point out the ducks and giving them names. It was laid-back and you were enjoying yourself, yet Taichi remained stiff by your side.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry if this isn’t exactly the most romantic date.” Taichi rubs at the back of his neck, avoiding your eyes.

You quirk a brow at him. “How isn’t this a romantic date?”

Taichi finally looks at you, although in confusion. “Because I should’ve taken you to a nice, fancy restaurant for our first date.”

“I work on the belief that anywhere is romantic if you make it so. It depends on the company.” You shrug.

Taichi’s mouth curves into a smirk. “Oh? So you wouldn’t mind having our next one at a cemetery?”

You dig an elbow into his side and roll your eyes at the performance he puts on.

“That’s not what I meant, smartass.”

Taichi stops the pouting and slumps into the seat. Hating the sombre mood he’s in, you curl your arm through his and tuck into his side.

“Besides, you can always make it up to me in the future. I want the place to be so expensive that the proportions are baby-sized.”

Taichi’s rich laugh rumbles through you. It was a losing battle against the rapid thrum of your heart and the thoughts of warmth that consume you with his proximity.

You also didn’t try to fight the urge to cuddle further into his side, something he gladly accepted as he wraps his arm even tighter around you.

“I promise.” He sighs, a happy noise as he rests his head against yours, two bodies becoming one whole on that one spring afternoon.

Goshiki:

Not everything in life is a competition, yet Goshiki couldn’t thrive without it

Besides, if he thought too long and hard about it (which he did) an arcade date was the best option

It presented the perfect chance to show off his skills and impress you

When he finally works up the courage to ask you, it had been a while since you’ve been, so you were more than happy to accept

Goshiki deflated with relief because a back-up option didn’t exist

Even after dating for over a month by this point, this would be the first official date he’s taken you out on

After worrying that it was too childish or not at all romantic for a first date, you spent the better half of the afternoon before it convincing him otherwise

At the arcade, Goshiki takes your hand and guides you around the place, pointing out games he bested as a teenager before finally settling on war-cross-zombie two player shooting game

With the growing win streak, the two of you continue playing the game until Goshiki accidentally gets his player killed

Pouting, he suggests a different game to soothe his bruised ego

The pout disappears as he finds a different game he’s decent at, tickets flying out as the points rack up

He glows as you praise his skill

It was too easy to bait him into playing hoop games, which he surprisingly sucked at

You discovered him to be especially gifted at reflex games, where the both of you won the most tickets

With each claw game he stubbornly refuses to “eat his hard-earned money”, he proudly passes off each plushie to you

Goshiki wins whatever prize your eyes linger over, no matter how frustrated it makes him

With each one, you promise to keep and inwardly muse that you’ll have to install a new shelf for them

A few hours deep, you had managed to win him an eagle. It’s the only prize you had won big enough to portray the amount of affection you held towards the bowl-cut male.

It was a bit mishappen and looked more fit to be the mascot for a horror game than a children’s show, however you still offered it to him.

His eyes grow wide. “Really?”

“I mean, I can get you something better if you give me a few minutes…” You frown at the plushie as Goshiki holds it up. It’s even uglier in the light. Why the hell would they have this as a prize?

You reach out to grab it from him and Goshiki snatches it away from your grasp, pressing it into his chest and curling around it protectively. “No!”

You stand there, stunned, as Goshiki flushes at the looks he got from the shout and starts stumbling over his words.

“I mean, it’s fine and not creepy at all – No, I mean it’s cute,” he unconvincingly amends at your wince. “It’s something that you worked hard to get. I’ll treasure it forever, I swear.”

The conviction in his voice was enough to ease your concern.

“I could get you a better one, though. One that’s less creepy.” You offer, gesturing towards the wide array of claw machines boasting figurines and cuter plushies.

“No thank you. I like this one.” Goshiki is stubborn and you should’ve expected that.

You sigh, lips unsurely pulling upwards. “If you’re sure?”

Goshiki gives a sharp nod, and you know that that’s the end of that. He would not budge.

Yet you couldn’t find it within yourself to be exasperated at the awe-filled look he gives the plushie as you two leave the arcade, holding it like it was made of expensive finery instead of cheap thread and fabric.

Months later you got to see the monstrosity again, tucked up on the shelf above his bed, proudly sitting between medals he’s won through the years.

#shiratorizawa x reader #ushijima wakatoshi #tendou satori #semi eita #yamagata hayato #reon oohira #shirabu kenjirou #kawanishi taichi #goshiki tsutomu #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyu x reader #reader insert #ushijima x reader #tendou x reader #semi x reader #yamagata x reader #reon x reader #shirabu x reader #kawanishi x reader #taichi x reader #goshiki x reader #haikyuu!! #haikyu!! #hq #hq x reader #gender neutral reader #god so many tags #now to finish the shirabu wip ahaha

[libertytm]

9/22/21 - 9/25/21 temp  dash  /  ooc  hiatus  of  sorts:  nothing  major,  just  gonna  take  a  few days  off  the  dash  ( with  light  lurking  possibly  bc  what  is  self  control ),  and  will  be  much  slower  with  ims  and  disco.  i’ll  still  be  posting  ic  stuff  and  working  on  drafts/memes,  just  need  some  time  to  recharge  my  depleted  social  batteries.  luv  ya’ll  and  hope  you  have  a  great  rest  of  your  week !

#OOC. #i'll be back on my regularly scheduled bullshit by the weekend #work is just depleting me completely for social interactions

[cellsshapedlikestars]

honestly just some personal jonsa feelings, feel free to ignore

so I’m pretty in my feelings lately, feel free to scroll right past this cause it’s gonna just be me being a sap about the jonsa community for a while.

Ok, so one year ago I went onto a new bc that really fucked with my hormones. You know how they say to give it three months to even out? Well month one was fine, but month two really went off the rails. And it was during Thanksgiving break that I holed myself up in my house because I was too anxious to leave for my entire five day vacation (I had plans, I cancelled them all). My whole personality seemed like it changed - I didn’t enjoy doing anything I normally enjoyed and I was miserable. And so I thought, huh, maybe I’ll read some fanfic, it’s been years, but I used to love reading & writing it. I remember back in the day, when I was depressed, it helped me.

And so I thought about which fandom to read. My old fandoms were dead or I had no interest in them anymore. The only thing I was still massively obsessed with was GOT. During the course of the show, I listened to multiple podcasts about it, read theories, talked about it at length with my friends who watched it, hosted elaborate watch parties, but I never really got super involved in the fandom online. And it wasn’t a show I ever shipped anyone on until we got to s6 and Jonsa hit me over the head and I went through the rest of the show going ‘wow I hope those two kids bang at some point and get to be happy together’. Obvi they didn’t.

So last year, Thanksgiving break, I spent five full days doing nothing but being anxious and reading Jonsa fics. Many, many Jonsa fics. There’s a part of me that wants to shout out the ones I remember, the ones that truly captivated me, but I know I’ll forget some people and I don’t want to make a half assed list and leave someone off. But just know - it helped me. They all helped me.

My meds eventually evened out, but I didn’t stop reading. 

Then covid hit. My state locked down pretty quickly and by the end of March, I was working full time at home. I live by myself and, having lived with various people in the past, it’s what works best for me. I’m an introvert, I handled quarantine better than most. But by July, especially when my state reopened and I had to go back into my office part time where 90% of the people don’t believe in masks or that covid even exists, my anxiety and depression was at an all time high.

I’ve always written stories in my head. As previously stated, I wrote fanfic for other fandoms, but at some point I succumbed to the idea that I had to ‘grow up’ and stop enjoying things??? why do we do this to ourselves??? In July I was so wound tight with anxiety that I decided to just write out the stories in my head because it used to help me. For a week I did nothing but sit with my laptop and write and write and cry and write until I had 40k of a story and I stared at it for another few days debating if I should post it or not.

because that’s the thing. I’d been lurking for months and months and crossing that line, creating an account on ao3, posting my shit, opening myself up to criticism and reviews, it wasn’t something I did on a whim. I obsessed about it until finally just doing it. And I’m so glad I did.

It’s been about four/five months since my first post and I can’t tell you how happy I am that I de-lurked. I started using my old tumblr again (after abandoning it like I had writing/reading fanfic). This community has been so welcoming and supportive and like I just really want to say thank you. To the people here on tumblr who interact with me (even though my anxiety brain is always like ‘don’t be annoying, leave people alone’), to people who review, & kudos my stories. Even to people who just read them, who lurk like I used to.

I fucking hate being sappy IRL and now that I look at how much I’ve typed I kinda want to just delete it all but I’m gonna post it. And then probably delete it later

#jonsa #jonsa fam

[generalfoolish]

Feel The Heat

Part Two: Something More

Pairing: Frankie Morales x OC Juniper Collins

Rating: 18+ (b/c minors shouldn't lurk, it is illegal and not polite.) But this is big fluff, just more exposition and pining and world building. I do curse, so there's that.

Word Count: 4k+

Summary: June and Frankie are big idiots, and they keep bumping into each other in the wildest of places. Again, and I can't overstate this: they’re both MASSIVE idiots.

A/N: Hey babes! This is going a little slower bc I want to give more with each update, I normally keep around 1K and these are little beasts. But I'm excited with the story, some threads are exposing themselves, and there will be more Frankie X OC time in the next part. For now, enjoy this little taste of yearning and pining and overthinking and general angst over meeting a cute new somebody. 💕

Masterlist | Part One | Part Three

June checked her phone as she stirred the pot, and groaned at the email count. More than half were parents who “couldn’t” make the conference, and the rest were from her principal wanting to reiterate the importance of those meetings. She dropped the phone back to the counter, and focused on her pot. She had googled what to do with Brandywines, and had decided on a slowly simmered tomato sauce. It paired beautifully with the fresh garlic and basil she had picked up, and the whole house smelled like an Italian restaurant.

This was her favorite way to use up produce in the summer. She spent hours simmering and canning, and got to enjoy the fruits of her labor in the dead of winter. She knew she could easily gift the sauce made from those beautiful tomatoes, and she had every intention of doing so.

Sundays passed so quickly, she hardly had time to dwell on the farmer, but when she caught a whiff of her stove she had to find something to do. She worked through the emails, sending reminders that the conferences were mandatory, and that if the parents couldn’t make it during the week before or after school, she was available to meet online. She fought the temptation to open her weekends. She was working on work boundaries with her therapist.

June had an easier time fighting off thoughts of the farmer as the day waned on, and she thought, foolishly, that she could just forget the brown eyed grump she had met.

--

Frankie was having a hard time focusing on anything. Liv was a bundle of energy, and he tried not to snap at her. He had her come help him in the garden, but he ended up sending her to dig for worms after she trampled another vine.

“Ew! Worms are gross.” She argued.

“I know, but didn’t you want to go fishing? Fish eat worms, it’s how we can get them out of the water.” He explained, carefully. She considered him, then bounded off, calling out to the worms. He chuckled watching her, and went back to pulling weeds. With a moment of quiet, his mind flitted back to the woman. He couldn’t help it. He had dreamt of her. She was lounging in the back of his mind, waiting for him to stumble into the memory. Liv was a good distraction, but she only held the woman at bay for so long. He grumbled and wiped his brow. He decided to give it up for now, the woman and the weeding.

“Princess, I think we have some hotdogs. Let’s try those.” He called over to Liv, who excitedly left behind her freshly dug hole.

“Daddy, Mrs. Becka wanted me to remind you about the school stuff.” Liv told him, grabbing his hand as they walked. He exhaled sharply. He had forgotten the meetings. He pulled his phone from his pocket and scrolled through Becka’s texts. She had sent him the teacher’s number at some point, he knew, the trouble was finding it. Finally, he clicked the blue hyper-linked number and called it. Liv ran inside ahead of him, looking for the hot dogs, and he waited at the door as the phone rang.

“Hello?” Ms. Collins answered breathlessly, and he cleared his throat.

“Ms. Collins? It’s Olivia Morales’ dad, calling about the meeting?” He heard something clatter on the other end. “Is now an okay time?”

“Yes, sorry, Mr. Morales, I was just...it doesn’t matter. My schedule is a little tight, when did you have in mind?”

“Something early, maybe before drop-off?”

“Sure, uhm, let me check my calendar,” She sounded distant, he thought, probably on speaker. “Yeah, Tuesday morning? I know that’s quick, it is all I have though.”

“Yeah, I can be there. Like 7am?”

“Yes, that’s great. See you then.” The line disconnected and he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d heard her voice before. He rolled his eyes at himself, of course he had. She was his daughter’s teacher. As if on cue, Liv ran out with a hot dog. He smiled brightly and ruffled her hair.

“‘Kay, kiddo, let’s go catch some fish.” She grinned at him brightly, showing off the hole her first lost tooth had made. His heart caught as he realized she was growing up so fast.

--

“Monday’s really are the worst.” June laughed. She had her mom on the phone, connected through Bluetooth. “I’m just leaving the school now!”

“I just don’t see why you’re having to set these meetings up now. The kids have hardly been in school for a couple of weeks.” June sighed as she merged on the highway to head home.

“I know, it's just something my district does. The hard part is wrangling parents.”

“Well, if you had any children, you’d know how much they require of you.” June rolled her eyes and exhaled through her nose. Her mom was always quick to bring up her lack of a partner and children. Not that June didn’t want those things, they just haven't panned out for her yet.

“Yeah, Mom, I’m sure you’re right.” She acquiesced, knowing the argument wasn’t worth the effort.

“Have you met anyone? You’re only getting older, you know.”

“Thanks Mom. Uh, I have a date tomorrow night, actually.”

“Well, what’s his name, do I know him? What does he do for work?” June rolled her eyes, and wondered why she had answered the call.

“I don’t know anything about him. It’s a blind date.”

“Not even a name?” June bit her lip, debating telling her Mom the nickname.

“He’s ex-Army, goes by Fish. That’s all I know. Oh, and he’s single. A new teacher sat it up for me.” June explained, hoping her Mom wouldn’t have much to say.

“Fish? Oh, wow. Terrence really messed you up, huh.”

“I’m getting a call from a parent, I’ll talk to you later.” June lied, ending the call. Terrence had really messed her up. Not that that was of any importance to her dating life, or this blind date’s name. She sighed hard as she pulled into her driveway.

“Monday’s really are the worst.” She told the empty space of her car. She grabbed her bag and hurried inside. It had been a long day, and she was ready to polish off her bottle of wine from the night before. She walked in and let her bag drop to the floor, and crossed to the staircase. She groaned as she climbed the stairs. She was exhausted and still had a ton left to do.

June stripped quickly and threw on her yard work clothes. She stopped by the kitchen and poured some wine into a cup with a lid, before making her way outside. The day before she had started a small garden, and she was determined to make something grow out of it. She had no idea what she was doing, though. The wine wasn’t really helping either.

She had been short with a few parents while she was tending the fragile plants. It was a little late in the season to try and start anything, but she had picked up some discount plants that she wanted to help limp along for a little longer. She hoped she hadn’t put any of the parents off, and tried to remember who all had called.

June wiped her forehead with her gloved hand and tried to sort them out. Steven’s mom, Cynthia, was meeting her during lunch. That would be short, thankfully. Steven was a good kid, quiet. Graham and Ginger’s grandma was coming Wednesday afternoon, the parents were out of the country for something. Mia’s dad was going to call during the planning period. Ashley’s mom was coming Tuesday afternoon. And Olivia’s dad was coming Tuesday morning. June felt her shoulders sag, and she drained her wine. That wasn’t even half of the parents left.

She gave up on the garden and stalked inside. She wanted to scare up something for dinner, but didn’t really feel like making anything. She gave in and called the local Indian place. They knew her order, and said they’d be there soon. She grimaced, wondering how much money she had spent on Vindaloo over the years, and decided not to think about it. She had enough time to slip in the shower to wash the sweat off, before the delivery guy knocked on her door. She tipped him generously, and sat down on the couch.

June clicked the tv on and scrolled through her watch list. She settled on some mind-numbing detective show, and ate half of the curry. She put the rest away, and grabbed her bag by the door. The bag was a mess, but she managed to find her red pen and the papers that needed grading, and she settled back in.

Soon, the mindless task paired with a full stomach and the wine had her falling into a deep sleep.

--

Frankie was pissed. He was giving up the best time of the day for harvesting to meet with Liv’s teacher, and Ms. Collins couldn’t be bothered to show up. His thoughts went back to the phone call the day before, and he gritted his teeth as he realized she had put him off twice. Over something she had wanted to set up. He’d gotten the bundles of paper she had sent home on it. Yet, here he was, and she was nowhere to be found. He pulled his phone out, and considered punching in her number, but stopped himself.

Frankie had to exhale deeply four times before he could lay his phone down. He had gotten here a little early, and it was just now 7 am, and he didn’t have a set schedule. Liv was with Ashley, Becka had insisted on taking them to drop off so he could have plenty of time with Ms. Collins. Not that it mattered now, he thought, dryly. At ten past, he pulled his phone back out, and brought her name up. He was angry again, and had every intention of calling. But before he could press her name, the door swung open, and his heart dropped.

~~

June woke with a start. The birds were singing outside, the light was all wrong, and she was on the couch. Shit, she thought, jumping up. Shit, shit, shit. She had overslept. She hurried up the stairs and threw on something presentable, and didn’t even check herself in the mirror. She could do her makeup in the class. She grabbed up the half graded papers and shoved them in her bag, and ran out the door. She dumped everything in the passenger seat and drove much faster than usual. She was about halfway to the school when she realized she was meeting a student’s parent this morning. She hadn’t had any coffee, and her brain was starting to slow down from the adrenaline of being late, and she could not remember who she was meeting. She parked, and popped her vanity mirror down and grimaced. She looked like she was having a bad morning. She decided to throw her hair up in a messy bun, and grabbed the mess up from her passenger seat.

She basically ran into the building, her flats ricocheting sound off the concrete walls. She swung her door open, apologies already falling from her lips, when she looked at the parent. The apologies died on her lips, and her mouth fell open.

“You?” She asked, dumbly. “Frankie?” He looked like he had seen a ghost, a bitchy ghost, she grimaced.

“You?” He stood now, and started to move to her.

“Uhm, you can’t be here. I’m meeting a student’s parent, and how’d you even know where to find me?” She started rambling, but when the words were out she realized how stupid they were. “Oh my god, you’re the parent?” She barked out a laugh, and dumped her bag on her desk. He grinned, and wiped the back of his neck.

“Liv’s dad. I’m Frankie Morales.” He told her, faltering from shaking her hand.

“Perfect. I’m Juniper Collins, you can call me June, or Ms. Collins, whatever you prefer. I’m sorry I’m late, I...I started a garden yesterday and wore myself out. That’s what I was doing when we spoke on the phone,” She told him, laughing. June had only tried gardening because she wanted a common foot with him. She didn’t want to tell him that yet, though. “Anyway, let’s get to Liv. Liv is a great girl, Mr. Morales.”

“Frankie.” He interrupted, with a small smile.

“Okay, Frankie. Look, Liv is great, she really is. She struggles in class sometimes, though. She is smart as hell, but she seems to struggle. I wanted to give you some information about ADD or ADHD. It presents differently in girls, and is often overlooked. I haven’t known her long, obviously, but I actually was diagnosed much later in life, and I remember doing some of the things she’s doing. Would you be interested in some info on that?” June asked carefully, their relationship was rocky and weird, and she didn’t want to overstep. This was her job, though. It was a little bit not her job, actually. But she always wanted to look out for her girls, especially when they were as smart and incredible as Liv.

“Oh, wow. I had no idea she was struggling.” Frankie muttered, and removed his cap. June sucked in a sharp breath at his light brown, bouncy curls as they spilled out. He was beautiful. She distracted herself by moving behind her desk and grabbing a folder she had laid out for Liv, for this exact reason, and she thanked her past self for being put together. Then she went and sat beside him at the small activity table. She felt comical sitting next to him in the small chairs, he was spilling over his own. She laid down the folder and put a hand on his arm.

“Look, it isn’t a struggle that she notices yet. It’s her recall, her attention span, and her ability to focus. That sounds like a lot, I know, but there’s a simple test, and there are effective alternatives to stimulants. I’m on one, and it really helped me. Life is only going to get harder for her, if she has it and it remains untreated, but she has no idea. She isn’t “different” yet, and she’s doing so, so well in class. She is a model student. I just want to help, that’s all.” She watched his face as she spoke, and by the end, he seemed defeated.

“I should have noticed. I’m her dad. I...I’ve been worried I’m not around enough, and now you drop this on me.” He laughed dryly. She patted his arm.

“Liv talks about you all the time. She loves you, Frankie. She tells us all the time about her pilot dad.” June said it before she had time to think, before she connected “Liv’s Dad” with Frankie, the man before her. And then, her big mouth spit out something she wanted to take back immediately. “But you’re a farmer, right?” He looked up into her eyes, and his face was hard.

“Anything else you wanted to tell me about Liv?” His words were right, but the tone was too harsh. June flinched back from him, and dropped her gaze from his suddenly hard face.

“Liv is a great girl. She’s great to have in class. I have nothing else for you.” June told him monotonically, going on autopilot so as not to cry. She had spent the whole weekend thinking about him, then she had planted a stupid garden to have more in common with him, and then fate brought them back together, and she screwed it up again. She decided it was done, then. Frankie Morales was not in the cards for her. Sure, she might see him again because she taught his daughter, but she was through thinking of him like that.

“Good. I have to get going, next time try to be on time.” He scolded, as he stood abruptly and left without another word. Slowly, June followed and shut the door behind him. Alone, at last, she started crying.

~~~

“Idiot. You fucking idiot.” Frankie berated himself in his truck. He couldn’t believe it when she swept into the room. He had found her. Not her, he thought with a grimace, Juniper. The name felt so appropriate. It was an old name, but it suited her so perfectly. He exhaled roughly and tried to rewrite the scene. She was looking out for Liv. She wanted Liv to be happy and succeed. This woman cared more about his daughter than Liv’s own mother. And as soon as she tried to get to know him, he bit her head off and made her feel bad for being late. Jesus, what a dick. He had found her, and in a single moment, he had managed to ruin it again.

He put the truck in drive and headed home. Nothing left to do here, he thought bitterly. He was pulling up the driveway when he remembered that she had started a garden. It wasn’t a coincidence, he realized. She had started a garden because of him. He parked the truck and laid his head against the steering wheel. He had pushed her away at every turn. The market, the bar, and now at the school. He had seen her face before he left, and knew it was done. He had pushed too far, too fast. Of course, she would want nothing more to do with him. He had done nothing but treat her like shit.

He got out of the truck and threw his hat. It didn’t do much except get his cap dirty, but it was all he could do. He pulled his phone out, and pulled her name up. He typed a long message, and erased it. Then he tried again, and erased it again. His pride was getting in the way. He couldn’t tell her about his piloting years. The army, spec ops, Colombia, the coke, or any of it. She could just hate him, and then he couldn’t hurt her anymore.

~~~~

June paced up and down her classroom. Her face was puffy, still, and she had been struggling to focus all day. She couldn’t meet anyone new for dinner; she wasn’t in the right headspace for a date. Let alone one where she would have to leave a lasting impression. She chewed her thumb nail before heading down the hall.

Samantha's classroom was pretty close to her own, and June was glad for it. If she had had to walk further she would have lost her nerve. June knocked tentatively on the door, before pulling it open. Samantha looked up and grinned.

"Hey girl! Are you excited for your big date tonight?" June’s own smile fell from her face.

"Actually, that's why I'm here. I want to cancel." Samantha's smile pulled down quickly.

"Why?"

"I'm having kind of a bad day for impressions," June told her flatly.

"Well, I couldn't if I wanted to. Santiago is out of town, no reception. I don't have the friend's number." June groaned.

"Okay, alright. Ugh, probably for the best. Do you know anything else about him? I’ve had kind of a rough day. You said, ex-military right?”

“Yeah, Santi doesn’t really talk about that time, and I haven’t pushed it. I met him a while back, Fish. He’s sweet. I think he’ll be your type. You like tan brunettes?” June nodded, laughing and thinking about Frankie Morales again.

“He’ll be perfect. Doesn’t say much and likes beer, that’s all I know.” Samantha gave a small shrug.

“Alright, thanks. I’ll let you finish eating.” June said, excusing herself.

She left feeling defeated. A parent was going to be late this afternoon, she had gotten the email after the Frankie disaster. Which meant that she was going to be late to dinner. She wasn't killing it in the men department so she hoped that despite a military background he wouldn't mind her tardiness. She couldn't handle another horrible scene like the one from this morning.

The rest of the day was uneventful, which she was glad for. Her nerves were on the edge. She tried to ignore how much Liv favored her dad, and how she loudly told the class about their upcoming camping trip. She found herself listening intently, despite herself. And even chuckled at the girl’s memories of the last trip. June’s mood improved with the day, too. She even played a little music in the background while the kids worked on their worksheets.

By the time she had hauled herself into her car, the last thing she wanted to do was go to dinner. But she swiped on her favorite lipstick and drove to the restaurant. If she broke the speed limit, she would only be about five minutes late, and she pushed it. She wanted to drink some wine, and forget about Frankie Morales. Another tan brunette in her life would do her good, she thought happily. She was tired, but she wanted to make the most of it.

---

Frankie was looking back and forth between the menu and his watch. He couldn't believe that another woman was about to be late on him. He was trying hard to get June out of his mind, and his blind date wasn't making it easy on him. He chuckled when he realized what he was doing. Just meeting a total stranger for dinner. He didn't have much choice in the matter, he thought, remembering how Pope had basically told him where and when, without asking if Frankie was even interested.

She had good taste, he conceded. This was his favorite spot. They made amazing, fresh pasta. He was eyeing the cocktail menu, when she rushed in. He couldn't believe he was running into her again.

It was June, because of course it was. She was flushed, probably late again, he huffed, but she had put on a bright red lipstick that made his heart stutter. He lowered his gaze back to the menu. He hoped she wouldn't see him out on a date, even if he saw her. The hope was short lived because she made her way to him, her eyes glinting with an emotion he couldn't place, and she exhaled deeply.

"Let me guess, your call sign is Fish, right?" His eyes snapped to hers and she laughed while nodding. It was her. He had found her again. The waiter walked over and she told him to bring a bottle of red, and a beer for him. He told the waiter his brand, and raked his eyes over her.

"Sorry I'm late, I had a crazy day." She mused once she had taken two deep sips of her wine.

"Yeah? What is it you do?" He asked, hoping beyond hope that this was their start over. Their fourth, or so, start over.

"Teacher. Yeah, I teach. Most days it's easy, but some days there are parents." She told him, her cheeks flushed.

"Hopefully, no jerks?" He asked, quickly taking a sip of his beer. She held her head to the side before she sighed.

"I don't know what's going on here, Frankie. It's kind of exhausting. I think you're pretty handsome, you grow amazing food, you have a beautiful daughter, but I think we just keep messing up. How about, just for now, we enjoy this meal and the company, and tomorrow we can talk about what it means that we can't keep away from each other?" He searched her eyes. She was tired, he could tell, but she was so sincere. He wanted desperately to know why she sat down instead of just leaving. He wanted to know why they were seemingly so connected. He wanted to know if he'd been on her mind too.

"I'm thinking the carbonara." He answered, and she smiled before looking the menu over herself. The rest could wait. He had found her again.”

#frankie morales #frankie catfish morales #Frankie Morales x oc #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfiction #original character #feel the heat #juniper collins #pedro pascal characters #Pedro pascal

[neon-junkie]

Siesta

Summary: Flacos mission for you today is to have a nap.

Pairing: Implied Flaco/gn!Reader

Word Count: 1347

Rating: SFW

Tags: Nap time, Cuddling, Spooning, Fluff, Gender-neutral reader.

Notes: he just looks so cosy, specially with that coat on, so i wrote this bc i wanna nap with him.

It's another long day for you, lugging yourself up the mountain, heading hours up north just for that gunslinger to chit chat with you a short while, before sending you off on a mission. Why do you do it? You're not too sure. He'd sparked your curiosity the second you attempted to find shelter in his cabin, only for him to sneak up on you and make you dance with all six rounds of his revolver.

But either way, you've been forcing your way through the cold and snow just to see him, just to spend those few moments with him before he sends you on your way. It's worth it. It's worth the journey, the dangerous missions he gives you, the freezing cold snow, and the predators that lurk nearby. He's come out of his shell more and more every time you see him, he even called you his friend a few months back.

So here you are, hitching your horse, and entering his cabin for what feels like the hundredth time.

"You're here," Flaco greets you, watching you stomp the snow off your boots before shuffling over to the fire, raising your hands to the heat in hopes of warming up, despite knowing that within a few minutes, he'll be sending you back out there.

You can feel his eyes on you more than usual. Flaco's always one for eye contact, studying you, reading every single sign of body language; that just seems to be how he is. He's probably fuelled by trust issues, so you're not surprised that he's always on the lookout for betrayal. It must be something he does to everyone, as you've seen that same language displayed when he spoke to one of his men once, although they're rarely around.

"Has the cold froze your lips shut?" Flaco asks, suddenly drawing your attention to him.

You feel so rude, but you can't help it; it's normal for you to zone out, hearing what people are saying to you, but not always responding. You're tired. These sleeping problems come in waves; some weeks you're fine, others you're not. And guess what kind of week this was?

"Sorry, Flaco," you sigh. You once called him by his surname, and he scoffed at you, waving his arms about as he complained, telling you 'we're friends now, and friends call each other by their first name!'

"I'm just tired," you finish off your sentence.

Flaco leans back in his chair as he hums. "That problem again, eh?" he questions. Flaco knows about your sleeping problems; you once explained why you zone out so easily, back when he first caught you doing it, and he seemed to understand. He'll go for days without sleep, always on alert, always worried the Pinkertons are finally going to catch up on him and force him into an endless sleep.

You nod in agreement, "that time again," you repeat, letting out a soft sigh as your eyes go back to the fire.

Flaco's already picked up on a few smaller things as he studies you; the bags under your eyes, your slight slouch, your slower reflexes and judgment.

"You're exhausted, amigo," Flaco informs you.

"I know," you reply.

"No, listen to me. You're exhausted, not tired. You haven't yawned once, and your body seems drained. You need to rest, please, for your own good."

As Flaco talks, your eyes drift back over to him. He's been sincere and open ever since you first met, but the tone of concern to his voice seems to pull at your heartstrings.

"I'll rest when I'm off the mountain. I don't want to be camped out in the snow," you explain, but Flaco cuts you off.

"No! I said rest. There's a bed behind you, isn't there?" Flaco says as he points to the bed in the middle of the cabin. You look over your shoulder, despite knowing that there is a bed there.

"That's your bed," you protest.

"That's a bed. This cabin isn't mine, amigo," Flaco shrugs. "Now go and have a siesta, or a 'nap' as you Americans call it."

"Too cold for a siesta," you smirk.

"Oh. Come onnnn," Flaco groans as he puts the wood he was whittling down on the table, standing up to fill the empty space in the room. He makes his way over to you and for some reason, you're a little intimidated. Why was he getting so worked up over you having a nap?

Flaco greeted you for the first time with a gun to your head, but for some reason, Flaco grumpily approaching you, urging you to nap seemed scarier.

 "Go to bed," Flaco orders you. "That's your mission for today. Sleep. Rest. I'll pay you for it," Flaco tells you as he takes you by the shoulders, physically moving you over to the bed.

"Don't you think it's a little uncomfortable?" you ask as you take off your hat, leaving it on the bedpost. Flaco takes his hands off you as he huffs.

"What is? You think I'm gonna watch you in your sleep, hm? I'll do that, if you want."

You remove your weapon equipment, boots, and heavy clothing, every so often flicking your eyes over at Flaco, still talking to him. "No, I just think it's... I don't know. I've never had a nap in someone else's company before," you shrug.

"You want me to siesta with you then, huh? You could have just asked, you know," Flaco tells you with a chuckle.

Your eyes widen, and you're about to start telling him that you didn't mean that at all, but he's already taking off his bandolier's, chucking them to the cabin floor with a thud. You sit on the edge of the bed, awkwardly watching him as he kicks off his boots, leaving his sombrero on another one of the bedposts.

You'd never seen him without his hat before, and he's kinda cute? you always assumed his hair was short and swept back, but you've discovered that he has a small ponytail, always hidden away under the thick brim of his hat, and the forest of fur on his coat.

Flaco catches you staring but doesn't comment on it. He'd be staring too if another person was stripping off in front of him. Flaco leaves his thick fur coat on, loosely done up by what's left of a few buttons.

 "Move over," he orders you in his gruff tone. You shuffle across the bed, lying down and sandwiching yourself between the wall and Flaco, who's now lying down beside you.

He pulls the covers over you both, his eyes meeting yours as he tucks you in, a tender gesture, despite the permanent scowl on his face. Flaco stops for a moment, propped up on his elbow, studying you again. You're unsure if you should look away, but Flaco eventually breaks the silence.

"Lift your head up," Flaco orders you. So you do, sitting slightly upright, looking over your shoulder to wonder what's going on.

Flaco suddenly lays his arm out, right under where your neck will fall. Before you can even breathe, his other arm is around your waist, pulling your head back down and shuffling your body against him.

He's a firm cuddler, his hands gripping onto you, holding you against him but comfortably. You accept the fact that this is happening and decide to get comfortable, adjusting yourself so you're the little spoon, your cheek resting against Flaco's arm, the thick fur of his coat brushing against your face and back.

You can feel his hot breaths on the back of your neck, his body heat warming you up. You've forgotten just how cold it is outside, eager to stay in this comfortable spot forever. Flaco can sense thoughts running through your head.

"Rest now, amigo," he softly orders you. There's a tiredness to his voice; you dread to think how many days he's been awake for, which unfortunately is normal for him.

So, you do as he tells you to, shutting your eyes and swiftly falling asleep. Your siesta turns into a deep sleep, and Flaco's there through it all, enjoying your company as he catches up on the many nights he's missed.

#rdrwriting #flaco hernandez #flaco hernández #flaco hernández/reader #flaco hernández x reader #flaco hernández/you #flaco hernández x you #sfw #short fic #reader #reader insert #gender neutral #gender neutral reader #fluff #sleep #nap #siesta #cuddle #cuddling #nap time #napping #napping together #cosy #rdo #red dead online

[in-tua-deep]

Umbrella academy hogwarts au? I feel like 5 would be a slytherin. Would he be in a younger year than everyone else, kinda like in your pride and prejudice AU?

HMMM i think if i was ever to go for a real hogwarts au and not just gently dumping all the characters into the hp world for a laugh (they make it so easy with five’s mystery jump at the end of s1 lmao) then it would have to start from like. the very beginning and together. as Actual Kids.

(p&p au is a bit different bc it’s a no-powers-period-drama type au)

we’re not going to explain why hogwarts is getting some american kids bc i don’t have the brainpower rn to think of why. maybe reginald trained them in the US in this au and then moved them to the UK in the months preceding their debut for whatever reason which officially makes them a Hogwarts Problem now idk

lemme put this under a read more

so instead you have Five at like, ten-and-three-quarters years old. They’re scheduled to debut in front of the entire world very soon. Five has bruises on his skin and anger in his heart, even as young as he is.

(He’s not the worst off. Klaus has screaming nightmares and bags under his eyes so dark he looks like a raccoon. Ben hasn’t spoken a word in two weeks after his last special training session with their dad. Diego’s arm is in a cast where sparring with Luther went wrong a week or so ago.)

And Five is the curious child, the challenging child. He’s a constant buzz of need to know, have to know, have to move move move and part of that is knowing everything that’s going on in the house. With his power to jump, he knows all the good spying spots. He knows which rooms are above the others, knows which vents have sound that carry, knows the spots he can prop himself in and see but not be seen.

So when there’s someone knocking on the front door, Five sneaks into one such spot and looks - because no one knocks on their door, ever. Reginald’s door is never knocked upon by girl scouts or friendly neighbors or salesmen. It’s like, a rule. So he’s curious who it is, and he crouches down to watch and to listen.

Grace is the one who answers the door (Pogo tends to keep out of sight of guests, when he can) and offers the severe looking woman a dazzling smile. Five thinks she’ll be turned away, but Grace nods and gestures her inside and tells her to wait right there as she fetches Mr. Hargreeves - 

His dad comes, looking just as severe as the woman does and twice as intimidating. And then the woman opens her mouth to speak and - 

Magic?

Them?

A boarding school?

And Five doesn’t really think they’re magic. Yeah, unexplained things happen around them all the time (Klaus’s lightbulbs were constantly being replaced when he bolted out of a nightmare screaming and they blew or shattered or whatever) but that’s just part of their powers, right?

But a boarding school. That’s promising. Even if they aren’t magic or whatever, even if this school is for insane people - anything is better than here. And it’s not foster care, right? If it’s a school then there’s no issue of them being split up, being torn apart. They’re a family, and Five has been trying desperately to think of a plan to get them out since he was seven-and-a-half

Of course, Reginald says no. Denies everything. Refuses to acknowledge the woman and sends her out.

And Five has about three seconds for his quicksilver mind to run back over the conversation, to pick up on the woman’s bristling and comments about control and community and you can’t hide magic forever and -

Five jumps, in a flash of blue, and pops out in front of the woman outside. She startles with wide eyes. “What on earth - ”

“What happens if a magical child wants to attend but their non-magical guardians do not.” Five asks the woman, hands clenched into fists by his sides.

The woman stares at him for a long time, “It would depend on the circumstances - ”

That’s a bullshit answer if Five’s ever heard one, and he cuts her off. “If a magical child needs to be trained, could they achieve that going around a guardian? What are the laws concerning education?”

The woman looks over her shoulder, back towards the manor. She looks bemused that this tiny slip of a child is confronting her like this outside of the knowledge of his parents.

Five grits his teeth, because this is a low risk high reward situation. If the woman leaves - whatever, no skin off his back or however that saying goes. If she can get them out and going to this fancy boarding school so that they’re only within Reginald’s sphere of influence during the break times - well. 

Five has a hunch, and plays it without mercy.

“He’s not our biological father. He bought us. We have - we do things no else can do. Magic? He wants us to be superheroes. He’s got something planned, to show us off to the whole world. Us and our powers.”

If the woman’s face had gotten tight at the beginning of Five’s words, it’s aghast at the end of it. So Five is correct - if magic was real, then Five should have already heard about it. If it is and he hasn’t, that means that the magic people are exceptionally good at keeping secrets. 

Which means Reginald and his planned publicity works in Five’s favor. 

“I’ll see what can be done.” The woman says grimly.

But there’s something Five needs confirmation of, because it’s important. “If one of us goes, we all go.” He tells the woman, feet planted shoulder width apart and hands curled into fists with the thumbs on the outside. Ready for a fight. “We stay together.”

(Vanya doesn’t have powers, like the rest of them. But Five will be damned before he leaves her behind in this house by herself, not when Reginald hardly cares if she lives or dies.)

The woman blinks, waves her hand like that was never the problem. “There are seven children at this address, yes? If that’s all of you, you all have places at Hogwarts.”

Five, who was geared up to defend his position and smuggle Vanya with him in a suitcase if necessary, melts back. “There are seven of us.” Five says, cautious and careful, “But - yes. There are seven of us.”

(He almost tells her that Vanya isn’t magic, but if they think she is then he’s not going to try and persuade them otherwise. He’ll figure something out for later, when they realize she’s ordinary. He’ll find a way to fake magical powers for her or something.)

“I’ll be back.” The woman tells him, looking serious. Then she raises a stick in the air (what?) and something happens and she just - warps in place and vanishes. It makes Five jump back, startled.

What was that? That wasn’t - that wasn’t jumping. Not the way he does it. But - she vanished? There’s no blue light but it looks so much like what he does that he can’t help but doubt. Are there variations of his power? Are there lots of people who can jump?

Suddenly this whole ‘magic school’ thing is looking more like something exciting to look forward to instead of just a convenient escape route.

Five hovers for a few seconds, before jumping himself. It wouldn’t do to be found lurking outside of the manor when he isn’t supposed to be permitted outside at all, after all. 

He waits with baited breath until a week later he wakes up to yelling and scrambles for the door. He can see his other siblings coming out as well in the pajamas, all of them exchanging looks and agreeing as one to creep quietly to figure out what’s going on.

What’s going on isn’t quiet at all. There’s a dozen men and women downstairs, including the woman that Five spoke to the week before. They all looks very official, and they all have sticks like the woman did. Does. 

Reginald looks furious.

They’re all crouched in Five’s spot, the good one where if you stay still no one would notice you between the banisters but you get an unobstructed view. The key is if you stay still. One of them moves, or makes a noise, or whatever and one of the people’s eyes snap up to look directly at them.

They all freeze.

“You might as well come down here, children.” One woman says, looking distinctly unimpressed. “This involves you, after all.”

They look to Reginald, but he says nothing. He doesn’t even look at them at all, though they can see the muscle in his jaw tightening. 

The travel carefully down the stairs, single file, in order. Klaus and Ben hold hands as they go down, and Five looks back frequently to make sure that everyone is present, including Vanya. 

“I’m afraid,” The woman from the week before speaks up in her Scottish brogue, “That is has come to our attention that… your guardian can no longer provide you with the necessary education you require by law.”

She keeps going, explaining to them about magic. Five can see Vanya at the end of their little like, getting more and more pale by the second. Five heard most of this speech the day before, so it’s easy for him to duck out of their little line and bump Klaus and Ben over so that he can stand by her side.

He takes her hand in his, not caring about how Luther and Allison are shooting him looks. He squeezes tightly and, after a second, she squeezes back.

They’re in language classes with Grace together, so it’s easy to him to tap against her hand.

n-o g-o w-o u

Not going without you. Vanya is still pale, but she squeezes Five’s hand and stops looking like she’s going to pass out on the floor. 

“As such,” The woman is continuing, “You will be attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. You will be staying with me until the start of the term, during which time we will sort out permanent living arrangements.”

“We’re not coming back?” Luther demands loudly, looking frightened. Five would almost feel bad if he didn’t remember the fact that Luther was still recovering from a concussion from private training that he still would talk about. “But - what about dad?”

“Your father is not equipped to deal with magical children.” The woman tells them, actually quite diplomatically. Five can read between the lines though to where she’s actually saying this man is an abusive fuck who shouldn’t have been permitted to care for a cactus let alone seven entire human beings.

“We stay together?” Five pipes up, staring holes into the strangers in his house. “No matter what, we stay together, right?”

The woman inclines her head, “We will do our utmost to ensure it, Mr. - ”

She pauses for him to fill in his name, and he can feel the panicked look Luther is shooting him. He’s the worst one to ask for his name, because he gave up his chance for a name so Vanya could have one.

Luther is shaking his head, trying to get Five’s attention to signal him to not answer, but Five lifts his chin up high. He is not ashamed as he puts the final nail in Reginald’s coffin.

“Number Five. I’m Number Five.”

The expressions on every adults face are priceless and drive home just how not ordinary that is. Just how terrible it is to have a number instead of a name. Five doesn’t understand it - he likes his name, thank you - but that doesn’t mean he’s not willing to use it as a weapon to put another knife in Reginald’s back.

And that’s how, against some of their protests (mainly Luther, who protests leaving Reginald, and Diego, who protests leaving Grace) all of the kids end up in the house of “Professor McGonagall” who at this point is just. resigned to these kids being weird as fuck

(to be valid she first met Five apparently apparating with a) 0 training and b) without even a wand what the fuck)

They’re all just. Really confused? They all report for breakfast bright and early and McGonagall hasn’t even had her morning coffee yet and she’s just kind of like “yeah you kids do whatever, settle in and all that. we’ll go to diagon alley and pick up school supplies and all that later”

and it is bizarre. The kids stick close to one another, watch all the weird magic shit going down with careful eyes, and then they get their wands. Five almost has a fit because what if they find out Vanya isn’t magical and he’s about two seconds away from using his own shiny new wand (that had let out a bright blue light reminiscent of the one that came with his powers) when Vanya picks one up and waves it and manages to blast through three shelves.

The wand maker looks absolutely delighted at this destruction of the shop and all of them gape at Vanya because they were not expecting her to be magical. And clearly Vanya wasn’t expecting to be magical either, because she’s pale and shocked as the wand maker plucks the destructive wand from her hand and pops another one in.

All seven of them walk out with their brand new wands, and Vanya and Five hold hands tightly. Half in relief and half in alarm.

When they talk later, hushed whispers camped out in freshly transfigured beds, they come to the conclusion that some witches and wizards just need the stick to do things and that the rest of the Umbrella Academy is kind of weird. (McGonagall lectured Five at length about apparating and not doing it while he made various faces)

The kids survive until term starts and Professor McGonagall takes the to a train station and drops them off and tells them that she’ll see them at the school. They take up an entire compartment by themselves and talk at length about what magic school is going to be like.

Luther is still withdrawn and sullen over being taken away from Reginald, Diego is still sad about Grace, Allison has her head held high and is determined to make a good impression and finally meet some new people outside of her siblings, and Klaus is loud but in the way that means he’s anxious, Ben is speaking again but is still far too quiet, Five has read all of their schoolbooks already and is practically vibrating in place with the need to know everything and Vanya - 

Vanya is off her meds. She didn’t want Professor McGonagall to decide she was broken or not good enough or anything because she was on anxiety medication. Any mishaps within the McGonagall house have so far been chalked up to accidental magic (and some of it actually had been). This is important for later.

They change into their robes (just another uniform) and disembark and get to Hogwarts and stand in the Great Hall and listen to the Sorting Hat sing and then - it’s their turn to be sorted.

Luther is all Gryffindor bullheaded stubbornness and an insistence on what he thinks is right, proud and strong. Allison is Slytherin ambition and drive to her bones, clawing her way to the top and making sure she will stay there. Diego is Gryffindor impatience and need to prove himself, doing what is right even if it is outside the law. Klaus is Slytherin cunning and resourcefulness, sneaking out and getting what he needed under the nose of a tyrant (though since leaving the house, drugs have been noticeably absent from his possessions). Ben is Ravenclaw knowledge and hiding behind books, quiet words and hungry eyes. Vanya is Ravenclaw hard work and well gained knowledge, passion for her difficult art and determination to be good at something.

Five gets up there, and the Sorting Hat hums. 

Five is made of loyalty that could weather an apocalypse. He is a boy who had a power perfect for running away and keeping away, but who stayed because he couldn’t bear to leave his siblings. Five is a child who, every time he got knocked down, he got back up again. Five is a child who has hard work pressed into the marrow of his bones, who never gives up and never gives in.

Five is driven by knowledge and a need to know. His hunger consumes him, always pushing at boundaries that perhaps would be safer for his health to leave untouched. Always testing and twisting and seeking more. He is bright and smart and one of his very first words was why. 

Five is cunning and careful, twisting words and bending rules and scraping everything he can from a bad situation. He is the boy who had a split second to think, who jumped outside and confronted a stranger and went off of a hunch and won it all. The boy who had so few resources to work with, but twisted and pulled at them until they were enough. If getting his entire family out of Reginald’s house intact was not the very definition of ambitious, then nothing is.

Hufflepuff. Ravenclaw. Slytherin.

Choose your own adventure, choose your fighter.

Five would probably prefer Ravenclaw, in a house with two of his favorite siblings. Perhaps he would choose Slytherin, because Klaus is fragile and he doubts Allison will protect him and Five has always been protective of his family. 

(Klaus is stronger than the family thinks, away from the mausoleum and the memories. He’ll have Slytherin house wrapped around his finger before they know what hit them, will eventually fall in love with a Hufflepuff transfer student named Dave, will eventually be happy.)

Maybe Five is alone in Hufflepuff, a house too kind and too soft for the sort of jagged edges he has. But maybe that’s what he needs. Maybe he doesn’t need a house to sharpen his claws against, to sharpen his words or his mind. Maybe he needs somewhere safe, where people take his hand and show him how to tickle the pear to get into the kitchens and teach him how to play exploding snap and who look the other way when he sneaks out to visit his siblings at night.

(Whatever they can do outside of their wand waving, they discover, it isn’t magic. Or at least, not what the magical world seems to consider magic. They figure this out because apparently Hogwarts is warded against apparating within the grounds.

This doesn’t seem to stop Five.)

There’s so much that needs to be done. The wizarding world is still rebuilding. It’s 2000, scarcely three years after everything went down. 

Vanya’s “magic” seems to act up and no one can figure out why (even the family doesn’t realize it’s because she has non-magical powers like the rest of them. how could they? their entire lives Vanya had been ordinary.)

(when the revelation comes, Allison remembers her orders, remembers a small quiet room she was brought and told to say terrible things. They all weather the storm of Vanya’s fury together, magical shield summoned in a technique probably too advanced for their age but Ben is a natural until they finally managed to stun her. 

later, they all sit together in the hufflepuff common room, curled up on the sofas with mugs of hot chocolate stolen from the kitchens, regardless of if any of them are even in the house. at the very least Five has a talent for wriggling his way into areas he isn’t supposed to be in. they drink the hot chocolate, and contemplate their lives living with a man who would order something like that. 

they are grateful, even luther, of the turn their lives had taken. it would have been so very easy for McGonagall to walk away, to trust that they would be homeschooled or sent abroad or whatever. they are free, and they are thankful)

there is, of course, still the issue of what to do with the seven magical children once their first year comes to an end. they could stay with professor mcgonagall again, perhaps. despite being generally no nonsense, she’s always had a soft spot for the troublemakers (and the Hargreeves, despite best efforts, fall soundly into that category)

maybe they end up staying with some empty nesters. Molly and Arthur Weasely have no children left staying at home since Ginny moved out, and they’re used to dealing with large numbers of magical children. Diego would thrive under Mrs. Weasley’s attention even as he would feel guilty for loving anyone but Grace. 

maybe McGonagall calls in a favor, maybe she contacts her old students. She knows a boy who was an orphan himself, who knows what it means to be too skinny and too wary and to not want to go home at the summers. An orphan boy with wealth enough to take care of seven orphans with no problems, who would be glad to take on several wards if it was a favor to his old professor. 

(Harry Potter is only 20, but the war aged him. Aged all of his generation, really. There are lots of orphans in the wizarding world, and he is one of them.)

or maybe their arrangements are something else entirely.

The important thing though, is that despite everything they stay together. They might not have the Academy anymore, they might not belong to Reginald, but they are family and they stick by one another.

They protect one another, through means both magical and not.

(If you think Diego is giving up his knives, you are very incorrect about that.)

#anonymous #ask me #tua #tua au #the umbrella academy #hogwarts au #hp au #tua/hp crossover #tua crossover #i will defend slytherin klaus with my life #anyone who says he's too soft to be slytherin wasn't paying attention #but also!! who says slytherin can't be soft! #fight me #i kind of stan hufflepuff five for this au actually even though i usually mentally sort him into slytherin #but this is pre running away five and i think the real slytherin 'ends justify the means' mentality really happened after the commission #he's characterized by loyalty and hard work and i love him okay and he needs soft things sometimes let me have this #luther hargreeves #diego hargreeves #allison hargreeves #klaus hargreeves #five hargreeves #number five #ben hargreeves #vanya hargreeves #i also usually stan hufflepuff ben #but that's after ghost ben has been loyally by klaus's side for eons so he gets ravenclaw #wow @ the umbrella academy how come ur mom lets u have magic AND superpowers???

[snarkwriteswrasslin]

FFT: everything you can do i can do better ; baron corbin

Notes:

This was sent to my main’s asks by @kittysilver86​ I believe? And it got lost in the shuffle of all the other stuff I posted. So when I found it again, I just had to transfer it to here. Who knows.. Maybe one day I’ll decide to write a Baron fanfic.

Summary:

Veronica decides to take steps to land herself exactly what she wants. And it works. And fluff ensues.. If you squint. Hints of dominant!possessive Baron and a bratty OFC.

Pairing:

Baron Corbin x OFC, Veronica

Warning:

uhh... characters behaving brattily? bc yeahhh..

Flirting with Baron at every turn wasn’t working. Nor was anything else Veronica tried. She was starting to feel like maybe it was time to move on, to set her sights elsewhere.

Other guys were constantly flirting with her. Maybe she could give them a chance.

Brown eyes darted around the hallway as a delicate hand smoothed through flame colored locks and Veronica tapped her foot, glancing at her cell phone.

Typical Baron, she thought to herself, he’s late because he doesn’t wanna walk down to the ring with me.

A throat cleared from behind her and upon turning around, Veronica found Chad Gable towering over her, giving an amused glance as he rubbed his chin. Veronica knit her brows and eyed him, non amused. “What?”

“Just thinking.”

“You mean you can do that?” Veronica blurted it out and quickly followed with an apology, “Sorry, I’m just in a mood… I didn’t mean it. Anyway, continue?”

“Well, if you were my valet, I wouldn’t just leave you to fend for yourself back here. And I definitely wouldn’t treat you like shit or ignore you like Baron tends to.”

“But I’m not your valet…” Veronica started, finding herself growing quickly annoyed with the current topic. But then, her earlier argument with Baron came rushing back to her and so did the fact that she was sick of her attempts going ignored.

… especially when he’s actually just a little flirtier towards you when you’re not around a whole lot of cameras or people… don’t you wanna know which is real Baron and which is the mask?...

It seemed like a good idea.

And Chad was a sweet guy, so at the very least, maybe she could make a friend. She enjoyed making friends.

Veronica seemed to be mulling over what he said and Chad felt a little more confident to step closer. When he did, so did she. He swallowed hard as the scent of vanilla filled his nose.

“Okay, I’m listening, Chad. Shoot your shot.”

Chad chuckled and lowered his hand, resting it at her hip. Veronica swallowed hard and even though she wasn’t that into it, she moved a little closer, raising her hand to rest it against his chest palm down. Staring up at him, she reminded him, “I’m waiting. I do have to be down at the ring in like… two minutes.”

Chad had this feeling that everything he said earlier in the conversation was only being considered. However, he also got the distinct feeling that any interest she may have in him was strictly in passing.

But to do what he wanted, now that he knew flirting with Baron’s valet tended to bring out the inner possessive nature of the man, it didn’t matter to him that much. He just wanted to attempt taking something from Baron like Baron stole the King of The Ring win from him.

Or at the very least, get under Baron’s skin.. And armed with the way Baron apparently felt about Veronica but went above and beyond to hide, Chad decided to keep going.

“Look, all I’m saying is if you want to have a good time, with a guy who won’t play games and do shit like earlier, all you have to do is say you’ll go on one date with me. Let me prove myself… Think about it, Veronica.”

Veronica’s mouth opened and closed and she bit her lip, staring up at him. She’d been about to just say no because she didn’t like the idea of playing games as much as she previously thought she would, not with a guy who seemed as decent as Chad, but then she saw Baron nearby, lurking, watching the two of them and getting squirmier and squirmier by the second, almost as if he were worried about something.

Baron cleared his throat from nearby, giving Chad a pointed glare that had Chad smirking back in response when he noticed it.

Veronica tensed a little more. Baron looked… Hurt? Upset?

She gave up trying to decipher his many moods honestly, but the look in his eyes wasn’t one she’d ever seen before. She braced herself because more than likely, it was yet another level of angry or annoyance at being saddled with her.

“Just think about it, Veronica. If you want to be treated right, you know where to find me.” Chad called out as Baron made his way towards Veronica in a hurry to collect her so he could go down to the ring.

Baron took a deep breath and worked on composing himself. He offered his arm and Veronica took it, albeit reluctantly. Baron found himself staring down at her, with a churning in his gut.

Had Chad said something to get to her?

He tried his best to shove out the thought. They walked down the ramp wordlessly and as Veronica sat on the ring rope, holding them open for him, their eyes met. That same doey look she usually had wasn’t there tonight. The one I thought annoyed me, he reminded himself, wishing he could kick himself. I’m the one who told her to knock it off, I’m the one who spends all my energy and time shovin her away when that’s the last thing I really want.

“You good, Ronnie?” he found himself asking the question in a whisper as they stood body to body on the other side of the ring ropes. Veronica gave a nod and then she did something that kind of really concerned him. “It’s Veronica.”

“But you said your friends call you Ronnie..”

“Yeah, well. In light of what you shouted at me earlier at the hotel, maybe I decided you were right, big guy. Now get your head in the match.” Veronica tugged at the rope holding his cape together and when he held it out to her, she took it, stepping out of the ring.

She sat down on the opposite side of Renee who nudged her.

“Is everything okay?”

“Everything is perfectly fine.”

It was a standard and non personal answer. Let Baron seeth in it, Veronica found herself thinking. It’d teach him to treat her one way in private and a whole other way under the spotlight.

The theme for Chad Gable hit and Veronica studied him intently as he walked down to the ring, chair in hand, mic in his other hand and a look of disdain on his face. He stepped into the ring, stepped up to Baron who towered over him and looking around the man, he locked eyes with Veronica, winking.

Baron’s fist tightened. He happened to catch out of the corner of his eye that she was kind of… Intently watching what happened in the ring. More or less, her gaze was fixed intently on Chad, and she was looking at him in a similar way to the way she used to look at Baron.

Baron was not getting a good feeling about it, not at all. He glared down at the other man and smirked, giving that first shove. “You wanna die, huh? What’d I tell you about her? Off limits. Mine.”

Chad shoved back while snickering and shaking his head. “Maybe she’s finally realizing what an asshole you really are man, I mean… what can I say? Did you really think she was going to just sit and wait on you to finally see the light?” Chad went for Baron’s gut with the chair and Baron pushed back with it, both men hitting the floor after the fact.

They struggled to their feet, hitting and punching and exchanging words and at ringside, Veronica sat back, watching intently as she thought about both what Chad said and what she hoped her whole little flirtation with Chad in the hallway would accomplish where Baron was concerned.

And deep down, she wondered which side of Baron was the real one, which she’d be getting. She kept going back to that unknown look in his eyes before the match started, when she got formal with him instead of just letting him call her by her nickname.

… Baron doesn’t get attached. Or hurt. He said so himself on many occasions. You’re just so damned desperate for him to feel the same as you and finally show it that you’re reading too much into little things, stop it…

… There was that night at the bar, when we danced all night and we talked until morning… he can’t be all jerk…

The match finally ended just as security had to come down and break the two men up and Veronica was heading back up the ramp when Baron stopped her, grabbing hold of her wrist, giving her the same look he’d given earlier.

“Chad’s usin you. He admitted as much.”

“Yeah? At least he pays me attention and he’s not so up and down with the mood swings it feels like I’m riding a rollercoaster.”

Her words seemed to spark something.

Baron inhaled and exhaled. It was obvious he was trying to keep from coming on too strong, seeming desperate when he actually was. He eyed her and she slipped her hand out of his grasp.

“What’s wrong, Baron? I’m only doing what you told the whole of the roster you wished I would do.”

“I didn’t fucking mean it.” Baron snapped, stepping a little closer. Veronica eyed him warily. She nodded to the curtain.

“In the back, jackass. We can talk about this in the back. The last thing I want is MacMahon getting wind of this and putting me in some shit gimmick like he’s got Maria and Mike in.”

Baron eyed her and swallowed hard, following her through the curtain, continuing to plead his case and point out the obvious the entire time. Veronica turned and eyed him, a hand on her hip.

“I see how it is. This is because he likes me. This is because maybe, Baron… Maybe I’m a little into him. I mean I saw how mad you got earlier when we were talking and you walked in on it.. And earlier this week, when I chose to sit next to him on the flight. Are you jealous?” she stepped a little closer, an amused look playing at her face, making her eyes light up.

“So what if I am, huh? I thought that night we were talkin meant somethin.. I told you shit I haven’t ever told anyone. I thought we connected.”

“Yeah well so did I. Then you went right back to being a supreme ass wipe on live tv and around the arena. Look.. Either you want me or you don’t. But stop trying to have it both ways because I have options.”

She turned and walked away, catching up with Chad and leaving him to stand there, rubbing his chin. He knew Chad asked her on a date and he knew she’d told him she’d think about it.

Apparently, she was about to give him an answer and the thought had Baron shoving through the crowd, catching up to the little ginger vixen and tapping her shoulder, waiting until she turned around.

Once she’d turned around, Baron pulled her against him, cupping her jaw to guide her mouth to his, bending himself slightly to meet halfway. “Just don’t say yes to Gable.” he mumbled into the kiss.

“And why not? I mean you’ve made it perfectly clear how you…” Veronica’s words were cut off by the harsh and passionate biting contact from Baron’s mouth, his teeth latching onto her lower lip. She squeezed his bicep in an attempt to reach his mouth better, even though she felt like everything in her was telling her to break the kiss and just accept a date with Chad and leave him to wonder all night.

“I haven’t made a fuckin thing clear, okay?” Baron’s words were swallowed in their lips, lost in the kiss. His grip tightened on her ass and she gave a quiet purr of content, her fingers digging into his muscles a little bit more. “So is this your way of making it clear or…?”

“I’m kissin you, like this, on camera. What do you think, huh?” Baron muttered as he rubbed her against him, his hand grabbing at a handful of her ass through the velvety material of her second skin fitting black dress.

“Finally. I knew you liked me.” Veronica sighed out the words as the kiss broke, laughing as she smoothed down her dress and tried to fix herself. Baron chuckled and muttered calmly, “Cute. So this was your bratty way of what? Makin me admit it?”

“Maybe so.” Veronica shrugged as Baron chuckled and then cleared his throat. “Shouldn’t you tell Gable you’re not goin on that date with him? Or should I? On second thought, allow me.”

#baron corbin fanfiction #baron corbin fanfic #baron corbin fic #baron corbin oneshot #baron corbin imagine #// this is cute af okay? of course I was putting it here

[timelesstempo]

salt water | bang chan

(1/9) stray kids u.s destinations series

destination: Hawaii, U.S.A

wc: 2.8k

genre: fluff, super tiny bit of angst bc of fear

a/n: i really hope you guys enjoy this! please please tell me if you like it! as stated above, this is the start of a series! each member will have a place in the u.s. that i’ve visited! thank you for any feedback and i love you all! 

summary: snorkeling in Hawaii isn’t all it is cracked up to be; good thing you have the best hype man/boyfriend in the world to help you overcome your fears and join you in one of the most magical experiences of your life

| woojin | chan | minho | changbin | hyunjin | jisung | felix | seungmin | jeongin |

stray kids masterlist | main masterlist 

  ~ | ~ | ~ | ~ 

“Babe, come on! The water feels so good!” your boyfriend Chan exclaims while reaching back to take your slightly shaking hand. 

The crystal waters of a Hawaiian tidal pool, bustling with life and tons of interesting creatures to gaze at, sits before you. However, you are not prepared to do what it takes to view that underwater world; snorkeling. 

The thought of sticking your face into water already terrifies you, let alone the unnerving mask and mouthpiece you have to wear and the possibility of brushing up against any unknown creatures that could be lurking around you. 

You had avoided snorkeling throughout your entire trip to the gorgeous Big Island, opting for kayaking on the private waters that came along with the house Chan rented for the week, keeping your head above water. He had immediately jumped into the large lagoon with a snorkel mask attached to his handsome face the minute you arrived at the house and were given the OK from the landlord. 

You envy your boyfriend’s nonchalant and excited attitude towards snorkeling. It really does look fun, especially after hearing his tales of the gorgeous schools of  fish that swim between the rocks. Growing up swimming in Australia definitely gave him a natural love for the sea; there’s practically salt water in his veins. 

The worst part of your fear is that you desperately want to do it; you want to see the ocean and share this wonderful experience with the man you love, but you just can��t bring yourself to stick your face in the water despite wearing the goggles that are supposed to protect it. 

Not only do you want to see the colorful little fish that inhabit the lagoon, but also the sea turtles and small shark you know reside in the lagoon next door. More than anything though, you want to be able to see the enormous manta rays that you have scheduled to visit at the end of the week. The experience of swimming with manta rays is something you seriously do not want to miss out on due to your fear of something as simple as salt water in your eyes. 

Chan knows about your fear and has tried his best to encourage you and comfort you throughout the trip. Today he made the decision to help you get over your fear. He wanted to see your bright smile when you realize that snorkeling isn’t scary and that you can now see a whole new world because of it. He convinces you to come with him down to the lagoon and ditch the kayak paddle for a snorkel mask. 

“Chan, I seriously don’t think I can do this,” you announce to him as you slowly step into the water closer to him and take his outstretched hand. 

“I know you can, my love. It’s all in your head. I’m right here to make sure you’re safe, okay? And you know I only want you to do this because I know how upset with yourself you will be if you don’t,” Chan answers. His Aussie accent seems thicker, perhaps because of the homey feeling he gets in the ocean. 

“You’re right. Okay, please just don’t... don’t let go of my hand,” you beg. 

“I wouldn’t even dream of it,” he replies with a smile. “Are you ready?”

You take in a shaky breath and softly nod. He pulls your hand, leading you further into the cool water toward the rocks where most of the fish are usually gathered. Soon the water is up to your chest.

Chan stops and turns to you. “Okay, let’s put your mask on.” 

Those words alone are enough to make your heart beat faster. Chan helps adjust the strap so the mask fits your head, looking into your panicked eyes when he deems it secure. 

“Hey, you’re okay. I’m right here. Nothing is going to happen to you, I promise. You can do this.” 

He smiles in an effort to encourage you and then leans down to place his now masked face in the water, gesturing for you to do the same.

You put your face as close to the water as possible but stop before dunking your head under. You can’t do this. It’s too much. Chan notices that you haven’t come under and lifts himself back up to look at you. 

“(y/n), hey baby, you can do this. I believe in you. What is scaring you so much? Can I help?” He asks pushing stray hairs caught in your mask away. You take the mask off to explain. 

“I don’t even know. You know how much I don’t like water in my face. I feel like I’ll drown or something if I open my eyes even though I have the mask on,” you answer with your head down. 

“That’s okay, honey. Just take a deep breath and try again. You will get it eventually. It might take practice, but this is the only way to conquer your fear, yeah?” He glances at you for confirmation that you understand him. You nod in answer. 

“Okay, let’s try again. Try opening your eyes. I promise it’s not scary and I’m right here.” You nod again and he ducks his head under once more. 

You take a few deep breaths in an effort to calm yourself and just go for it. You place your face in the water and stay there for a second with your eyes closed. Unbeknownst to you, Chan isn’t watching the water around him, but watching your face for signs of fear. 

You open your eyes and instantly regret it. Your breathing stops and you whip your head up quickly, ripping your snorkel mask off. You immediately begin to cry out of fear but mostly frustration. Before you can process it or even open your eyes, Chan has his arms wrapped around you and your trembling body pulled close to his bare chest. 

“Hey, hey, hey. It’s okay, sweetheart. You did a great job. I’m so proud of you. You’re alright. I’m here.” He shushes you and rubs your back. He hates seeing you so upset, especially because he’s the one that encouraged you to do this. 

“I-I’m sorry Chan. I c-can’t do it,” you sob into his chest. 

“Don’t be sorry, honey. It’s alright. You were so brave.” He holds you for a few minutes and then pulls away, wiping the salt water from your cheeks that he wishes was from the sea instead of your beautiful eyes. 

“Do you... want to stop? We can keep trying if you want or we can just call it done for today,” he questions. 

You think for a few seconds. You can’t just give up. You want to make Chan proud and you really want to see the fish and the manta rays. With fear and anxiety still swimming in your heart, you look up at him. 

“I want to do this.” 

He smiles. “Okay, let’s do this!”

After an hour of working your way into being comfortable snorkeling, you finally get the hang of it. Though you can still feel your heart beating out of your chest, you’ve conquered your fear and feel on top of the world. Chan can’t contain his excitement and pride, attacking you with kisses with praises falling from his lips left and right. 

He takes you over to where he knows all the fish linger. A school of bright yellow fish swim around each other as if moved by the ocean’s current rather than their own self-influence. A small black and white eel moves out from its hiding place behind a lava rock to see what the two large visitors are doing in its territory before swimming away out of sight. 

You spend the rest of the afternoon with Chan introducing you to the underwater world he previously familiarized himself with and wants to share with you. 

You notice later that night that, just like he promised, at no point during the time you were in the water did he ever let go of your hand.

~ | ~ | ~ | ~ 

The warm summer wind blows your hair every which way as the small boat that is taking you to visit the manta rays speeds across the Kona reef. The sun is beginning its descent and the moon peaks out of the pink clouds.

You and Chan, along with the other passengers, are dressed in tight wet-suits that make you feel life a human marshmallow. Chan somehow still manages to look attractive in the awkward outfit. 

The boat is small and intimate, creating a family-like atmosphere with the small group of strangers. The family towards the back of the boat takes pictures with one another and the small children squeal as the water splashes on their faces. The only other person besides you and Chan, the family, and the two-man crew, is one of the crew member’s great aunt, an elderly lady who appears to be a natural on these excursions. You catch her multiple times smiling over at you and Chan with stars in her eyes and an almost reminiscent look on her face. You’re suddenly very grateful that Chan booked this smaller tour rather than the larger 50-person tours. 

The captain slows his vessel to a stop after about 20 minutes, killing the engine then preparing for the excursion. He and his younger mate hand out snorkel masks and flippers. Your nerves spike for a moment when you are handed your mask until your boyfriend grabs your hand and places a calming kiss to the back of it. 

Once everyone is ready to enter the water, the captain gives the okay and one by one all of you hop off the back ladder into the cold ocean. Chan goes before you so he can be there to catch you despite you wearing a buoyant suit and holding a lime green pool noodle. After the both of you are in the water, you follow the rest of the party toward the young guide to begin what will be one of the most magical moments of your life.

Somehow you are not as nervous as you were a few days ago with snorkeling; maybe its the comfort of the curly blonde-headed man next to you holding tightly onto your hand. Chan already has his goggles on and his face in the water. You join him, taking a deep breath and trying to calm your rapidly beating heart.

Your breath is taken away, not because of fear, but because you’ve never seen anything as amazing as what you see in front of you. Ginormous manta rays glide through the water just under you in the deep blue ocean. Their graceful movements look like a choreographed routine, flipping and turning to the beat of the ocean waves. The small sun rays that still penetrate the water glisten off their black and white bodies. Among them, hundreds of tiny colorful fish drift through the water, most of them in and on out of the rocks behind you. 

You pull on Chan’s hand, pointing to any and every thing you see that you don’t want him to miss. He looks at you with a smile and a nod when he notices what you’re referring to. 

Sure, he loves this underwater world and seeing creatures he never even knew he would in his lifetime, but his favorite part of the experience is seeing you overcome your fear and the sparkle and pure joy in your eyes as you take in the ocean life. 

Soon the free snorkel time is over and its time to begin the manta ray “feeding.” You, Chan, and the other members of your tour all follow the instructions of the guide, grabbing onto the modified surfboard’s handles. The surfboard has a light on the bottom that attracts plankton, a manta ray’s only food source. 

Once the sun has gone down, leaving only small streaks of light left on the horizon, the guide leads the group over a specific spot and then tells your group to lay as flat on the water as possible. 

You give Chan an excited but equally nervous face and he mirrors the expression. He places his hand on top of yours that holds tightly to the rope handle. He keeps it there to calm you both. 

For a little while, nothing happens and you wait anxiously for whatever is supposed to happen. Then suddenly you hear your guide yell so everyone can hear.  “Okay, everyone! There’s one coming from my right! Stay completely still and don’t touch it!” 

You try your best to turn your head and see the creature, but before you even have the chance, the largest animal you’ve ever seen comes up from under you. It’s upside down, its stomach all you can see. It’s mouth could swallow you and Chan both whole in one bite but it won’t. You lightly squeal in a mix of fear and excitement. The fascinating creature is just 2 feet from your face. 

Once it flips back over, its mouth full of its dinner, it swims back into the dark depths of the sea. You look at Chan again with an awestruck look. You hear him exclaim in excitement. Your beach boy looks like a kid in a candy store right now and you couldn’t be happier to experience this with him. 

The graceful, almost magical, creatures continue to feed off the plankton your light board provides for close to 30 more minutes until your guide decides it is time to leave the reef and head back to shore. 

Chan lets you onto the boat first, helping you as you go. The two of you resume sitting near the front of the boat by the captain after putting away your gear and grabbing a complimentary drink from the cooler. 

Both you and Chan unzip your dripping suits, leaving you in your swimwear, letting the wind dry your skin and salty hair. Chan leans back in his seat and wraps his arm around you, prompting you to lay your head on his wet shoulder. The boat starts back up and takes off from the reef. 

The sun is almost completely gone now, a pink tint to the sky reflects on Chan’s handsome face and clusters of stars begin to appear above you. He turns his head that was watching the water to you and places loving kisses on the top of your head. 

“I’m so proud of you, baby. I knew you could do it. I’m so glad I got to experience that with you.”

“Me too. Thank you for helping me over my fear. I couldn’t have done it without you. You know, you really are a natural in the water. Are you sure you’re not a merman?” you tease him. 

He scoffs, “I’m sure, sweetpea. I’m just that talented.” He smirks at you, letting out a laugh when you lightly punch his arm for being cheeky. 

The elderly lady that had resumed her place across from you two smiles over at you. 

“I remember what it was like to be young and in love. You two are a beautiful couple.” 

Your heart warms at her kind words. The two of you engage in a conversation that lasts for the remainder of the ride. Meanwhile, your boyfriend stares at you in awe: from the way you smile when you talk to your new friend, to the way your hair is now frizzy and slightly tangled due to the weather and wind. He’s never been more in love with you. 

The boat arrives at the dock sooner than you thought it would. You stand on the old wooden walkway as you say a goodbye to your new friend. Before leaving, she slips you two pieces of wrapped lychee candy. 

“These were my husband’s favorite candy. I wish you and this handsome young man happiness for the rest of your lives. Thank you for provoking this old woman to take a trip down memory lane.” She grabs both yours and Chan’s hands, giving you a warm smile before walking away to find her nephew. 

You turn to Chan with small tears in your eyes, wrapping your arms around his neck. He places his hands around your waist on your lower back. Your hands reach up to run your fingers through his curls. 

“I love you,” you whisper. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you swimming with manta rays, eating lychee candy, and everything in between.” 

Chan places his forehead against yours. “I love you too, and I want nothing more in the world than to be with you forever.”

You reach up and place your lips against his, pouring every ounce of love and gratefulness for this man into it. He reciprocates your kiss quickly, pulling you closer to him. 

The sound of waves crashing on the dock echo in your ears. The wind chills your skin and you feel the recently familiar sprinkles of rain begin to fall over you. 

You pull away from Chan with a giggle. 

“What is it?” he asks with a smile. 

You reach up and give him another peck on impulse, unable to resist him. You smile at him again, twisting his curls between your slightly pruned fingers. He sighs into your touch.

“Your lips taste like salt water.”

#oh my GOD i hope this is good #i really like it and i'm pretty proud of it #anyway! this is starting a new series! please tell me what you think of this! #bang chan #stray kids chan #stray kids x reader #stray kids imagines #stray kids soft hours #stray kids scenarios #stray kids fic #stray kids series #stray kids fluff #bang chan x reader #bang chan imagines #bang chan soft hours #bang chan scenarios #bang chan fic #bang chan fluff

[crowsent]

Whumptober 2019 Isolation

Haru Okumura, Akira Kurusu, Persona 5, Isolation

Two separate fanfics this time but I put them both on one post! I hope to gods that I got Haru right bc she’s such an underappreciated character. Big thanks to @lastvalyrian for giving me the Akira Kurusu goes back to his hometown idea bc I cried at that

=

Isolation was the monster lurking under her bed, the beast that trailed after her with a drooling open maw, her own Damocles’ Sword, held aloft by a single hair. And in a way, the fact that she felt isolated from everyone else was a little funny.

What a silly girl you are, Haru Okumura. How silly for you to fret over such trivial matters like companionship when you had the whole world laid out before you on a silver plate. Isolation? Loneliness? Solitude? If you’re sad we can buy you new friends. Friends who will adore you and shower you with praise. Powerful friends from rich families that will further the heights of the Okumura name.

You’re so lucky to have all this money, all this fame, all this fortune, and yet you wallow in useless self-pity. Be thankful that you’re an Okumura.

Haru had friends. Fake friends with fake smiles, with honeyed words dripping with the money Father paid them to be nice to Haru. Rich sons and daughters of other conglomerate businesses that Father used as a tool to spread the Okumura family name. They agreed to everything Haru said, laughed at all her jokes, and invited her out to everything. Employees vying for her father’s favour complimented her dress, her hair, taught her how to play cat’s cradle when she was but a young child. Managers of the Big Bang Burger empire always took care in flattering her. Haru caught people around corners, laughing at the easy money just for humouring the Okumura heiress' petty desires to have someplace to belong.

Isolation, Haru thought, was the invisible cage in which she was doomed to die in.

She was always surrounded by people, but she was always alone.

And it was cold.

It was empty.

It was hollow.

All the wealth in the world couldn’t stave off the chasm inside Haru’s heart, the desire to have someone in her life, just one person, who saw her not as the rich Okumura daughter, but simply as Haru.

She waited.

She hoped.

The shoujo manga she happened to read in Shujin’s library had always said that someone would inevitably swoop in and save her from being on her own. Someone would show her that she was more than a damsel in distress, fated to walk a predetermined path. That she could live her own life without someone else’s hand moving the pieces on the board.

But no one came.

Father had arranged for her to marry the son of a wealthy politician. She, too, had become a tool to further his own ambitions.

No one came.

“I’ll be fine.” Haru nodded decisively. “Everything’s going to be okay Haru.” She gently stroked the tomato’s leaves. It had grown so much, rising up despite being in a cramped planter. “Don’t worry about me, okay?” The tomato did not speak. Haru continued to gently brush her fingers over the leaves.

She was in her last year of highschool now. The shoujo manga she had read when she first came into Shujin was long forgotten. A distant memory. She couldn’t even recall what it was about anymore.

The tomato plant was still green, not yet ready for harvesting. Haru hoped she had enough time over the coming weeks to care for it properly. “Shibuya’s a lot safer now that that mafia boss turned himself in. The Phantom Thieves are amazing, aren’t they?”

Silence.

“I wish they would answer my request too…”

Her phone pinged.

A text.

Haru’s smile thinned. “I have to go now. I’m sorry for leaving you in such a quiet place.” The rooftop was silent and the plants which Haru had cared for had to wait. “I wish I could stay here longer.” The text was from Sugimura. Haru didn’t want to go. She had no choice.

“I’ll come back as soon as I can, okay?”

She stood up, wiping the dirt from her hands onto her gym tracksuit. Her plants did not answer, but they were all that Haru had. The rooftop was the only place she felt less alone. Her plants; the tomatoes and carrots, the bougainvilleas and lilies, were the only reason she held on. The only things in her life that brought colour to her grey existence. If she was fated to walk a path someone else had chosen for her, she wanted to at least see flowers blooming at the edges.

Her heart was empty.

Haru walked by a pair of giggling girls on her way out from Shujin.

Haru walked alongside a crowd on her way back home.

She was surrounded by people.

She had never felt more alone.

====

It wasn’t the same.

The gas station was still there, still manned by a single overworked attendant with dead fish eyes and a tired smile frozen on their lips. The school was still there, still tiny and still filled with gossip over every little insignificant thing that happened around town. The cats on the floodplain were still there, the large Department Store was still there, the historical Amagi Inn was still there.

Nothing changed about Inaba. It was still the sleepy old town Akira remembered it to be. His house was still crammed in the residential district. The old couple who lived across from him gave him clipped greetings. Rumours of his arrest, his second arrest as a rebellious thief had spread just as fast as he expected it to. His parents weren’t home.

Nothing changed about Akira’s hometown during his year in Tokyo.

But it didn’t feel the same.

Not anymore.

He shut the front door of his parents’ home with a sigh and stalked over to the living room couch where he collapsed on the cushion with a soft thud. Morgana wiggled his way out of Akira’s bag and onto the couch. “This is your home?” Akira turned face-up so he could watch Morgana’s whiskers twitch and his tail swish around as he peered curiously at Akira’s family home. At the white countertops, at the boring beige sofa, at the obsessively clean space. “It’s quite different from the chief’s attic.”

Akira laughed at that. Though it was a much quieter sound, now. Anything too loud in this too quiet house sounded deafening. “Aren’t you glad not to live in an attic, Morgana?” Akira scratched Morgana behind the ears. Morgana’s tail curled up in delight and his eyes shut with a soft purr. “It’s a lot better than Sakura’s attic, isn’t it?”

Morgana’s eyes opened. For some reason, Akira didn’t like the look his cat gave him. “Do you really think that?”

Of course, Akira wanted to say. Here he was, back home, his actual home. Back in his hometown where whispers about his criminal past would always trail after him like a cape, where his parent’s house was devoid of any character and life, where Akira would have to come back to a quiet building because his mother worked the night shift as the receptionist in the hospital and his father didn’t bother doing anything but drink beer from the fridge when he came home most nights.

He had his old room back. A spartan square room with only a bed and a dresser. Without the potted plant he’d come to love, without the decorations and gifts his friends had given him, without the work desk where he spent hours meticulously crafting tiny knicknacks together. It was a fairly large house that had everything he could possibly need; a nice bathroom with a large tub, a fancy new tv unlike the tiny box he had in Sakura’s attic, a lot of space where he would spend the rest of his life alone.

Without his friends.

Without freshly made curry given to him with a smile.

Without someone to say “welcome back” as soon as he opens the door.

“Joker?” Morgana shimmied away from Akira’s hand, walking on his chest to look at him properly. He nudged Akira’s cheek with a paw. “Hey. Joker. Akira. Are you okay?”

Thankfully, Morgana didn’t mention the fact that Akira’s face was wet with tears. “Why wouldn’t I be?” Akira croaked. He wrapped Morgana in a half-assed hug. Morgana’s tail traced patterns on his forearms. “I’m back home. I’ll be going back to school where you can’t come with me because you can’t fit in the space underneath the desks here. All of my friends are still in Tokyo and I have to live the rest of my life here listening to everyone else mumbling shit about me when they think I can’t hear!” A sigh. Akira’s hands running through Morgana’s fur, trembling. “I’m fucking fine.”

It felt like yesterday when Akira stumbled into Shibuya, wide-eyed and confused, lost. Staring at the cars zooming by and the bright lights and the allure and danger of a strange city. It felt like it was only yesterday when he and Ryuji stumbled upon a lavish castle, when Ann cried and broke down in front of him at some random diner because of Kamoshida’s persistence, when Morgana first came into his life and taught him how to be a phantom thief.

It felt like he had met Makoto only a day ago, when she trailed him all over Shibuya with a flimsy magazine like that would stop her from getting noticed, when she vowed to stop Kaneshiro with them all. It felt like Haru came to him to ask for help with differentiating coffee beans only a few hours ago, when they planted flowers together on Shujin’s rooftop, when she annulled her engagement with Sugimura and gave Akira the biggest smile he had ever seen. It felt like it was only a few minutes ago when he met Sakura, Chihaya, Yoshida, Shinya, Iwai, Mishima, and all the other people who had made his life worth living.

It felt like he had met Yusuke for the first time only a few seconds ago. When Yusuke dragged Akira all over Tokyo in pursuit of true beauty. When Yusuke proudly gave him ‘Desire and Hope’ with their fingers brushing against each other. When Yusuke softly requested for Akira to keep smiling until he was able to capture it on canvas. When Yusuke gave him a tearful smile at the train station as Akira was bound to leave.

A year was not enough.

A year would never be enough.

It’s not enough.

The box of things Akira had from Tokyo sat near the door. He couldn’t bring everything. His room was nowhere big enough to display all that his friends had given him and his parents would never allow such “unsightly” decoration around the house. At least they agreed to let Akira hang the painting from “a famous artist” by the living room. Something to give the white nothingness of the house a little bit of colour.

Morgana stayed quiet as Akira wiped his tears away. “At least I have you Morgana. You’ll stay with me, right?”

A purr, Morgana doing his damnedest to snuggle into Akira’s neck. “Hmph. You couldn’t get rid of me even if you tried.”

“I would never! Unless you try to steal my food. Then you’re gonna be living in the streets.” Morgana giggled. Having fur around his neck was ticklish.

The house was too quiet. There was no smell of coffee in the air, or the white noise of a television. He should unpack his things. He’d finish his last year of highschool at Yasogami and he’d have to enroll himself. Again. Not like anyone was going to come with him. Too busy. Not enough time. You’re already a problem child so don’t you dare think of being a burden on us even more. It was deadly quiet, at least, until his parents would come home.

At least he still had the headphones Futaba gave him. When his parents begin yelling at each other, he can block them out.

Pretend that his parents gave a shit about him.

Pretend that he was back in Tokyo.

Pretend that he wasn’t going to spend this year alone.

#whumptober 2019 #whumptober2019 #persona #persona 5 #p5 #akiras hometown is inaba and you can fucking pry that headcanon from my cold dead fingers #no.7

[sunshinewhale]

selfless [complete work]

fallen hearts are bound together just to break

pairing: onesided hyungwon x reader, kihyun x reader   pov: unnamed reader, hyungwon-centric, third person

genre: angst lol  words: ~6200 

*optional* follow-up to [ selfish ], but can be read standalone

warnings: slowburn? self-insecurities, unhappy open-ending, romanticism about insecurities, you may need a tissue

notes: was i uploading this in parts? yes. did I give up finish the rest in one go and post it as a whole work? yes. give me some love guys, i need validation for subsistence. 

(writing gets worse as it goes fyi, bc i gave up lol)

Hyungwon realizes, she must be special somehow, because Kihyun brings her home.

He’s not exactly surprised. They all have some loves, some secretive, fleeting, some lost. The thing is, it’s Kihyun, and the ones that Kihyun brings home are few and even farther in between. 

There is nothing particularly distinctive about her. She’s pretty in her own way, a little shy, but pleasant in her politeness and perfectly amiable. At second glance, she’s not really the type Kihyun usually goes for, either.

Albeit a little wary, he is neutral. Relationships for people like them were always a tough ocean to weather, intricately complicated, too often ending in sunken shipwreck. For Hyungwon, fallen hearts are just too difficult, bound together just to break and he has no qualms about breaking others to keep his own safe.

But that’s no fault of hers, and the one she beats for is not him but Kihyun, so he has no reason for animosity.

When Kihyun leaves to prepare dinner, she doesn’t follow him into the kitchen. She settles a careful distance next to him on the wrinkled leather couch, away from the chattering noise of Minhyuk and Changkyun at war in the game room. A seeker of silence, he observes as he raises his head and her eyes meet his. The contact has her taken aback, her pupils rounded and wide with innocent alarm. He gives a nonchalant, non-committal nod, and she slowly blinks back, owlish.

It’s so oddly adorable, he’s secretly charmed.

He leans back and lets his eyelids lower.

The silence isn’t awkward at all. In the most unexpected way, her quiet presence is comforting. There’s a slight crick in his neck, but his consciousness drifts off as he listens the faint rhythm of her breathing. A blissful haze creeps over his mind, he’s about to dip into the sweet nothingness of sleep when a hand presses against his cheek gently. Without thinking, he nuzzles into the warm skin.

Still gentle, the hand shifts his position. He grunts in drowsy protest, nudging his face against the direction of the guided push. It refuses to let up, and he squints open in quick irritation, attack ready on his tongue.

All he can see is her.

A small pull is at the corner of her lips, and amusement gleams in her eyes. 

“I’m sorry for bothering you, but it’s bad for your neck if you sleep like that,” she says softly, and Hyungwon only hears kindness.

His irritation vanishes into thin air, as quick as it came, and he allows her to move his head to lie on the cushioned armrest. She’ll be good for Kihyun, he thinks.

His eyelids close heavy. His muddled consciousness melts a crack in his guarded armour, and his lips are too loose. He finds himself mumbling out loud, look after him, Kihyun can be difficult, he means well, he’s usually too busy looking after us to look after himself.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to look after him for long,” she whispers. It’s almost inaudible in the silence. 

He knows she’s telling herself rather than answering him.

Hyungwon doesn’t really understand, but he recognizes sadness and he thinks he feels a dull stirring in his chest—

Then, his unconsciousness takes him completely.

.

.

.

“Why are you here alone?”

His voice comes out raspy and it makes him sound cranky and ill-tempered. It’s well past noon, but he had just rolled out of bed. He’s still bleary eyed with the hangover of sleep, and a sleepy Hyungwon is never a happy Hyungwon.

Startled, like a deer in the headlights, she meets his gaze from her spot at the kitchen table. 

“Kihyun is out on a schedule with Minhyuk and Hyunwoo. He asked me to wait for him to come back,” she pauses in meek hesitance. Her lips part again as if she had more to say, but she purses them and looks away instead.

Hyungwon too, turns away without replying. The silence that floods the room is awkward enough that he feels some sort of internal cringe, but he does nothing to alleviate it. Everything is making his head hurt. He rubs out an oncoming migraine, and scuffing of wood against tile fills the soundlessness.

She’s out of her seat and rummaging around the kitchen cabinets. Tension is knitted between the blades of her shoulders, caution in every movement.

Distance. 

He's all too aware. He sees the signs, the weight of reservation within, will withering at the pressure of possibly being unwanted.

A part of him gives way, and he sighs through his softness. He doesn’t intend to regularly involve her in his life (like Minhyuk) or instant acceptance into a blossoming friendship (like Jooheon) just because she’s dating one of his members, but he (admittedly) loves and respects Kihyun. He would like to be on good terms with her, something along the lines of the closer side of close acquaintances, and Hyungwon definitely doesn’t want her to feel unwelcome.

“You don’t have to be so formal, and you don’t have to explain to me why you’re here. Relax, you’re with Kihyun.”

She stiffens completely, arm frozen midair and hand disappeared in the depths of a cupboard. She doesn’t turn her head to look at him.

“You don’t need to distance yourself,” Hyungwon continues, “we’re all glad that you’re here. Kihyun’s been really happy these weeks.” 

He hears her inhale deeply, a little shaky and unsteady, but she still doesn’t turn around. Maybe he overstepped his bounds.  

Unbidden, he walks out of the kitchen. He plops himself onto the leather couch, and he groans in frustration as he buries his face into his hands. He thinks of her back, her shoulders curled in, on guard and awaiting hostility. You’ve just made things worse. Why can’t you just get along— 

“Hyungwon.” 

He spreads his fingers and peeks at her between the gaps.

“Hyungwon,” she says again, somewhat shy. Her voice has always been soothing to his ears, but hearing his name was another experience. It’s not quite a smile yet, but her mouth lifts slightly upwards.

She holds out a mug to him. It’s his mug, sleek black with C.H.W. engraved on the handle that had been gifted to him for his birthday. 

He’s a little perplexed. “Why are you making me coffee?” he can’t help but ask, but he easily accepts the mug from her, touched by the detail.

She’s nowhere near as bright as the afternoon sun, but he thinks her eyes twinkle. 

“You’re with Kihyun, too. Shouldn’t I look after you the way he will?”

She smiles, cheeky. It’s a small smile, but it’s a start. 

He blinks. He’s not sure if its the aroma of coffee or if Kihyun had cleaned yesterday, but the light from the glass windows seem to sparkle gently.

He brings the mug to his lips and takes a sip.

Strange.

It’s black coffee. It’s black coffee, but it tastes somehow sweet. 

Even stranger, Hyungwon doesn’t mind the sweetness.

.

.

Hyungwon is at the wrong place at the wrong time. 

He’s a simple man, really. All he wants is his daily dose of caffeine in tranquility and peace, accompanied by the quiet buzz of city life. As fate would have it, a cruel mistress indeed, he ends up at the same cafe as her and Kihyun. They don’t notice him, but drama finds him wherever he goes.

He watches as a girl saunters up to her, shoulders squared with arrogance, her perfect manicure tipped with cruelty. Dread dips down his spine as he recognizes her as one of Kihyun’s past loves, one of the ill-fated that ended messy and met death with spite.

“I still can’t believe it, but word has it someone like you is Yoo Kihyun’s new other,” the girl bites to maim, voice sharp and steel-bladed. “Are you?”

He grits his teeth.

Where on earth did Kihyun go?

He’s not involved but he doesn’t exactly feel uninvolved. He wants to embrace the bliss of ignorance, blind his eyes and deafen his ears, to pass her off as another stranger. He doesn’t know her well enough, he has no right to be involved, so it has nothing to do with him.

(He ignores the Kihyun would expect you to be involved lurking in the depths of his mind.)

He’s always been passive in nature, unbothered by conflict, ready to run to keep the comfort of his status quo. A prey in a predator’s disguise. 

But Hyunwon’s body refuses to obey him, and his sight can’t seem to focus anywhere else.

She looks up from her hot chocolate, bewildered at the hostility. Her pupils shake for a second, two, and then her expression shifts into an impasse, neutral without any trace of any emotion.

“I am.” 

“What makes you think you’re good enough for him?” The girl snarls, clearly airing out her disdain with no sense of misplaced blame.

It has nothing to do with me, don’t get involved, nothing to do with me, repeats in his head but the anger is thrumming through his veins and his blood screams at him to do something. He pushes his chair back before he knows it, feet firm on wooden ground as he strides a long step forward—

“I don’t,” she says quietly, but it rings loud against the noisy silence of the cafe business, “I never thought I was.”

—and he stops.

Her level gaze never falters, but the softness of her words don’t match how hard and deep they strike him to the core. "Why do you think I'll meet a different end than you?" She shakes her head offers a bittersweet smile, more bitter than sweet, “I can assure you our endings won’t be much different.”

“Kihyun isn’t the type to change.”

The girl looks a little taken aback, but her tongue is tied and her malice breathing its last, dying breath.

The tension fizzles out like that.

.

.

.

“I’m so sorry, I left you alone in such a common place with so much traffic,” comes Kihyun’s worried, worried voice, warm and filled to the brim with genuine concern. “I saw her on my way back, did she talk to you? Did she give you any trouble?”

“No, Kihyun. She didn’t mean it. She’s was hurt, that’s all, still not over her heartbreak.”

Kihyun scoffs, “Hurt? Not over her heartbreak? She gave me the dirtiest stink eye earlier, if eyes had lasers I would be nothing but ashes.”

She sighs, but it’s fond.

Hyungwon can physically hear the way she folds and tucks away her raw ruefulness underneath a smile. “We just talked a little, she reminded me how lucky I am for being with you.”

Kihyun laughs in love, amused and overflowing with happiness. Hyungwon wonders how Kihyun fails to pinpoint the uncertainty weighing her shoulders and the missing beats of her heart. 

Why do you think I’ll meet a different end than you?

But it has nothing to do with him, so he takes a sip of his coffee.

Our endings won’t be much different.

Cold.

Hyungwon finds it difficult to swallow.

.

.

.

In his carelessness, he drops a glass. 

Hyungwon sees the way the glass shatters onto the white tile floor in slow motion. Completeness, a whole, then imperfect, unmatched fragments, breaking into pieces and parts, parts and pieces— 

In a million diamond pieces, it glitters with breathtaking beauty and hidden cruelty, and in that beautiful cruelness, he cuts himself on the shattered shards. 

Don’t broken pieces combine into completeness? Aren’t shattered shards an imperfect piece of perfection?  

Rich redness dribbles down his palm, and he follows the blood flow, but his mind, lost, wandering in wonder.

A whole is a sum of its parts. How are parts summed together to make a whole? 

A gasp.

“Hyungwon!” 

He turns to the kitchen doorway, and she stands, struck, face colourless with concern.

How can you fix broken perfection when you’re missing shattered parts?

.

.

.

“You need to be careful, Hyungwon.”

“It’s just a small wound,” he protests, indignation sparking alive, “it’ll heal in no time.”

She huffs, blown up and adorably miffed as she blots liquid redness away from the bleeding cut on his palm. It’s not like he wants an injury on his hand either, but Hyungwon can’t help the upwards curl of his mouth as he watches her administer first aid.

“It will heal,” she sighs, “you don’t need to get stitches, at least. But why were you letting yourself bleed out all over the glass?”

He laughs a little nervously. Well.

“I got lost in thought for a second...maybe?”

...

“Maybe you need to wean off your coffee addiction. On the contrary to popular belief, I think too much caffeine makes you lag.” 

In mid scoff, an involuntary hiss escapes him as she dabs alcohol over the open skin. She looks up with a playful frown on her face, “Does it hurt, you big baby?”

“You’re being mean,” he jokes, “my heart hurts.”

But she agrees, humming nonchalantly, almost too nonchalant for the sudden depth to her voice. “The worst wounds are the ones you can’t see. The ones that hurt the most are the wounds that hurt the heart.”

“And wounds that hurt the heart,” she says, final, cradling his hand gently, “are the ones that others can’t help you heal.”

He falls quiet, because he’s not quite sure how to respond. There’s too many secrets hidden among too many doors, and Hyungwon doesn’t want to knock too hard and suddenly find himself an intruder. She finishes the wrapping of white bandages with a clean knot, tucking loose ends neatly into place, “Well, that’s that.”

Nodding, Hyungwon rises to clean up the mess still on the floor, but she scrunches her nose and huffs at him, a silent bid to sit back down. He’s too tired to argue, so he does, and swallows the little bit of guilt that lingers. He watches her pick up the glass, one cautious shard by shard, and he thinks she looks like she’s collecting broken pieces of herself. His heart squeezes, he takes a deep breath, and—

“The gossip. Those rumors. You don’t have to take that kind of behaviour from his exes, strangers, staff, whatever.”

She hums in true nonchalance, “I’m fine, really. They’re not asking the wrong questions, either.”

She sweeps up the remaining minuscule cuts on the floor, invisible to the eye but still shimmering, glinting with subdued beauty in the passover of light. 

Then softer, like a little secret told out loud, “They’re asking the same questions I ask myself.”

It’s the fact that Hyungwon knows she fully means every single word she says that makes his simmering emotions bubble over and burst.

“Why? Why are you letting them hurt you? Why don’t you tell Kihyun?”

“It doesn’t hurt me—”

“You should tell Kihyun anyways, he would want to know!”

If I were Kihyun, I would want to know. I would need to know.

“I don’t want to worry him when it doesn't bother me, and,” she stops, blinks once, and exhales the tiniest quiver in her voice away to calmness—

“I’ll just be another goodbye in the end, anyway.”

It’s absolutely absurd to Hyungwon. He doesn’t know much about relationships, sure, he doesn’t know much about love, but he knows Yoo Kihyun.

“I’ve never seen him love anyone like he loves you,” he confesses, “you have nothing to be afraid of.”

She looks at him, and his breath loses itself to the glint of soft tragedy in her eyes. He sees hopelessness at peace, he thinks she’s too restrained for a heart that Kihyun’s so careful not to shatter—

Hyungwon realizes she’s been shattered all along, by her own hands.

Like broken glass pieces, sadness sparkling on cold tile floors.

“I’m not afraid he’ll leave me,” she whispers, barely, and it’s the only thing that falls from her lips with complete certainty, “I’m waiting for when he will.”

Something stirs in his chest again.

This time, it aches. 

.

.

.

The sun dips lower into the horizon, and the sunset stars flicker. Something about the dying light and the golden glow caught in the tangles of her hair pulls him in too deep and under the edge, the sky a thousand novas for a thousand old wounds gasping to resurface, and Hyungwon is just so tired of toeing lines.

Do you hate yourself?

The question leaves his lips before he realizes, four rogue little words escaping without a destination to cross an invisible boundary, but forever searching, searching and searching.

Her eyes lower to secrets and unspoken wisdom, and the corners of her lips pull up. Hyungwon holds his breath because, for a moment, he can’t see starlight reflected in the glassy distance of her pupils. It’s a complex blend of bittersweetness, the smile that she forms; a little amusement, a little morbidness, and his chest aches as he can’t even begin to unravel everything in between. Then, she’s so unbearably soft, almost unheard in the wind but piercing through the confines of his heart.

“Why did you hate yourself, Hyungwon?”

He freezes. The orange afterglow of setting sunlight is still warm, but a tentative chill settles in icy pricks along his skin.

He remembers long nights, hard nights, sleepless nights, when exhaustion of the body and mind rooted so far into his soul that he just couldn’t rest. He remembers moonlight misery reflecting off his glass windows, ghost whispers of not being good enough, not measuring up, never ever catching the trailing threads of success. Fake it until you make it, was what he was taught, but some part of him screamed he would never make it, and all his efforts, futile. He still doesn’t know how he managed to pretend he glittered gold for so long while he believed he was dirt. She eyes him in his memories, all too knowing for someone that has not been through those experiences, and Hyungwon can’t help but shudder.

“You have that look, too. That look of someone who is going through or have gone through it. It’s an almost crippling uncertainty, but it’s also not baseless insecurity, isn’t it? The uneasiness can dull to almost nothing, but it never quite leaves—”

She breathes out into dusk, and shifts her head to hold his sight. He almost flinches, almost shys away from her eyes. For once, she’s holding nothing back, and the bareness makes him feel too exposed, his steel armours overturned and vulnerabilities unearthed. 

“You have it, Hoseok has it, Minhyuk has it too, but Kihyun’s not one of you,” she says, dead center bullseye and an arrow straight through his heart. The way her voice floods with unconditional love and acceptance wants to bring Hyungwon on his knees. “You know this better than I do as Kihyun’s longtime friend, don’t you? This little something Kihyun can’t understand, never will understand. He knows he’s someone the universe made to shine.”

She laughs lightly, fond but a bit dry, and stars are lost in the crescents of her eyes.

“I’m not as extreme as you seem to think, though. I don’t hate myself, not at all. I wouldn’t have said yes to Kihyun if it was like that.”

Confusion bursts, because Hyungwon just knows there’s something more. His forehead wrinkles, concern flooding in his voice as he starts, “But you...you’re not okay—”

His thoughts fade out into white noise as she raises her hand towards him and tiptoes. His pulse quickens seeing her so close, and he blinks in subtle panic. Then, he feels the warmth of her fingertips gently smoothing the tension folded between his brows away, and he just stares.

“It’s not so bad, Hyungwon, don’t waste your worries on me,” she says, all quiet and tender, as if that could soften the hard blow to the hard truth—

”I just don’t know how to love myself.”

That’s even more awful, not knowing how, Hyunwon wants to argue, anger alive on her behalf, but he sees her sorrow and her unshed tears and the words die on his tongue. Instead, he reaches up and takes her hand into his. 

Hyungwon gives her a gentle squeeze. Hating would be easier. There’s a thin line between love and hate. Love can bloom into hate and hate can grow into love, but what can be molded when it comes to an I don’t know? 

She gives him another bittersweet smile, understanding, and slips her hand away. The memory of warmth lingers on his skin with the sudden emptiness.

He watches her turn back out to the sky, but when he follows her gaze, the sky has already darkened several shades of night, the stars are not brighter but bleaker, and it feels like he’s falling.

.

.

.

Hyungwon dreams of broken glass, of gentle hands, of a beating heart that loves bravely without loving itself. 

He collects the pieces of glittering glass into his hands, and it glows with injured iridescence in the mild lull of sunlight at dusk. Then, there’s a heart in his hands, beating bare and bleeding. 

It won’t stop beating even though it bleeds. 

It bleeds through angry out-of-place stitches, too clean and disturbingly artificial. The thin threads do nothing but wound the heart more, tearing the flesh in uneven gashes at the seams.

With docile fingers, Hyungwon removes the stitches and lets it bleed, and the blood flow begins to lessen, from a rough river to a gentle trickle. His hands stain wet red, but soft pulses flutter against the skin of his palm and for a moment, he thinks the heart is beating for him.

He almost forgets how to breathe. His own heartbeat skips four times, and with each missed beat, he yearns harder and he falls deeper.

He thinks he would give his own to keep the heart beating.

I love you. I love you, I love you—

I   l o v e   y o u.

He dreams.

It’s just a dream.

.

.

.

Bad days come and bad days go. His bad days catch up to him to seize him at gunpoint, and Hyungwon surrenders without a fight. A dejavu to his silly teenage years, again, he’s a self-caged captive with invisible chains and no one else to blame.

Pathetic.

There’s a pit in his stomach, a void in his chest, darker than black and an endless hole. He wants to cry but his veins are bloodless, his emotions in overdrive and he feels too much and nothing all at once.

 He curls into himself more and he wishes everything would just stop and go away—

He groans inwardly when he hears the unmistakable click of the apartment door. A quick mental count of schedules tells him it has to be Minhyuk or Kihyun or both, and he really does not feel like humouring either in his current state. Then, he hears distinctly feminine footsteps and for some reason, relief stirs in the numbness of his core.

“Hyungwon…?”

She’s peering at him from the doorway. Her brows are furrowed, lips twisted into a frowning pout and Hyungwon knows she can tell something is wrong. She disappears down the hallway, and returns with a pillow and a blanket. 

Hyungwon lets her maneuver him around, obediently lifting his head so she can slide the pillow underneath. She tucks the blanket up to his chin and makes sure his head properly supported by the pillow, and her easy acceptance already makes something in him more grounded.

“Do you need some time alone?” 

He shakes his head, “Can you stay?” 

He only needs to ask once. Without question, she settles on the floor next to him. Normally, Hyungwon would be a little unnerved at the way she was watching him so carefully, but he knows her now and her kindness, so he finds himself relaxing in her air of concern and comfort instead. 

In a smaller voice, he admits, “I don’t think I want to be alone right now.”

Hyungwon thinks he’s a grown man and he still can’t handle the width of his emotions, can’t hide them or mask them long enough without cracking miserably at the edges. 

“I’m pathetic, aren’t I,” he turns to her and his eyes water.

“Oh Hyungwon,” she coos with a sigh, leaning closer, she brushes wisps of his hair out of his face, “of course not. It's okay not to be okay.”

Her fingers kiss his eyelids so he lets his eyes falls shut and listens to her over the beat of his pulse.

“You’re more than what anything thinks of you, Hyungwon,” her touch trails the curve of his nose, “You’re more and what you think of you.”

“You’re doing your best, and that’s enough.”

At that, he opens his eyes to look at her, pointedly.

“You should tell that to yourself, too. Take your own advice,” he huffs.

She smiles back, amused but a little sullen. She presses a finger against the thickness of his lips. “That’s the secret, isn’t it? The fight between what you know and what you feel. It’s a losing war for my knows, though.”

His lips tingle at the phantom touch of her fingertips.

Her eyes are clear and deep with untold insecurities that he thinks he could drown in them. He wants to drown in them. He doesn’t understand why Kihyun can’t see them, even if he doesn’t understand them.

His heart skips, falling, and he’s not sure if he’s anchoring himself or his heart when he reaches out and grasps at the soft knit of her sweater. She gently pats his arm in a soothing gesture, “It’s okay, I’ll stay, Hyungwon.”

He closes his eyes again. He doesn’t let go and he seals his fate, fallen.

I love you.

It’s not just a dream.

.

.

.

When he wakes, she’s still on the floor next to him, but her fingers are slotted in-between his. She’s asleep and her cheek is nestled close by his side; Hyungwon can’t help but smile at the soft little exhales of her breathing. He keeps their fingers entwined while he collects his consciousness, then, he notes, there’s a blanket carefully draped over her.

He hears Kihyun singing from the kitchen, the faint sizzling of stir-fry, along with muffled clatters of pots and pans. Hyungwon slips his hand away.

Later, he realizes they cancelled their date. She waves him off and just asks if he’s feeling better. Kihyun too, is not bothered at all, tells him to take care of himself and never asks for an explanation.

Love fills him, and Hyungwon knows he matters to both of them, but reality checks and remorse quickly follows.

He can’t do this to Kihyun.

.

.

.

Kihyun doesn’t understand, but he does. 

Uncertainty. Uneasiness. Insecurity. The cycle of having doubt constantly clawing at your insides, stitching invisible wounds, then waking up next to anxiety and bringing misery to bed. 

He’s past that. He’s supposed to be past that. It’s been years since he had last seen the stranger of insecurity and self-hate, but he still remembers the struggle as vividly as yesterday.

It’s been a long time since Hyungwon had truly hated himself.

The clock turns three am and he thinks of her. He thinks of gentleness and unconditional acceptance, of her eyes and her smile. He thinks of the way she’s broken without bleeding, of how she’s so capable of holding herself so sturdy in her uncertainty. 

And hate crawls out of his grave, his familiar stranger. His ears ring to the trembling noise thrumming in his veins, his heart flutters painfully, and there’s something he’s been denying for far too long.

Hyungwon realizes, he knows why he’s been hating, why hate has slithered out of his slumbering shadows to strangle him blue.

He hates himself—

He hates himself for falling in love with a heart that belongs to someone else.

He hates himself for falling in love so completely, so irreversibly, that he would be okay with anything as long as that someone else learns how to love happily.

Maybe, most of all, he hates himself for loving so selflessly.

.

.

.

Fallen hearts are bound together just to break, he believed.

He was wrong.

Hyungwon isn’t bounded, but he would still break his fallen heart and hand it over on a golden platter if his broken pieces could fix hers.

.

.

.

The walls in their home are too thin. 

“I don’t know, Kihyun. I can’t, not yet.”

“Why not? You get along fine with my members. My family isn’t much different.”

“It’s not that. It’s just. I. I don’t know if I’m confident enough.” 

The adoration in Kihyun’s chuckles are hardly filtered out by the walls.

“It’s fine, I'm confident one. I have enough confidence for the both of us. It’s like how I love you and how I’m loving enough for the both of us.”

No, Hyungwon thinks, that’s not helping her at all.

“You’ll be fine because I’m by your side. For now, just think about it, okay?”

He hears her breathe out, long and winded. 

“Okay, I’ll think about it, but give me a little more time.”

He doesn’t find the embrace of sleep, that night.

.

.

.

What is love when you love something broken?

Is it love for what is was before it became shattered parts and pieces? The memories of when it was whole?

Is it love for what it could be if it was built back together whole? The potential of being fixed?

Or is it love because it’s broken? 

Love for it being broken, love because the brokenness is in your hands to break further or to fix.

Kihyun, Hyungwon wants to plead, wants to ask, wants to beg, don’t just love her for being broken.

.

.

.

She looks like she wants to cry. 

Her eyes are dry, but something about the way she blinks and squeezes her eyes shut gives her away. 

His heart hurts, seeing her like this. He wishes he could cradle her face in his hands and tenderly rub the exhaustion out of her eyes. Instead, he takes a seat next to her and purses his lips.

“Are you okay?” 

She shakes her head, “No, I don't think I am.”

Hyungwon frowns. He spreads his arms and pats his chest, an open invitation. She takes it, leaning in, tucking herself under his chin and resting her forehead on his shoulder. She inhales, shaky and unsteady.

“Kihyun tells that I’ll be okay because he’s with me, because he loves me. Does that mean I won’t be okay if it’s just me? That’s not right, isn’t it? But then, without him, what am I?”

“You’re just you,” he says, and he wishes he was wiser, with more words to give, “that’s already more than enough.”

He feels her eyes close against his collarbone, a brief flutter of lashes and she admits, “I don’t think I can learn how to love myself.”

“Why? I was worse than you, I hated myself. I’m past it now, and you can too.”

Against him, she shakes, and her voice rises a pitch higher, a touch more frantic, “It seems like such a faraway never and I don’t believe in myself. How can I believe he loves me when I don’t love myself? I know he does. It’s not about him, I’m not insecure about him loving me.” 

And Hyungwon knows. When it came to Kihyun’s love, for her, it was never insecurity. 

“I know Kihyun and I can’t go on like this. He doesn’t understand and I thought it was okay but it’s not. I don’t expect anything of him, but I’ll still hurt when it ends. But it can’t hurt any worse than now, can it?”

She shudders, hands clutching at his shirt as she buries her face in it. Even muffled, the way her voice breaks off is strikingly clear.

“I love him, Hyungwon. But loving him is hurting me.”

His heart throbs in waves of unadulterated pain, a dagger’s gash through muscle.

She’s close to tears. A dry sob leaves her lips, and he hates the sound of her giving up. 

“I can’t do this, Hyungwon.”

“You can,” he says, patting her back. Because I love you, he wants to say, because I can see the whole picture from your broken parts. A different sort of beauty, shattered but complete like a stained glass mosaic, lit up in colour at sunset. I will wait while you piece them together, a puzzle, one step at a time. 

“It would be so much easier if I could believe you,” she whispers.

Hyungwon wishes he could hold her forever, chase away her demons and make her believe.

.

.

.

Hyungwon finds himself at the wrong place at the wrong time.

He’s entering the key pin when the door pushes open with a resounding click. Kihyun doesn’t see him, his sharp profile facing straight ahead and somewhat in a trance. He’s one feet out the door, but the other foot lags behind, hesitant, as if he can’t bear to exit. He stays like that for a few minutes, and Hyungwon can’t bring himself to move.

Then, Kihyun sees him, but he squints as if he’s not sure he’s really there. Hyungwon can see wet complication glistening against the redness of his eyes, and the shorter man quickly blinks a few times.

“Make sure she’s okay,” he says, thickly, and he swallows and stops as if each word caused him torment, “please.”

Oh.

Even if it had to happen, he didn’t think it would happen this soon.

Hyungwon can only nod.

Kihyun turns and leaves, and he looks like he’s leaving something for eternity, as if he was going somewhere he could never return. He can see the shorter man’s shoulders heave, but he never looks back.

Hyungwon knows.

If Kihyun looked back, he would stay.

Hyungwon has never seen prideful Kihyun look so small, so defeated, so wounded.

.

.

.

He finds her fading into the dim glow of the kitchen. Her face is passive, blank eyes unfocused. She’s staring off into glazed memories, lost in newfound nothingness. His searching gaze zeros in to her hands, her fingers pressured white from their grip on the marble counter, clutching the edge for life as if she would fall forever, a bottomless drop.

He hears her breathing quiver, and dread builds heavy in the pit of his stomach, queasy.

He clears his throat hesitantly, swallowing some uneasiness.

At his cue, she turns towards him, and all he can see are defeated eyes, bleary but glossy, glistening with heartbreak. His chest squeezes, tight and with worry.

“Hyungwon,” her voice is so drenched, trembling with weakness but still feebly trying to hold herself together. She takes another breath, and he can physically see something in her break. “Hyungwon,” she whispers his name in a small, wobbly breath, and he hates the way it sounds.

In haste, he approaches her and places an unsteady arm around her shoulders.

It’s the final straw that breaks her completely.

She curls into him, as if seeking comfort to ease the chaos in her mind and the war in her heart. He can almost hear her shattering, and her already shattered pieces grinding into dust.

“Hyungwon,” she tries again, “Kihyun—” 

Her voice breaks with wetness. He hugs her closer to him.

“I know, it’s okay,” he soothes, “You don’t have to say it. I know. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” 

He tucks her head under his chin, his hand a supporting pillar against a crumbling building at her back. She’s shaking, unbearably tiny and he wonders how he can keep her from falling apart in his arms, from whole to pieces and from pieces to scattered ashes.

A whimper escapes her, then a sob, another, louder, and it escalates into hysteria.

He purses his lips, the beat of his pulse pounding with second-hand pain. The saltine wetness that seeps through his shirt burns hot acid on his skin. Each sob is a poisoned dart aimed straight at his vitals, and he keens and keens. His own eyes sting and he lowers his eyelids with heavy exhale.

It hurts.

Even if it meant his heart breaking on the sidelines, he wishes they ended with a happily ever after. He knows it’s out of his hands, but he wishes he could’ve done more for her and Kihyun.

Still, a stupidly selfless fool.

She chokes on her own tears and her hand fists into the fabric of his jacket. Her grief trembles right into his chest, right next to his heart, and his heart palpitates with torment. He wonders if it is possible for his heart explode from the anguish.

This hurts so much more.

His stupid heart, fallen and still falling, bleeding with cupid’s poisoned arrow shot through his pulsing flesh. 

Hyungwon realizes, he would rather have his heart breaking over a million times than watch hers break once.

#monsta x #monsta x imagines #monsta x fanfic #hyungwon #monsta x x reader #angst #grew into a huge word monster #i had planned to finish this like 4 months ago but i lost inspiration #i had such a hard time writing this you have no idea #minesw

[elsaclack]

HELLO the general consensus is that a masterpost would be Good so!! here i am!! masterposting!! this is split by fandom in reverse-chronological order (newest on top) but i will tell u i’m not even gonna TRY with the one-shot collections bc honestly i have. No Memory Whatsoever as to when i posted those in relation to the independent fics lmao. most are on ao3 only but i will include tumblr links where applicable!! and if you think of one i’ve written (or that you think i’ve written) that you don’t see on this list, please don’t hesitate to send me an ask about it!!

BROOKLYN NINE-NINE

kiss prompt #26

2. moving around while kissing, stumbling over things, pushing each other back against the wall/onto the bed

AO3

kiss prompt #25

7. routine kisses where the other person presents their cheek/forehead for the hello/goodbye kiss without even looking up from what they’re doing

AO3

kiss prompt #24

7. routine kisses where the other person presents their cheek/forehead for the hello/goodbye kiss without even looking up from what they’re doing

[PLATONIC]

AO3

kiss prompt #23

10. staring at the other’s lips, trying not to kiss them, before giving in

AO3

kiss prompt #22

12. a hoarse whisper "kiss me"

AO3

kiss prompt #21

18. kisses where one person is sitting in the other’s lap

AO3

kiss prompt #20

19. kisses meant to distract the other person from whatever they were intently doing

AO3

kiss prompt #19

15. a gentle “i love you” whispered after a soft kiss, followed immediately by a stronger kiss

AO3

kiss prompt #18

8. being unable to open their eyes for a few moments afterward

AO3

kiss prompt #17

11. when one stops the kiss to whisper “I’m sorry, are you sure you-” and they answer by kissing them more

AO3

kiss prompt #16

16. when one person’s face is scrunched up, and the other one kisses their lips/nose/forehead

AO3

you’re a king, and i’m a lionheart

“What about...what about Jacob?” An overwhelming sense of rightness settles light as air over Roger’s shoulders as he turns the name over in his mind. Jacob. Prince Jacob. Prince Jacob of the House of Peralta, Duke of Southport. “Jacob,” he murmurs, and he could swear his son smiles. The sun breaks low on the horizon the morning of Prince Jacob’s birth - and far, far away, across a vast forest and a roiling sea beyond it, a lurking Duchess begins to plot.

"In which Jake is the prince notorious for running head-first into danger and Amy is the main guard in charge of keeping him alive."

AO3

and did you miss me while you were looking for yourself out there?

He can’t remember exactly how old he was when Halley’s Comet blazed through the sky, but he was old enough to at least understand that what he saw was, for most people, a once-in-a-lifetime experience. He remembers the blinding missile-like blur of pure light that streaked across the inky black sky, the feathery trails of starlight that followed along behind her as she tore through the galaxy, the way she flickered and winked as she disappeared beyond the horizon.

And he remembers his mother telling him, in a voice he recognized even then to be warbling with reverence and emotion, how lucky he is to be among those lucky few who will get to witness Halley’s blazing trail twice in one lifetime.

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untitled song lyric prompt #3

“sometimes in the dead of night when you think you can’t make it, you might find i left a light beside the bed for you, ‘cause i’ve been there, too”

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untitled song lyric prompt #2

“That drink you spilt all over me, lovers spit left on repeat, my mom and dad let me stay home, it feels so scary getting old”

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untitled song lyric prompt #1

“I’ve already packed my promises, they’re waiting by the door”

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the good place frozen yogurt prompt #3

inside jokes

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the good place frozen yogurt prompt #2

unmitigated joy

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the good place frozen yogurt prompt #1

grandma’s kisses

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now that the weight has lifted, love has surely shifted my way

“Y’know what? Just - just go ahead. Ruin it. I don’t care. It’s just a dumb ceremony anyways. I love Jake, and I know he loves me, and - and we don’t have to have some big fancy ceremony to prove it. I’m going to marry him,” she says slowly, firmly, “and there is nothing you can do to stop it.”

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untitled prompt #25

"Okay so what about a fic based on pregnant amy santiago wearing a bathrobe?"

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i’m on the edge of a broken heart

Amy Santiago is a vision of beauty.

“Hey,” he says, suddenly winded by the mere sight of her. He falls back to his heels, lets his hands fall down to his sides, and watches as she slowly paces toward him. “I was just…I thought I might…clean.”

Aside from reaching to toss her shirt and purse across the chaise to his right, she remains very still. “You never clean.” she finally says after a long stretch of silence.

There is no inquisitiveness to her tone. There is no confusion in her face. It’s a statement of fact, yes, but the complete lack of emotion in her entire demeanor is a clear and flashing neon sign pointing to the calm before the storm.

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je vais t’attendre là

On the morning of April 28th, Jake Peralta wakes to the smell of pancakes burning on the griddle.

He can tell when he rolls just slightly on his side that the blankets have been pulled up and neatly tucked in over the other half of the mattress, but even that slight change in angle brings him in contact with a part of the mattress still warm from Amy’s sleeping body. His shirt is also still warm where it’s stretched across his shoulders - there’s even a spot on the back of his neck that is cooler than the rest, probably leftover from the kiss she pressed there before she rolled out of bed.

He smiles as he rubs his fingertips over the spot. How she managed to burn breakfast in what is likely just a matter of minutes is entirely beyond him.

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that i need you because it’s so hard to be who i am

But then it’s 7:30 and the last of her belongings are finally unloaded and carefully placed in and on her new desk and she’s straightening up the last picture of the two of them from the night they got engaged right beside her brand new computer monitor while she talks about what they should order for dinner (she’s been dealing with a hankering for good Chinese food ever since Vin mentioned the authentic Chinese cuisine he ate the last time he was in Tianjin and Jake is definitely not still vaguely jealous of the general lifestyle Vin leads) and Jake’s stomach is hollow, hollow, hollow.

That’s what makes the rumbling so loud, he thinks.

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you look happy to me

The ball is several hours underway by the time Amy manages to track her children down again - out on the terrace of all places. The doors are propped open to welcome the balmy summer breeze rippling through the curtains (the ones that miraculously survived the dress incident of a few weeks ago), and though the sounds of her guests in fellowship around her and the gentle sounds of the string quartet in the corner command most of her auditory attention, the boisterous male laughter she’s grown all-too-familiar with rings clear and true above the rest.

Of course her children are with Jake.

(She wonders if the day she trusts her nanny to properly watch her children will ever come.)

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you clicked your heels and wished for me

She’s not sure if it’s instinct or her skills as an amazing detective-slash-genius, but Amy knows from the moment she steps into their apartment that something is off.

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untitled one-shot #7

She’s got that look on her face again - the one that makes his heart feel like it’s fluttering in his chest - and when she reaches across the center console to touch his forearm, her hand is warm from the coffee. “Jake,” she murmurs, and his face is burning. “You’re -” she stops and shakes her head, and then starts again. “You are literally the sweetest, most kind and thoughtful and attentive person I’ve ever met.”

He covers her hand with his own and tilts his head to the side, until it’s leaning against the headrest.

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untitled prompt #24

you ever think about what would have happened if it was amy and rosa who worked with hawkins, rather than rosa and jake?

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untitled one-shot #6

The morning of June 15th begins suddenly with a low voice in her ear.

“Amelia Maria Santiago-Peralta,” the voice is quiet, but it rumbles with delight. And even though she groans instinctively at her abrupt return to consciousness, she can’t help but to smile when his lips brush against her ear. “Do you know what today is?”

“Mmm,” she turns her head to bury her face in her pillow for one more moment, before rolling over to her back. When her eyes flutter open she finds him leaning over her, propped up on his elbow, grinning far too brightly for six o’clock in the morning. “It’s Friday,” she mumbles, “and my middle name’s not Maria.”

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let ‘em wonder how we got this far

Amy Santiago does not get sick, thank you very much.

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i’ll always do my best to make you see

The merry misadventures of Morrissey and Schmidt

one | two | three | four | five | six

they say that dreaming is free, but i wouldn’t care what it cost me

This is not a dream. It may look like one, what with all the fairy lights and the flashing red-and-blue strobe lights and that inexplicable feeling of weightlessness originating from somewhere down in his bones, but it’s real. It’s really happening. Amy Santiago is walking down the aisle, in a white dress, with flowers in her hands and a smile on her face and enough love to eradicate the concept of hate in her eyes, and it’s real. She’s walking down the aisle, toward the podium, where she’s going to get married. To him, Jake Peralta. This is not a dream.

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you’ll always be the only one

"since im such an evil person, i just imagined... what would’ve happened if they didnt find out about the bomb...?"

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you held your course to some distant war in the corners of your mind

The vast majority of his view through the rear view mirror is blocked by Amy’s head, raised a bit higher than usual thanks in large part to the hump that makes up the middle seat. He’s certain that’s going to present a problem once they’re on the road and moving, but he’s rather grateful for her presence in his line of vision at the moment. She’s not looking at him, but rather, at the tiny human bundled up like a baby burrito in the car seat to her left. She’s got a big goofy grin on her face and her brows keep rising and falling with each changing expression. A smile - probably the billionth in the last two days - blossoms across his face as he watches her make silly faces at their literally-hours-old daughter.

Brand new car, brander newer daughter.

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build a ladder to the stars and climb on every rung

In truth, when Jake made the decision to answer Charles’ incoming phone call an hour earlier, he hand’t really expected much. Maybe a live update of something cute Nikolaj was doing, maybe commentary on whatever inedible animal part he was forcing himself to eat at the time, maybe another Cats-related pun. He expected something ordinary.

au where jake and amy find out they're expecting the same way cece and schmidt do on new girl

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kiss prompt #15

First kisses: Hesitant and nervous. Lips hover inches from each other for a few seconds before they just barely brush. It’s just a soft press, but it ignites their entire bodies. Pinkies link afterwards, still wanting to be close, and each looks down, smiling softly.

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kiss prompt #14

Angry kisses: Hard, gripping. Fists in clothes, shoving each other against walls. Fingers digging into hips. But the kisses always melt away from that. They turn into brushes of lips between shaking breaths, until they’re out of energy and are left just standing there, holding each other, fingers carding through hair.

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kiss prompt #13

Heated kisses: Breath huffing into mouths, angrily or passionately. Hands grabbing at clothing and pulling each other closer.

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kiss prompt #12

“I thought I lost you” kisses: The breath is knocked out of both of them with the force that they collide with. Hands grip the back of t-shirts and palms are pressed up and under shirts, holding them close, feeling the warmth of their skin. Palms are pressed to cheeks, thumbs swiping away tears until their mouths collide messily, the world seeming to disappear around them.

[VERSON 2]

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kiss prompt #11

After sex kisses: Lazy, slow presses. Limbs pressed together, chests heaving. Soft murmurs about what to do for dinner later, fingers trailing down backs, tracing lazy patterns. B rolling onto their back and A trailing their lips down their neck, kissing their shoulder, their chest, anywhere they can think of, memorizing B.

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kiss prompt #10

“We can’t do this” kisses: Fists clenched, hands shoved into pockets. Brows low or brought together, jaws clenched. A feeling like a magnetic pull between them. Their foreheads press together, their lips brush, just barely, until B pulls away with a shaking exhale, forehead dropping into A’s neck.

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kiss prompt #9

“You look beautiful” kisses: Just a soft press of lips to the temple, resting them there for a moment, then smiling down and telling them as much.

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kiss prompt #8

Breathless kisses: A series of short pecks because they need the closeness but they also need air, so. Sometimes smiles come in between, or sometimes its just breath, gasping for the sole purpose of being able to kiss again.

[tw: description of near-drowning and mentions of stomach pumping (y’know standard breathless kiss prompt stuff)]

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kiss prompt #7

In the dark kisses: The movie plays in the background, but A and B are hardly paying attention from the back row. They kiss soundlessly, long and soft, fingers locked. A’s arm is thrown behind B’s seat, wrist bent to curl their fingers into B’s hair.

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kiss prompt #6

Hello kisses: After long periods apart, these can include A picking up B and spinning them around. Fingers pressing into cheeks, palms cupping necks, and breathless laughs when they finally come up for air.

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kiss prompt #5

“I thought I lost you” kisses: The breath is knocked out of both of them with the force that they collide with. Hands grip the back of t-shirts and palms are pressed up and under shirts, holding them close, feeling the warmth of their skin. Palms are pressed to cheeks, thumbs swiping away tears until their mouths collide messily, the world seeming to disappear around them.

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kiss prompt #4

Comforting kisses: B walks into find A sitting on the bed, shoulders shaking, cheeks wet. A looks up, face looking stricken for a moment. B is shocked, and quietly says A’s name. At this, A breaks, face crumpling, and only barely has time to reach both hands out for B before B is there, kneeling at A’s feet. B takes A’s hands first, kissing their knuckles and palms. Then B reaches up to hold A’s face, pressing soft kisses around their cheeks, their lips, murmuring “it’s okay” and “you’re alright” and “I’m here” in between.

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kiss prompt #3

“Come to bed” kisses: A has their hands on B’s neck, murmuring the phrase softly. A’s hands slide down B’s arms to their hands, lacing their fingers together and slowly starting to pull B towards their bedroom. A continues to pepper B with kisses all the while, trailing them down their jaw and neck.

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kiss prompt #2

“I missed you” kisses: Long and relentless, holding their body close, arms wrapped completely around their waist. A burying their head in B’s neck and pressing kisses there too.

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kiss prompt #1

“I’ll be right back” kisses: A puts their hands on B’s shoulders from behind them, where they are sat on the couch. A leans down and around, while B turns their head a little, accepting the quick peck.

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on my heart like a tattoo

Amy’s a month old, too young to remember anything, and he shows up on her skin for the very first time in the form of an explosion of color.

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don’t read the last page

There’s dry candle wax on the floor by the window and glitter stuck to the soles of her feet; somewhere down in the lobby their friend is carrying her shoes out into a blizzard, the fruits of her expensive Polaroid camera lying forgotten on the rug. Outside the world is muted and painted white with snow, the pain and misery and heartache of the year behind them left at the 11:59 threshold the night before. They faded to nothing at the stroke of midnight, at the heart-stopping meld of their lips, at his hooded smile to the sounds of their friends celebrating all around them, at the way his whispered we’re getting married this yearwas nearly lost in the commotion. Not quite the blank slate of it’s predecessors - but so much better.

The music ends and they keep swaying, clinging, too stubborn to let go. Their apartment is a wreck of discarded Solo cups and empty bottles and dirty dishes but he is warm and soft and he smells so good; eyes squeezed shut, fingers tangled in his shirt, to the beat of her heart her mind chants forever.

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untitled one-shot #5

Amy’s back is toward him but he can see her arm moving in a slow rhythm - probably drawing patterns in the small shag rug at the foot of their bed - and aside from the slight turn of her head, she doesn’t acknowledge his arrival. The apartment is warm, a welcome reprieve to the bitter cold bartering for entrance at their windows, and even though he can see the snow falling thick and swirling in the space between their curtains he can feel the warmth trickling down his fingers and toes.

“Hey,” he says, voice almost boisterous in the comfortable silence swaddling them both. She turns toward him a little more, peering at him through her lashes - and now he can see the pinkness around her nose has spread over her cheeks and darkened to an angrier color, the used, crumpled tissues like confetti on the floor over the top of her head. “Why’re you on the floor?”

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come on, it’s lovely weather for a sleigh ride together with you

The worn soles of her Ugg boots scuff along the dingy carpet beneath their feet, and her scarf - now draped over one shoulder - drags along the ground behind her. Her mittens, over-stuffed puffy coat, matching ski pants, and thick wool beanie complete the look; he’s honestly never seen her look more Randy from A Christmas Story than she does in this moment.

It is without question the cutest thing he’s ever seen in his life.

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if you want me to stay, i will stay by your side

For someone whose job requires an unusually large amount of personal risk on a near daily basis, Amy Santiago has not dedicated much time considering how she might one day die. The vague assumption that it will probably happen on the job - via stray bullets or careening cars or massive explosions - has been enough to satisfy any musing.

She never imagined doctor's visits or specialist consultations or diagnoses. She never imagined hospital gowns and thinning hair and chemotherapy.

And she never, ever imagined cancer.

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in these dark ad quiet hours

There are unanswered texts on both of their phones, lunch invitations waiting to be received, inquiries about dinner plans or post-work drinks demanding responses; there are fresh boxes of his favorite cereal and his preferred brand of hot chocolate in the kitchen cabinets waiting to be poured. Life, their life, ebbs and flows along the perimeter of their mattress. But they ignore it for now, for just a few more minutes of this. For just a few more minutes of them.

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untitled prompt #23

SO..UH...IS IT TIME FOR YOU TO BLESS US WITH ANOTHER DOMESTIC PERALTIAGO FIC???? (pleaseeeeeeeee)

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survival will not be the hardest part

Of course, it’s not a normal Wednesday. Because on this particular Wednesday, Amy’s functioning on two hours of sleep and approximately five and a half cups of coffee. On this particular Wednesday, she’s simultaneously starving and nauseous, having gotten so caught up in this murder case she’s been working with Rosa that she simply hasn’t had the time to eat. She’s exhausted and clammy and probably just about on the verge of succumbing to the flu she knows has been going around the beat cops downstairs.

She’s also exactly one month out from her wedding day.

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even if the skies get rough

It’s sixty-five degrees in the waiting room of Jericho Supermax Prison and Jake Peralta is absolutely disintegrating in her arms.

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the stakes are high, the water’s rough, but this love is ours

This has her eyes splitting open and her brow furrowing at once. Jake may have only been acquitted and released from prison three days ago but already she’s readjusted to sharing the bed again; to find it empty is to choke down a small, skittish wave of panic. The mattress is still warm, after all - he was in bed recently. And now that her senses are starting to fire on all cylinders, she’s absorbing the heavy scent of coffee and bacon in the air and the sounds of Taylor Swift playing quietly nearby.

And then she hears his voice - quiet, but still cracking as he tries to sing along with a high note.

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untitled prompt #22

What if like in the fanfics, amy actually did get engaged to teddy during jake's undercover op?? and the boy comes back actually finding amy's Wedding binder on her desk and jake's like What The Fuck! !!!??!? and emo while simultaneously trying to be supportive bc this is an exciting thing for amy nd he doesnt want to be the one to ruin it. Imagine jake not showing up at the wedding bc he rlly wouldnt be able to take it only to find amy clad in her wedding dress in his doorstep a few hours later

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untitled prompt #21

Do you think amy dies a little inside everytime she catches jake looking at her with the Soft look? like she's definitely seen it and she's probably teased him about it at some point but home girl probably loves it so! much! and she loves him so much and HE loves her so much too! she knows that with her whole being but it catches her offguard sometimes bc this sunshine boy really loves her to bits and he's so good to her and he makes her so so so happy and amy needs to lie down

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untitled one-shot #4

It’s the solid landing of a tiny hand against his cheek, quickly followed by a quiet gasp and a muffled giggle, that rouses Jake from sleep.

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untitled prompt #20

it's canon that jake makes mixtapes so what if he has a box of them labeled with the day they were made and what if amy finds that stash while jake is absent for some reason (based on ur need for Angst™, this reason is up for interpretation) and spends a day going through them, laughing at her nerd bf & his mixtapes ranging from tswift to conner4real to toni braxton until she finds one labeled with the date that he went undercover. again, based on the angst need, this can go so many ways

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untitled prompt #19

How cute would Amy's first Mother's Day be...

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untitled prompt #18

Imagine Jake taking Amy to dinner after her exam to celebrate, and at the restaurant he keeps telling people at nearby tables that his girlfriend just became a sergeant, because he's just so proud and wants to brag about her. And Amy pretends to be exasperated but she can't hold back a smile

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untitled prompt #17

This is the first time in three weeks she’s allowed herself to exist within the walls once stretched to capacity with love, with laughter, with the occasional healthy bouts of exasperation. And really, honestly, she hadn’t intended to snoop. She was just searching for a certain hoodie - one she lived in for months at a time a year ago when this Jake-shaped hole was first blown through her chest - and in the process of looking through old boxes stacked at the back of the hall closet that never really got around to being unpacked, she’d found a binder.

A binder with her father’s name in Garamond typeface emblazoned across the front cover.

(She can’t help but instinctively wrinkle her nose - she would have chosen Tahoma.)

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untitled prompt #16

Hey there! I got an idea for Peraltiago (bc i am trash) One of them gets EXTREMELY wasted and forgets that they're actually dating the other so they start shamelessly flirting with them. The other just plays along. I feel like this would fit Amy cause of "The Santiago Drunkenness Scale" but I'd love to see (in this case, read) a drunk and goofy Jake fall in love all over again. But you decide which is best! P.S I really love your work! ^_^

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untitled prompt #15

Amy has to go in for some kind of procedure, very low key, everything's kosher. However, since she's gonna be out of it for a few hours, Jake has to take care of her.

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untitled prompt #14

Plz write a fluffy fic about when Amy and the ladies + Charles get hammered for rosas bachelorette party Amy either talks to them about Jake or comes home to Jake and is adorable and lovey

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untitled one-shot #3

The first thing Jake does after the bailiff announces the not-guilty verdict is high-five his lawyer. The second thing he does is high-five Rosa.

The third, and perhaps most dramatic thing he does, is turn around, vault the low wall separating the audience from the rest of the courtroom, and kiss Amy.

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untitled prompt #13

Can you write something where jake and Amy go to hook up in the evidence locker or closet or something and end up getting stuck and Amy is like !!!well shit!!! Cause she's claustrophobic

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you did this to him

"So Jake's doing the right thing instead of the selfish thing?"

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untitled prompt #12

could you please write what was going through jake's and amy's minds when figgus had jake at gun point??

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untitled one-shot #2

“Jake,” Amy’s voice is low and soothing as she pulls the car smoothly to the side of the road. Jake grunts, too busy flipping through his notecards to verbalize a response. “Jake, babe, please relax. It’s okay. There are seven of them. I can’t even remember all of their names.”

“That is the biggest lie you’ve ever told me in your entire life, and that includes the time you tried to tell me McGinley asked you to clean out the fridge in the breakroom.”

“Oh my God, it’s been seven years, are you ever gonna let that go?”

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untitled prompt #11

Amy and jake laughing and/or discussing teddy proposing to her

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untitled prompt #10

I can't stop wondering about the scar on Jake's back that he got by banging into Amy's kitchen cabinet. How did it happen? Were they making out? Was he cooking and something fell to the ground? What did Jakey do this time? ... Think of this as a prompt if you need/want one.

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untitled prompt #9

If you're not too busy with prompts, Jake x Amy and the phrase "you fight like a married couple". Thank you :)

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untitled prompt #8

can you write an angsty fic about jake reacting to an old friend dying and amy trying to comfort him??

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when you press me to your heart, i’m in a world apart

“Do you ever think about all the time we lost?”

Jake asks the question quietly, half-mumbled against her neck. The tone of his voice is the same as it has been for the last hour they’ve spent laying in her bed - light, carefree, relaxed. His fingers trace lightly over her side, having edged beneath the hem of her t-shirt twenty minutes ago to trace circles and hearts and swirls over her ribs; all-in-all, far away enough that he probably doesn’t notice the fact that her heart has just skipped a beat.

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watching through my fingers

Eyes closed, one swollen, a violet bruise that gives way in places to greener colors marking the shape of the fist that put it there, slanted down from just above her brow to her cheekbone. Beautiful and painful, like a sunset that rips his heart out of his body. Her eyelids are delicate and thin, so so breakable, hiding those warm brown eyes from smiling up at him and assuring him that everything is okay. It’s all okay. She’s okay.

He is not okay.

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don’t be fools, thinking this is the last you’ll find

Jake gets nervous for the second time on their first official date when they make it back to Amy’s apartment. More specifically, when they’re standing just outside of the entrance to her apartment. When her hair, so light and wavy and tantalizing, is moving just slightly in the late-night breeze and her eyes are bright from both the alcohol and the laughter that filled the long stretch of time after that alcohol; his whole entire chest is suddenly seized with nerves. He hasn’t been this close to her since the copy room at work earlier, just one hour after their evidence lock-up kiss. He swallows thickly and her eyes flick down at the movement.

His dart down to her lips. He’s just a beat too late coming back up to her eyes.

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untitled prompt #7

I need a scene where Jake is sad so to cheer him up Amy gives him a picture of her and Charles from when they wore the same outfit while Jake was undercover

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untitled prompt #6

I really need to dump 'Jake gets framed for murder/some other crime and has to spend some time in prison, while the team fights to clear his name and get him out' on someone, Peraltiago of course, and may be Doug Judy is looking after Jake in prison. ??? IDK

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untitled prompt #5

Do you think you could write a fic where jake and Amy get into a big fight and go back to their own places but they're both super sad about it and make it up to each other in the morning?

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romeo, save me, they’re trying to tell me how to feel

B99 Au idea where Amy never worked in the 9-9 and instead has been groomed by Madeline Wuntch her entire professional career as her protégé, leading to a Romeo-and-Julietesque romance and rivalry between Ray Holt’s own protégé, causing them to have to hide their relationship once they have their asses in gear - Tumblr user stardustsantiago

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and the bells are ringing out

Jake Peralta is sitting in the interrogation room.

It’s strange, Amy thinks as she watches him through the glass. They’ve probably been in this same position at least three dozen times before - her on this side, him on that one - but never once has she been quite this anxious. Never once has he seemed quite so frail.

Never once has he tended to his own minor wounds, or held his own ice pack to his bruised and swollen eye, or watched the door with as much quiet intensity.

Never once has he been a victim.

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we watched the sun set over the castle on the hill

It’s not constant, but it’s enough - it strikes a chord deep within her, reverberating back through the years and vibrating in her very bones, each instance blazing in her memory like a makeshift patchwork quilt spanning back over a decade to that first lonely stakeout in their prologue.

A series of snapshots of Jake Peralta's pursuit of happiness.

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you can tell me when it’s over if the high was worth the pain

Once upon a time, there was a knight in shining pantsuit armor who rescued a fair prince from an evil hawk's detention center...

Or, Amy has never been one to lie down at the face of injustice; this is especially true when the one facing injustice happens to be the love of her life.

Post s4 finale fic, in 4 movements.

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should i suffocate or let go

Amy's not sure, really, when her life became so tragic.

She’s not a tragic person. She’s never known sorrow in an intimate way, never really felt her bones turn cold with it. Organization keeps the demons at bay; she knows this as surely as she knows her own name.

Enter: Jake Peralta.

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all my seconds, minutes, lifetimes for you and only you

“You had me worried for a minute, there,” he tells her quietly while she lavishes attention on the faded freckles along his shoulders.

(It’s code: you could have just talked to me.)

She pauses, long eyelashes fluttering against her cheekbones, before tilting her head back up to peer at him. “I knew you’d find me eventually,” she says off-handedly. “I just - I freaked myself out.”

(It’s also code: you and I both know I would only have freaked out more.)

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hold on to hope if you’ve got it

He wonders, distantly, what the soul mate science says about situations like this. He wonders as the cool backside of Amy’s hand presses against his forehead; he wonders as he loses touch completely with reality, as his mind comes unhinged and tears spewing down his face spread at an alarming rate across the mattress beneath his violently tilted head.

Who's he supposed to turn to when she can’t be there for him?

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i think i’m tired of getting over it

She’s not sure about the how or the when or the why, but on one warm afternoon in May, Gina is faced with the realization that one Rosa Diaz has become an undeniable cornerstone in her life. Gina almost hates herself for allowing this to happen, for allowing this one person to become so intimately entangled in the life she’s built for herself that the moment that person disappears from it, everything comes crashing down again. Her eyes are open and she can still see colors and feel textures and the world is still real and spinning, except her mind has dropped off back into that void and there is nothing there to pull her out, there is no one, nothing, gone gone gone -

“Gina?” Gina blinks, and Amy Santiago’s face comes fading into view.

[a s4 finale prediction]

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just let the pain remind you hearts can heal

He’s been walking a fine line recently. She’s been out of the hospital for less than a week, and while she’s been incredibly diligent about following all of the instructions the doctor gave her about medicine and physical therapy, she’s been all but belligerent about the bed rest side of things. It’s hard to tell her no, and not just because one pleading look would be enough to convince Jake to commit arson for her; Amy Santiago can be quite intimidating when she wants to be.

(Part of him wonders just how much that terrifying look hardened while she was undercover. Part of him never ever wants to know.)

[set in the sleepwalking universe]

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the well-worn pages of my favorite book

"How dare you tempt me with a small bookstore!"

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untitled prompt #4

omg idk if this has been done yet, but imagine an au with jake and amy where amy is an artist and jake is a photographer or something and they're each others muses like o m g

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untitled prompt #3

um hi love your writing BUCKETS - prompt for after tonight's ep, jake goes home and accidentally lets it slip that he wants to have kids at some point (a la mentioning he kissed holt - totally unintentional, slips out by mentioning charles in convo with amy, potentially??)

AND

Prompt! The night of Captain Latvia, Jake talks to Amy about his thoughts on what Boyle said about Jake never becoming a dad.

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untitled prompt #2

Prompt idea: get this... jake amy in highschool .. prom is coming up.. amy cant go something comes up.. jake is super excited but .. instead stays with amy at her house playing board games in pjs

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untitled prompt #1

do you have any headcanons for jake and amy on valentine's day? an idea of mine is that they're both working late and so they can't go out for dinner or anything and thus jake feels bad and buys amy all the tacky valentine's gifts he can find within a mile radius of the precinct

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untitled one-shot #1

Amy can tell something’s off the moment she steps off the elevator.

To the naked eye, everything about the bullpen appears to be perfectly normal. There are three perps sitting in holding, and Charles is bickering with Scully over the coffee pot in the break room. Gina’s engrossed in whatever is illuminating her face on her computer screen, Rosa’s scribbling something in the margin of what appears to be official paperwork, and Holt’s office door is closed. She can see Terry’s back through the open blinds - the two appear to be deep in conversation.

The only one missing is Jake - which is why she’s immediately suspicious.

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baby, you were my picket fence

Amy snatches it and takes a long pull, screwing her eyes shut against the bitter taste, but even as she coughs and splutters as she lowers the bottle again Rosa finds that she just can’t make fun of her. “Good? Or do I need to order another bottle?”

“Another,” says Amy, and then, “he’s gone.”

Rosa stiffens, gaze lifting to scan over the crowd around them. “Who?” She asks quietly when she can’t spot the threat.

“Jake.”

She deflates. “Yeah, he left, like, three hours ago -”

“Not three hours ago, ten minutes ago. And he - he stopped me in the parking lot, as I was on my way out.” She swallows again, thickly this time, and Rosa clenches her jaw. “He confessed - he told me that he likes me.”

For a split-second, Rosa has to fight the craziest urge to laugh. It’s all so juvenile - a boy confessed he liked her and she’s immediately distraught, how utterly cliche - before the implications of it all belatedly hit her. “Oh.”

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this girl right here’s gonna rule the world

Could you write something where Rosa encourages Gina to think about becoming a cop/something post coral palms pt3??? Xoxoxo - ANONYMOUS

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don’t let our hearts freeze

I see a lot of Jake helping Amy with panick attacks but not much of the opposite and you write intimate moments between them so well, so would you write the first time Jake feels safe enough with Amy to call her when he gets a panick attack (establish relationship) ? - FUCKINGDAMNITDEAN

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just say you won’t let go

Hey there, I love your writing, so if you're ever up to, could you write Rosa and Charles watching the surveillance tapes from the evidence lock up in episode 03x01? I just think it would be so funny to actually see (in this case read) Charles watching Jake and Amy killing a guy with their kiss, and Rosa telling him to chill (while secretly smiling to herself). - ANONYMOUS

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my life before was tragic

Prompt! After Jake and Amy start dating, Jake finds the ring from The Bet in Amy's desk and asks her why she went back to get it. - ANONYMOUS

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stuck in second gear

HAS ANYONE WRITTEN A JAKE AND AMY PROPOSAL THAT HAPPENS JUST LIKE MONICA AND CHANDLER’S PROPOSAL - Tumblr user youngsamberg

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the roads ahead are paved with good intentions

i just remembered this and i think it’s really interesting that amy told teddy both times jake told her he liked her, before and after he went undercover - Tumblr user youngsamberg

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heaven and earth have finally aligned

ANONYMOUS: so do you have any headcanons regarding the Jake and Amy stills from the wedding? (I.e. write a short fic based on the pictures of them)  

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i’ll be there for you

Hey, do you know an episode of friends where Monica and Chandler are secretly dating and he accidentally kisses her in front of Phoebe and Rachel? Can you write that Peraltiago-stylez? Please please pleeeaase?

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i'm still waiting patiently

i am ONLY asking bc i'm a self destructive mess rn but if ur in an angst writing mood could u write something where like jake has to cheat on amy while he's in florida???? idk????? i love angst

[PLEASE NOTE: i didn't write this exact prompt]

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something like that

i don't know if you're taking prompts but could you do Jake and Amy's first kiss like Nick and Jess. AUish. Idk. THANK YOU FOR EXISTING

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when i’m wiser and i’m older

Jake has six months worth of missed cuddling with one Amy Santiago, and he does not intend to waste any time in catching up - pain killers and airplanes be damned.

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just like a movie, just like a song

Amy Santiago does not break rules.

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where the numb meets the lonely

Anonymous said: Okay so I was just thinking about the fact that Jake and Amy's one-year anniversary probably occurred while Jake has been in Florida- do you think Jake had like a fake anniversary celebration with Amy's selfie? Also thinking about Jake and Amy not getting to be together for their anniversary makes me sad.

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and as our eyes start to close

He’s gone thirty-some-odd years without mourning his lack of a broad English vernacular, but that all changes the first time he sets foot into his new apartment after living in Florida for six months.

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you're not alone, 'cause you're here with me

Pertaigo oneshot where Amy has a really really bad panic attack? It can be at the prescient can be there to - ANONYMOUS

Can you please write Amy having a sever anxiety attack? - ANONYMOUS

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and you’re the sky

JAKE AND AMY MEET THE EXACT SAME WAY JANE AND MICHAEL DO AU (an unassuming beat cop shows up to her epic twenty first birthday door and gets mistaken for a stripper) - PHIL-THE-STONE

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how can i be an optimist about this?

ok for a jake/amy prompt how about their first fight as a married couple? can be as simple or as angsty as you please! - ANONYMOUS

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i promise that you'll never be lonely

Hi this is the same anon with the moving in together prompt so i have two and I'm not sure if these are more one-shotty or if you've done these before but 1)jake and/or amy's inner thoughts during johnny and dora 2) amy calling her mom to tell her about jake and her answering all of those *annoying* mom questions also are you on ff. net and or ao3? sorry you've probably posted about it before but I just started following so i don't know - ANONYMOUS

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and i see colors in a different way

as payback for the dress she wore and having to dance with scully in the bet amy plans a bad date to take jake on even though she doesnt expect to use it and later (while dating jake?) finds her notes while going through and cleaning out some old binders/notebooks - ANONYMOUS

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why don't you sit right down and stay awhile?

Prompt! Jake finds out Amy has never seen diehard and takes her to see it immediately - TARDIISBLUE

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to make up for the times i've been cheated on

u heathen okAY OKAY imma be Terrible and say Jake gets shot protecting Captain Holt and Amy and Rosa react ;;;;)))))))))))))) - PHIL-THE-STONE

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got that good song in my feet

prompt! six drink amy around jake in established relationship (i.e she's no longer lonely,, she's more clingy and emotional?? idk) :))) - FOURDRINKAMY

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i'd pay to see you smile

I've seen AU oneshots where Amy arrests civilian!Jake, but what about one where he arrests her--maybe a bit of a Doug Judy S2 ep type situation where she's flirting with him and he's into it but then catches himself? - GRYFFINDORSWEATER

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six days

Watching the speech scene in The Funeral where Jake is so adamantly willing to get demoted and Ames is trying to convince him that it’s his dream job and he shouldn’t let it go that easily and then he tells her ‘Amy…this good’

Like. I know they were both already way too deep once they started it, but?? I really?? Need someone to write a fic centering around Jake’s PoV during those six days? What was he thinking while he and Amy did Normal Couple Things? Did he constantly get streams of thoughts that revolved around how this is a reality that he’s alive and he’s not dreaming and how amazing this whole thing is that he can openly give her the Looks and hold her hand and snuggle with her and he can openly show her affection because they’re dating now?? I NEED SOMEONE TO WRITE A FIC PLS

- Tumblr user tall-butt

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i’ve been sleepwalking too close to the fire

Amy goes undercover immediately following the events of Johnny and Dora. Jake and the others try to deal.

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the only proof that i need is you

"in which Amy makes a habit of ranting to the bartender (about her terrible day, her last awful date, the patriarchy), and Jake takes it upon himself to try to make her smile."

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and let your colors bleed and blend with mine

"in which Jake and Amy are New York’s Most Wanted… or so he thinks. Amy’s actually an undercover cop meant to take him down – except it’s a year into the assignment, her fake feelings for him are a bit too real, and she just can’t imagine turning over this big misunderstood softy to the feds."

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and ignore those big warning signs

“Tell him I’m sorry. Tell him I love him. Please, Charles, I’ll hold them off for as long as I can, just - just go!”

The last words Amy Santiago speaks before waking up alone in a hospital room, handcuffed to her bed.

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i never knew daylight could be so violent

Charles likes to think of himself as the world's first post-apocalyptic gourmet chef.

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and we will put the lonesome on the shelf

They get married on a Saturday evening, and that morning, it rains.

Amy wakes to the gentle tap of steady rainfall knocking gently on the window just three inches back from the very top of her head. For a moment, she lays very still - her sleep-dried eyes blink lazily up at the all-too-familiar ceiling above her head, watching blankly as a dull muted light casts soft shadows that stretch from the window all the way to the ceiling fan in the center of the room. She inhales deeply, so deeply that she feels a faint pop between her shoulder blades, and her eyes flutter shut again.

Seconds later, the stillness of the morning is pierced by an all-too-familiar alarm, and when her eyes fly open, they fly open on the wings of a powerful surge of excitement and adrenaline.

She’s getting married today.

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and i’ll tell you all about it when i see you again

It's snowing by the time they make it home from Brooklyn Methodist Hospital.

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love you inside out

Amy cries the night Jake comes home from Florida.

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most nights, i don’t know anymore

A response to the following prompt:

It isn’t a fanfic unless Main Character has to tear their gaze away from the strip of skin revealed above Love Interest’s waistband when they casually stretch their arms above their head.

----

“It’s the way he looks when he talks about her. There’s just…I don’t know, I can’t explain it. There’s something in his eyes when he talks about her, or when he looks at a photo of her. He would never hurt her. It’s written all over his face.”

“Are you quoting two-thousand-nine Beyonce at me?”

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your arms wrapped around me and this moment

"How did you know they were the one?"

"I just...knew."

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you know that i am home

It’s the sum total of many moving parts that ends up landing him in such a position at such a late hour; the coalescing of several Unfortunate Incidences, of which he had little to no control over, that thrusts him into such a predicament. A series of bad omens, as Gina would later tell him with a knowing smile, that he just couldn’t avoid, because he’s a freight train careening out of control and this is the end of the tracks.

Or something - something like that. It’s hard to think straight at 3 o’clock in the morning.

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my head is an animal

Anonymous: But: Jake is a sleep cuddler. Amy found this out before they were dating. They were on a long stakeout together and it was her shift. Jake fell asleep next to her clung onto her like his life depended on it. She didnt have the heart to wake him. Also: Gina found it out at a sleepover when they were kids. She woke up to Jake almost squeezing her to death. She screamed and threw a pillow at his head. Jake was not amused. Gina never slept beside Jake again.

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i’m with your ghost again

"wait what if there’s a flashback during s4 of Jake and Holt leaving for Florida and it shows them saying goodbye to Amy and Kevin like I am not ready for that but it’s all I want" - Tumblr user youngsamberg

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i’m gonna be free and i’m gonna be fine

It all ends the same way it starts: with a phone call.

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i’m gonna make this place your home

It's 3 AM and Jake is trying to comfort his newborn daughter without waking his wife. Delirious rambling ensues.

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wake me up when it’s all over

A stolen moment between Jake and Amy in the days after he returns from Florida.

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i know places

Missing moment alluded to in the s3 finale:

"No one knows where I live." "I thought you had Amy over there once?" "Yeah, it was fun. I moved the next day."

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riptide

Request: Could you do a fanfiction where an old ex flirts with amy and makes her laugh and jake realises he’s wants to be the only one to make her laugh? JEALOUS JAKE IS THE BEST JAKE

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new york city, please go easy on me tonight

"There isn't a single person in the world I'd rather have on this case than you."

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rivers and roads

"Rivers and roads, rivers and roads, rivers 'til I reach you."

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thunder

Jake is thirty-five years old when he discovers a new breed of thunder.

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until the sweetest words remain

In her four-year stint as an art major, Amy learned a lot of different words to describe beauty. She studied brushstrokes that communicated immeasurable pain and triumph and hope and fear. She learned how one piece of art could capture a moment so intense she felt like she could feel the artist’s breath on her neck. She felt positive that she’d never meet anyone who could make her feel as much as Michelangelo could with just one facial expression.

Until she met Jake.

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of all the things my eyes have seen

Sometimes healing only comes one piece at a time. Sometimes it's so slow, it's painful. And sometimes it only happens when the people we love push us toward it. A stand-alone one shot that spins off from the events of Heliocentrism.

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heliocentrism

Prompt: Amy goes undercover for some time (months maybe??). Jake goes crazy because he misses her like hell and is worried about her. He is very sad. Then she comes back and they are very cute (lots of fluff please!!)

You only need the light when it's burning low, only miss the sun when it starts to snow, only know you love her when you let her go.

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THE GOOD PLACE

the song in my head was all that i had

He's Chidi Anagonye, and everything is fine.

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GUARDIANS OF THE GALAXY

were we the belly of the beast or the sword that fell

The expanse of inky blackness sprawled out before her seems peaceful in spite of Drax’s mind-numbing laughter booming through the Benatar, and though the sound of it grates against her ears even after all the time she’s spent in close quarters with him, she feels her lips twitching, fighting against a smile. He’s off somewhere in the bowels of the ship with Mantis, probably exploring whatever areas they’ve not yet discovered. And she knows Rocket’s busy arguing with Groot near the storage area - apparently explosives don’t mix well with whatever kindling Groot has started to shed. And Peter -

He’d shuffled off to the captain’s quarters with the earpieces of his Zune tucked securely in his ears some time ago.

It seems that all is right in the galaxy.

For now.

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STRANGER THINGS

the wind is low, the birds will sing that you are part of everything

ANONYMOUS ASKED: a fic prompt - Steve gets introduced to El and internally he's like 'guess ive got 5 kids now' :3

She looks very different than she did three days earlier. Gone is the slicked-back hair and heavy eye makeup, gone are the ratty jeans and ripped shirts and jackets. The girl that sits before him now doesn’t particularly look like she’s hiding superpowers. She looks like just that, a girl - radiating innocence and timidity beneath a veritable mop of lazy curls that hang down in her big wide brown eyes. Her clothes are big and baggy and definitely scream hand-me-down but he can tell by looking at her that she has no concept of why that might be a bad thing.

It’s when she slides off the bed and steps toward him - after casting an uncertain glance at Mike - that it really hits him. She reaches up to push her hair out of her eyes and he finally sees them, the depth behind those irises, the strength radiating off of her that seems to originate somewhere down in her bones. What he thought was timidity is now a carefully-restrained surge of pure power. It very nearly floors him.

“Hi,” her voice is soft and measured and her hand is steady as she reaches toward him.

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watching through windows, you’re wondering if i’m okay

The whole house is quiet, the echoes of Billy’s barbaric screaming long-since faded away, but when Mike closes his eyes and inhales deeply enough, he could swear he still smells the faintly tangy scent of whatever that gel was in El’s hair, the one that filled his lungs when he breathed her in. He can still feel the heat of her against him, the way her heart beat so hard and wild against his chest, the way her nails dug into his shoulders through his sweater when he’d hugged her as close and as hard as he could. He can still feel her, alive and breathing, real and there, even though it’s been a couple of hours and he’s had as many brushes with death in that time. The anxiety still bristling in his stomach roars and doubles over on top of itself, threatening to buckle his knees and bring him to the floor for a moment.

It’s the memory of those headlights flaring to near blinding proportions that keeps him steady on his feet. There’s no way that was anything but Eleven.

The aftermath of the group's collective brush with the Mind Flayer and his army.

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#em's masterpost #brooklyn 99 fanfiction #the good place fanfiction #guardians of the galaxy fanfiction #stranger things fanfiction