#im surprised because im just absolutely terrible at sticking with things

[aritamargarita]

GOLDEN || 004

im like way behind on golden…my bad y’all don’t worry im still working on it! attitude was just getting a little TOO spicy—

i find this chapter pretty fun so i hope u guys find it fun too. i may have wrote a lot sorry lol MY BRAIN JUST KEPT GOING ,, ecw brainrot.

i feel like i should make a gif set or something of all the moves used in the future just for reference. deadass be writing them down from 2k22 then looking them up to see it for real lmao

YOU ALWAYS LIKED ECW. It’s your home away from home. A lot of the things you did were pretty unorthodox, but you found it easy to make things fun around the place.

Terry Funk, your mentor, always told you to bring whatever you had to the ring. To do your best and leave with nothing less.

Because you brought your best, the crowds of ECW had thought that you indeed, were the best. Every day you’d come into work, Terry would tell you how you’re always “a rising star”. He gave you more credit than any one else did in your wrestling journey, and you couldn’t help but to thank him enough.

After every practice, he’d harshly pat you on the back. He’d tell you there’s things to be worked on, that there’s always things you needed to be working on.

Despite this, you started thinking you truly were a star, a star in a beautiful galaxy millions of miles away from Earth.

Then, there’s that speck of dust, that insignificant, nearly burnt out star. The one that you’d never know if it was a plane or an actual star…

…..it’s just Tommy Dreamer. You didn’t like Tommy as much. You always thought he was trying to steal your spotlight and gain favor with Terry. He was mentoring him too, which meant the both of you were around each other a lot more. In a way, you two were like brother and sister. Even if you hated being referred to as such.

You absolutely hated how he came in like it was nothing. You came first. You’ve always been first. All of a sudden, he just comes in and tries to take your spot?? Absolutely not.

You knew that Tommy basically had no gimmick, which probably was the gimmick, but you didn’t really care. You found it funny he’s just trying to survive in the cesspool of extreme. He literally only wears a ECW t-shirt and pants. No type of gear, no type of drip!

They called him ‘The Innovator of Violence’. You don’t really see it, but you’ve seen his matches. He’s not terrible, but he couldn’t have been better than you. Sure, he can bleed. So can you!

You’ve bled before! The very first match you’ve had, you emerged victorious with half of your face covered in blood.

Luna Vachon was a rough opponent. She didn’t go easy on you and you were happy she didn’t take the easy route.

She’d toss you around the ring, hit you with kendo sticks and cookie trays, and even try to get you involved with the crowd. You both didn’t really like the crowd sometimes though. ECW fans could easily touch you, so the both of you would retreat right back into the ring.

The crowd immediately shifted gears when you brought out thumbtacks and scattered them across the ring. No one’s ever really seen it before. In fact, you’re the first to do it.

To make things fair, you agreed to land on the thumbtacks. You didn’t really mind, but neither did Luna. She decided to take a bump on them too.

That night, the both of you put on a show that no one would ever forget. The next show that you came out to, standing in the ring to give your final thoughts, you received a standing ovation from the audience, much to your surprise.

Paul Heyman had even shook your hand afterwards, telling you that he was impressed.

You were hopeful to give women’s wrestling a bigger name. Anything they could do, you could do better.

Most of your coworkers praised you after that. They told you how great you looked in the ring and the blood on your face was the cherry on top.

Though your coworkers regarded to you as “shy” and “quiet”, and maybe “too good for hanging out”, you figured they only were saying that because you always declined any after party invites. You’re just not interested.

It’s not that you were too good for it, you’re tired. Just like any other person would be. You’re fine with making friends and maybe going out places with them any other time, but you’re fine with staying in your hotel room for the remainder of the night.

Francine would often tell you what happened after, which makes you either feel left out or glad you didn’t even go.

Well, that’s not very important…

It’s a home show this time and incredibly exciting for you because Terry and Tommy had a match tonight, one that you were involved with. It’s a three-on-two match and if you can recall correctly, it’s against Raven and Cactus Jack..…

You knew of Terry’s issues with Raven, but you also knew of Tommy’s issues with him. The both of them have a lot going on. You’re the only one who doesn’t have any problem with him.

Raven’s strange. He would always stare at you whenever you’re nearby. It kinda made you nervous. The one time you caught him staring, he just smirked and exited out of the ring.

You feel like shit for wanting to know more and you still feel like shit for even engaging with him. It’s just wrong on so many levels. The fact you’re even interested in the enemy makes you want to scream.

You just couldn’t help it! Raven is mysterious.

“Hey. [Name]….”

You’re surprised to hear your name, too busy in your thoughts and adjusting your ring gear. You turn around to see Brian Pillman, holding something in a closed fist.

You should’ve known by his slightly raspy voice that it was him. What’d he want with you this time?

The crazed look in his eyes told you that this was about to be anything but normal. “I just won a fight against a giant pencil. The bookerman told me I did good. Then, I went outside to find this.”

He opens his hand to show you a dead grasshopper. That shit was HUGE.

You’re not entirely sure what to say at first, completely scared shitless at the bug. At this point, you should be used to it. He’s given you many bugs, some alive and some dead.

You’re not exactly ready to question the pencil part. “Thank you.” Even though it’s a strange gesture, you appreciate the thought. “…You sure this isn’t a locust??”

“Nah. Doesn’t taste like a locust.”

How does he know what a locust tastes like….? You don’t really want to question it. Actually, you’re curious to know if he tasted it before he killed it or after he killed it.

He grabs your wrist and you open your hand, letting him press the dead grasshopper into it. You’re not as scared as you thought you’d be, but damn it felt weird in your hand.

“Wow. It’s definitely…..a bug. What’s this about you and a giant pencil, by the way?”

Brian gives you a raspy chuckle. “I’m glad you asked…….”

You almost wish you didn’t ask.

For a moment, he’s serious. He doesn’t have that crazy look in his eye. Brian Pillman actually looks normal. “There’s a meaning behind that. It’s just how booking is these days.”

It’s safe to say you’re shocked he flipped the switch that quickly. It’s impressive. However, as soon as you started thinking that….

He starts to wickedly smile. “And I kicked that pencils ass! It choked me, stabbed me, but I pinned it, for the 1, 2, 3. [Name], I need your help next time. The pencil says it’s got friends. A smoking pink Dixon Ticonderoga. If I get my smoking hot co-worker to help me, we can beat the evil pencils.”

You’re not sure what to dissect first. The fact he called the pencil smoking or the fact he called you smoking. “…Okay.” You willingly agree though. You’ll help Brian fight a pencil. It’s not exactly the craziest thing you’ve ever done, but if he says it has a meaning behind it, then fine.

You don’t have a lot of time though, your match is next and you wanted to be early to ensure Terry wouldn’t get mad at you. “Listen, I’ll talk to you later. Tonight’s really important and I’ve got a match.”

“Can’t wait.” He reaches over and pats your head.“We’re gonna take their graphite.”

Woohoo, taking the pencils graphite! Whatever that means…

It’s the last match of the night. You walk in front of Terry and Tommy as you three walk towards the ring. Neither of them hold their hands out for any high fives, but you were nice enough to give them some.

One by one you enter the ring. You allow the other two to get in first, so you can wipe your shoes against the apron. Terry proudly nods at your sign of respect and you bend down to enter through the ropes.

The crowd chants your name. Once you get to the center of the ring, you throw your arms out in response. Tommy comes over and stands in front of you on purpose.

“Dude—move!” You complain. “Get your own spotlight!”

“I’ve got one right here!” He shoots back.

“Hey! You two, separate now.” Terry ordered. He doesn’t feel like hearing you two arguing, especially when he’s about to cut a promo.

You two listen, with you leaning on the turnbuckles in the corner and Tommy idly walking around the ring.

Terry takes the microphone from the announcer. “I’ve got just one thing to say. Forever, forever, forever and ever, Cactus Jack, I will remember what happened last time forever, you asshole! Bring it on!”

For whatever reason, they never really let you interfere in the matches until tonight. Everything was about Tommy and Terry. It made you mad and most importantly it made the crowd mad.

Luckily, you’re finally able to do what you do best.

Before he can give the mic away, you motion for him to hand it over. You’ve got some words too. Terry gives it to you. All eyes were on you and you’d hope you don’t fumble. You never do, but sometimes the nerves sneaks up on you.

“How low can you get to try and ruin a legends career? This is Terry Funk! He’s someone to look up to. Someone that everyone in the back should be looking up to. Most importantly, he’s our mentor. It’s right for us to feel angry. We’re pissed. How dare a couple of low lives try and torment him?!”

You take a moment to dramatically catch your breath.

“Tonight, Cactus Jack and Raven, you two are going to pay dearly for what you’ve done. We all know he’s planning on retiring. If this is one of his final matches…then he’ll go out with a bang.”

You kindly hand the mic to the referee. Truth be told, you just wanted to add your two cents in tonight. You retreat to stand in one of the ring corners.

Cactus Jack’s music hits and he comes out alongside Raven. Once they get ringside, they don’t come in of course, instead circling it like sharks.

You can feel a hand brush up against your ankle, trying to go up towards your calf. You jolt, moving away to turn around and see what the hell it was.

Lo-and-behold, it was Raven. He looks up at you, then circles back around as if he hadn’t touched you. Weirdo.

No one was making any sudden moves, which causes Cactus to grab a mic. “Why don’t you stop wasting my fucking time and bring your ass out here?! Come on, Terry!” Cactus & Raven slide into the ring, but Tommy and Terry slide back out.

You don’t entirely leave the ring, instead deciding to stay on the ring apron until one of them had their back turned. You’re gonna get one of them, that’s for sure. Whether it’s Cactus Jack or Raven, someone’s about to get a hurricanrana.

Raven comes over to you. He doesn’t smile, he doesn’t smirk. There’s a neutral look on his face and it makes you smile. He expected you to do something, maybe even slap him, but you’re wise enough to leave it until they’re caught off guard.

Once he turns away from you, you quickly scramble out and climb onto the top turn buckle.

The crowd cheers at you, ready to see what you’ll do. In order for this to work, he needed to turn around again. You whistle to catch his attention.

He turns and you immediately jump off, giving him a hurricanrana and flinging him across the ring. You’re the first to make a move, which causes Tommy to spring into action.

While Cactus is busy looking in awe, Tommy strikes him from behind, knocking him down. The bell rings, signifying the beginning of the match.

Raven’s stunned, crawling over to get up on the ropes for leverage. For some reason, he’s holding his hand out, asking for a mic. There’s no way he’s got something to say after you hit a move on him like that!

“That was….” He falters, still holding onto a rope. “That was nothing. I’m used to having my head in between your legs, so try…again, [Name]!”

The crowd gasps and so do you. Tommy looks at you in confusion and you’re genuinely not sure what to do.

“I-I…” You stutter. You don’t have a mic, but it’s very easy to tell what you’re saying. “No—I don’t even know why he would say that!”

“Terry Funk, you think that protege of yours, you……you think she’s such an angel huh?!”

Raven’s talking too much, a little too much for your own good. He’s so used to having his face in between your legs, right? Well right now, you’re about to shut up him for good.

Because he’s already kneeling, it’s pretty easy for you to come over and kick him down. The mic makes a static noise after he drops it, and you roll him over onto his stomach quickly.

He groans in pain and you roll over on top of him, using your legs to capture him in the Code of Silence. You use one hand to hold your foot in place, doing your best to make the hold tighter.

“You know so much, huh?! HUH?!” You scream. He puts his hand on your leg, trying his best to pry you off. “Tell us what else, Raven! What do you have to say?!” The crowd is still bewildered from what Raven said, but were still cheering you nonetheless.

Raven didn’t make the attempt to tap, but he was doing his hardest to try and get you to release him. He’s already tried prying you off, he squeezed your thigh, tried smacking it, did just about everything in the book. Why did it feel like he was groping you??

You just wouldn’t let him go. Terry finally comes into the ring to try and coax you to get off of Raven. He just wasn’t worth it. The guy needed some fighting chance. “[Name], get off that boy!” He yells, coming over to you two. “He’s done! Let him go!”

He really was. He was on the verge of passing out, his grip on you becoming weaker. He was digging his nails into your skin, leaving indents as he pushed. You were so angry you hadn’t even noticed, and you didn’t even feel it until you came back to Earth.

Terry’s got to pull you off of him. Raven’s hacking and sputtering on the ground and you stretch your legs out a bit. It felt like forever you were holding him like that, but you felt pretty satisfied. Maybe he’ll shut up for the rest of the night.

Terry pats your shoulder, then raises his voice loud enough so you can hear him. “He ain’t worth it. Just relax. If you know he’s lying, let ‘em lie. He’ll get what’s coming to him.”

You nod, backing off and stepping away.

Tommy picks up a nearly unconscious Raven, and the two begin to laying into one another with strikes. Terry goes over to Cactus Jack, dealing with him as well.

It’s obvious they didn’t want you to do the dirty work. All of the men got out of the ring and you look bored as hell. They’re more than likely grabbing chairs, but it doesn’t make it any more fun than it is.

As soon as you see Stevie coming out with a shit ton of other weapons in a shopping cart (more than likely for Raven’s usage only), you take this opportunity to get onto the outer ropes.

Stevie’s cool! You like Stevie. He likes you too. He thought you were one of the nicer ones in the promotion. Unfortunately, when you’re in the ring, you tend to bully him a little bit.

A shame you’d have to do this to him. You wait for a second for him to move away from the shopping cart.

He looks up at you with a smile. Damn. He doesn’t have a clue in the fucking world. You run across the apron and jump off towards him for a Diving Meteora. You two land scarily close to the guardrail. The area surrounding the ring was pretty small, so as soon as you land, you scramble off of him.

“You okay?!” You whisper. You really hope he didn’t hit his head on that metal.

“Fine!” He responds. Good, now you can boast all you please. You grab Stevie by the hair and you turn to look over at the ring. There are a shit ton of weapons sprawled around the mat.

You really can’t even look away for a split second! Raven’s already bleeding, you’ve got Terry who’s definitely about to blade at any second, and then there’s Tommy who’s sliding out the ring to come towards you.

“Put him in the shopping cart!” Tommy yells, dumping out what was in the cart.

“GET IN THE FUCKING CART STEVIE!” You scream. It’s not like he could say no either. You and Tommy were already manhandling him into the shopping cart.

“Sorry!” You whisper, but then get behind the handle and push it down the aisle. You send the cart right into the ring post. After he collided with it, Tommy ends up flipping the cart onto its side, just to add salt in the wound.

It suddenly comes to you that Terry is on his own in the ring. You’re concerned, but notice he’s handling himself pretty well. He used a caution sign to whack Cactus over the head.

You’re not even sure if you want to try and get back in the ring. You don’t want to trip on anything. Then again, maybe there’s something you can grab on the side and whack Stevie with it.

Yes indeed. An ode from the Sandman, there’s a kendo stick lying nearby. With one quick glance to Stevie, you grab the stick, then whack him with it.

That ‘crack!’ sound was so loud, it stunned you and the people sitting nearby for a minute. He’ll be down for a while. Fuck it, you’re getting back into the ring.

There’s no referee. None whatsoever. Raven goes over to pin Terry, but you grab his ankle and pull him off to the best of your ability.

He sluggishly stands up to look at you. You’re quick to the punch, rearing your hand back and slapping him across the face. Raven stumbles, nearly losing his footing.

With the new smear of blood on your hand, you turn it around and lick it off.

As of now, it’s just you and Raven in the ring. You’ve got half a mind to pull him back into the Code of Silence….

Nah. You probably shouldn’t do that. Instead, you’ll target that pretty little head of his. You reach over and pull his hair, then slam him down to the mat.

Raven holds the back of his head, but you don’t give him any time to breathe. You come over and put your foot on each side of his head, then grab his arms and lift him up.

You let him go after a few minutes and he brings his hands back up into his hair, the stinging feeling making him roll around. You lean down, picking up a small tuft of hair that was left behind.

Oops…..you kinda snatched him bald. You hold it up to the crowd, who cheer in response. What a souvenir!

That’s what he gets for talking. You don’t feel bad. You get down and try to pin him….

AND THERE’S STILL NO REFEREE! What the fuck! You get off of him, resting on your knees. You’re not exactly tired, just exasperated.

Suddenly, something whacks you in the back of the head. You fall face first to the mat, a shot of pain flaring through your head. Cactus somehow had gotten the best of Terry and attempted to save Raven.

He tosses the speed limit sign to the side, then brings you up. Lifting you up fully, he turns you upside down for a hard Scoop Slam.

Once you hit the mat, you roll over in pain. That shit HURT!! Truth be told, you should be used to it at this point but man….

It made it even worse you landed on a stray VCR. You’re definitely going to need a massage after this.

Before either men could try and come for you again, you slide out of the ring. “Tommy! What the fuck are you doing?!” You yell, pointing up towards the ring.

Tommy was too busy going through the weapons on the floor. He wanted to see which was the best one…he’s literally wasting time.

“WHERE’S FUNK?!?!” You scream next, waiting for him to respond.

At first, Tommy’s paying you no mind. Sorting through his options and pulling out a cheese grater. Then he turns to you with a shrug.

Terry was nowhere to be found. More than likely he’s probably on the floor somewhere, but you’re still pretty pissed.

Tommy gets into the ring, taking down Cactus and using the grater on his forehead. Finally, he does something useful. There’s more blood.

You’re used to all of it. Even though it was pretty annoying to get out of clothes, there’s nothing peroxide couldn’t do. Unless someone uses a weapon on you or you blade, you’re not really going to bleed tonight.

Terry gets rolled back into the ring, completely knocked out. There he is! And there’s still no referee, so there’s no way they could get a proper pin fall.

Until Bill Alfonso and Taz just walked out, the both of them in referee gear. No fucking way.

You sigh, resting your head onto the ring apron. It is so hard to keep up sometimes. Cactus goes in for the pin, but Terry kicks out at 2.

You were just about to come and pull him off. Thank goodness he kicked out.

Bill starts to stomp Terry out, then Taz starts pummeling him with punches. Tommy’s in the ring to stop both of them, but Raven gets the jump on him.

…After a few more minutes of that, they just leave. Like, what? Sometimes you don’t understand this show. You wonder if Heyman told them to come out.

The actual referee for this match finally shows up, signifying that this match is coming to a close. Tommy grabs Raven, giving him a DDT onto the chair. Then gets him back up for a Piledriver.

Though you’re finally starting to feel tired, you run and bounce off the ropes to Basement Dropkick Raven onto flat the mat.

Terry crawls in very slowly, battered and bruised. He’ll get the final pin. It’s a slow count, but before you know it, the match is over.

Time of pinfall was 14 minutes. It felt much longer than that. You need a second to catch your breath. Despite it there being a lot happening in just one match…

…you’re more than happy to do it again tomorrow.

i had to simplify most of the match jesus it was a whole bunch of nothing WHERE ARE DA MOVES AT?! like everyone’s hitting each other with stuff okay cool. now why is bill alfonso & taz showing up LMAO???? im telling you guys ecw is insane. november to remember 1995 was referenced by the by

i was watching this interview and stevie said something like “the promotion is an angle in itself because everyone has something to do with each other”… that was so real. reader only apologizing to him and no one else >>

pillman and reader vs the evil pencils coming soon. they’ll bond a little better i fear

#wwe golden series #wwe imagine #wwe various x reader #wwe imagines #wwe x reader #ecw x reader #listen i was confused as hell watching the match #i don’t even have any tags. It’s just here. #IF Y’ALL WATCHED EUPHORIA #READER DID A CASSIE LINE LMAO

[prettyboykatsuki]

extended authors note ; how to be a dog.

WELCOME TO MY TWISTED MIND MOTHERFUCKERS.

that is a joke. i speak in jest. this fic has taken me almost a year to write. it was requested of me in july of 2022 and its currently april 2023. i want to give my highest regards ever to the most lovely and patient human being in this world miss ame. your kind words through updates kept me pushing through the very end and i hope this fic is everything you could want

ok. onto the talking about it stuff.

this fic is pretty dark all things considered. though my scale for that is kind of fucked and since this is my tumblr audience - you people are well-aware it gets bad but its... still pretty graphic. there is a lot of truly henious shit in here and its in the perspective of that guy.

tldr ; don't read if you think it will give you the heebie jeebies. u are not obligated and i am not your mother nor am i a public executioner. if this is the one fic u skip out on no hard feelings at all. i mean this.

this fic is one of Those Fics where writing it did something to my brain. i have never, ever in my entire writing career been so challenged by a single project. every single element of this fic has been run through a million things. the last time this happened was my big deku fic but that fic rlly feels like a cakewalk in comparison.

all that to say, because it has simply been seeing my eyes only for months with no input from anyone else - i have no idea how anything worked out. no beta no meds just balls to the wall insanity. i can only measure my own work so much and i have bar zero expectations for this fic just to save myself some sanity.

i ask very kindly that if it sucks u just dont tell me. and if it doesn't and u want to be nice that'd be cool too. but know that a lot of my heart and soul went into this and i hope in the very least - you are able to discern that in its makeup.

a lot of the stuff ive worked into here is related like. to plot and motif and actual development. the dog motif is a huge part of the story as is the religious imagery. i want this fic to feel like a fall from grace in a sense. it is a character study as much as its anything else. where there's always something wrong and one day everything goes to shit. i think gojo is that kind of sicko.

i also do like. love gojo so much. this fic is written with nothing but adoration for him in mind.

i dont have much to add (said after this absolutely disgusting wall of text) because my tumblr homies r very aware of what shit im up to and this fic is not a surprise to anyone.

but i hope you enjoy it if you do read and even if you don't, thanks for sticking around despite it all. i have been thru the trenches and i will need a bit of break to recuperate once its in the world for good so i hope u can be kind

i am terrible with comments and asks and tags bc it all scares me but i am so genuinely and so unfathomably grateful for all of it and i hope im finally out of my insane writing dry spell.

thanks. lots of love. sincerely yours,

fang.

#aristotle.txt #htbad.fic

[moriihana]

we can't fix each other but we sure as hell can enable each other instead || eleven: i'm bad at mariokart but at least shigaraki is worse

pairing: dabi x disabled!gn!reader

overview: you meet dabi pre-canon because your cat, nugget, literally won’t leave the guy alone. friendship, fluff and (eventual) angst ensue.

chapter summary: you and shigaraki play some mariokart, then you guys fuck up overhaul bc he's a piece of shit and i hate him

content: angst and fluff

warnings: you scratch at your throat as an anxious habit (picked up from shig)

word count: 1749

a/n: shamelessly self-promoting MORE art i did of my self-insert but there's nugget and boo this time (i have no clue how to draw animals). also, idk how this reads bc basing things off of the actual episodes is real fuckin hard so if anyone has any feedback i'm happy to hear! also² i projected the fact i'm really bad at mariokart into this. bc uhhhhhh. im really bad at mariokart LMAOOO

*previously known as “we can’t fix each other (but we can heal our wounds together)”; i changed the title bc these assholes aint healin shit they’re just being overall menaces

taglist: @iincandescenttt

AO3 link

← previous ; next →

“You think they’re okay?” You itched the front of your throat anxiously. “It’s been days and we haven’t heard from them.”

“Stop that,” Shigaraki snapped and paused the round of MarioKart, eyeing the blood welling up under your skin. “You always get on my ass about it, you don’t get to do it either.”

“Picked it up from you, dick,” you grumbled under your breath, but dropped your hand anyways. “But do you? Think they’re okay?”

“Whatever. They’re fine. Overhaul has probably limited their communication since we’re technically wanted criminals. Can we get back to the game now?” He huffed, scowling.

“I thought you didn’t like MarioKart and were only playing because I wanted to. I’d think you would be happy to take a break.” You shrugged.  

“We’re not only playing it because you wanted to—” Shigaraki narrowed his eyes when you grinned at his arguing. “—and anyways, it’s better than listening to you yap about. I think Dabi’s even gotten tired of listening to your anxious rambling, which is probably why he hasn’t been putting up a fuss over us playing games.”

“Actually, I think that’s because I threatened to chop his dick off,” you snickered.

“You… threatened to chop his dick off,” Shigaraki deadpanned. “Why on earth did you do that.”

“I called you by Tomura in front of him and he got all pissy. I explained you’re my best friend and gave me permission to call you Tomura, and told him no dick measuring contests—otherwise he’d find he has no dick to measure.” 

“And I thought you were less insane than the rest of them, but it’s pretty fucking crazy to threaten a man’s dick. Especially Dabi’s. ”

You barked out a laugh. “Insane or not, pretty boy wouldn’t actually do anything to hurt me. One time he accidentally burnt me and apologised for days afterwards. And he never apologises.”

“Tch.” He shook his head. “If you’re not gonna play, go bother someone else. I’m getting tired of MarioKart anyways.”

“Yeah, yeah, grumpypants.” You grabbed your cane and heaved yourself off the floor, sticking your tongue out at him. You made your way down the hall and into your room, waving to Dabi.

He looked up from his spot on the bed as you walked in, raising his eyebrows. “He kick you out?”

“Ehh, pretty much.” You stopped to scratch Boo behind the ears and give Nugget a quick pet, then plopped down next to him with a groan. “That, and I think his pride can only take so many beatings. Apparently, he’s absolute dogshit at MarioKart. Fighting games and MMOs are more his style.”

He snorted, “Why doesn’t that surprise me. He seems like the type of person to enjoy murdery games over anything else.”

“Oh, definitely.” You grinned. “I think it’s worth noting I’m awful at MarioKart. So the fact I was winning means he was really awful. ”

“I know, doll. I beat you twenty times before you gave up.”

“Don’t remind me of that!” You whined, throwing your hands into the air. “I’ve never had my ass kicked so terribly.”

“You forget I played a lot of games with Natsu. I got real damn good at shit like that.” Dabi shrugged, mischief in his eyes. 

“Still sucked.” You pouted, crossing your arms. “You could’ve gone easy on me after the first ten times! You didn’t have to keep kicking my ass!”

“Ya think I’d go easy on you, doll? We both know I’ve never been the one to go easy.” A smirk pulled at his staples. “Especially on you.”

“Oh, shut it,” you grumbled, swatting at him. “You’re so annoying.”

“And yet you still put up with me.”

“I literally couldn’t get rid of you if I tried. Not that I want to, anyways. You’re stuck with me just as much as I’m stuck with you, pretty boy.” You looked away from him when Shigaraki poked his head through the door. “What’s up, Shig?”

“Toga called. Time to go.”

You grinned, a gleam in your eyes. “Oh hell yeah.”

“Spinner, you are horrible at driving!” You yelped, hanging onto Compress’s free arm for dear life as Dabi pushed the truck doors open.

“In shogi, the point is to get the king, right?” Shigaraki spoke from atop the truck, his fingers interlocked.

“How the fuck have you not fallen off, dude?!” Your voice was sharp with anxiety.

“It’s not that simple,” Dabi drawled in response as he looked up at your leader.

“Yeah, they’re here, just like you said! To get from the Hassaikai to the nearest villain hospital, it’s fastest to use this highway. Thanks for letting us know! Toga, you’re so efficient. I’m much obliged,” Compress hummed gratefully.

“Good job Toga! Put her on speaker, Compress!” You leaned close to Compress’s phone, speaking loudly. He snorted and gently pushed you away, but put Toga on speaker nonetheless.

“Jin-kun’s the one who told me to call—”

“—fight!” 

“—I was too busy watching Izuku!”

“Run away!”

“In fact, I’m sorry to make you get your hands dirty.”

“I only have one hand, though,” Compress mused playfully. Toga’s laugh chimed through the phone.

“We couldn’t get the girl who’s the crux of their plan, but we think the finished products are where you are. We watched the police’s movements for a while, so there’s a high probability. Even if they aren’t there…”

“—kill them—”

“...we want to say hi, right?”

Compress hummed as Toga hung up. “Sounds like Twice is having a rough go of it.”

“Yeah... they did good, though. I’m proud of both of them,” you said with a smile.

“Hey, lizard! Stop weaving!” Dabi snapped over his shoulder. “I get motion sick!”

“Don’t call me “lizard”! I’m Spinner!” 

“What are you getting mad for? Shut up!” Dabi huffed, then gave you a look as you giggled. “Stop your laughing. It’s not funny.”

“You get motion sick?” You grinned at him, ignoring the glare you got in response.

“Is attacking the police really following the will of Stain, who wanted a true hero society? I’m not sure about that!”

“It’s a necessary sacrifice, Spinner. I’m counting on you to drive,” Shigaraki sighed, moving into a crouching position.

“And don’t fling us out of the back, please!” You added. “I don’t want to die just yet!”

Dabi rolled his eyes, then ignited his palm. “Now…” He grinned, and sent out a tunnel of flames. His grin faded when something stopped the fire from hitting the police cars. “What’s with him?”

“A hero! Of course there’d be one. Ugh!” Shigaraki’s voice was almost a whine. You had to suppress a teasing remark at that. “Spinner, slow down!” As the truck slowed enough to get closer to the police car, Shigaraki jumped down—then was hit in the face with a bunch of sand. The hero began to ramble on about Shigaraki's decay.

“He’s famous, huh?” Dabi sighed, putting his hands in his pockets. You patted him on the shoulder.

“Don’t worry, pretty boy. You’re just as scary as him.”

“Shigaraki is the misdirection; in other words, the decoy. Let’s go.” Compress flicked out a marble, which decompressed into a large piece of rubble. “Police car gently levitating! No trickery or devices involved.”

You snickered, then clambered onto Dabi’s back before he and Compress jumped out of the back of the truck. You hopped off and watched Dabi approach the hero that had pulled the policeman out of the transport vehicle Shigaraki caused to crash. He ignited his forearms as he loomed over the hero, a menacing smile on his face.

“That’s right. Heroes end up prioritising lives.”

“Recently, burnt corpses have been turning up one after another in various places.” The hero lowered the policeman onto the ground. 

“Oh, are people talking about me? That makes me happy,” Dabi said, voice mocking.

“Told you, pretty boy! Just as scary!” You called. Compress nudged you, shaking his head in amusement. Your playfulness turned into a scowl when you heard what the hero said next, your grip on your cane tightening.

“Have you ever thought about the feelings of those they left behind?!”

You have no idea, hero. You have no idea.

While Compress and Dabi dealt with the hero, you walked over to Shigaraki, who was standing by Overhaul’s gurney. He nodded in acknowledgement, then turned his attention back to the former yakuza.

“Who’s going to be the next leader again?” Shigaraki tilted his head, hands in his pockets.

“Did you come to kill me?” Overhaul ignored his question. His voice was resigned, devoid of emotion.

“No. I thought of what you’d hate the most. I hate you.” Shigaraki took Father off his face as Compress approached. “You’re too full of yourself.”

“Me too.” Compress removed his mask, smirking. He used a marble to take one of Overhaul’s arms.

“Oh, nice.” You grinned, nudging Compress. “I didn’t think of that.”

“There are two boxes here. Which is the finished product?” Shigaraki opened the box as he spoke. “Oh, well.”

Overhaul’s eyes widened in panic as his face twisted up in a sour expression. “Give it back.”

“You know what, Overhaul? A person who erases people’s Quirks shouldn’t depend on their own Quirk, right?” Shigaraki leaned down and gripped Overhaul’s remaining arm. You watched as the Decay began to spread upwards, your eyes lighting up in twisted satisfaction. “If I don’t cut it off, your whole body will turn to dust.” Shigaraki lifted up a knife, then paused and turned to you, raising his eyebrows in an unspoken question.

Your grin grew wider, and you took the knife. “Don’t mind if I do.” You swung the knife down, severing his forearm from his elbow.

“All right, now you’re a powerless, helpless, Quirkless man,” Shigaraki leered, a manic look on his face. “And the fruits of all that effort you spent are now mine! Now you won’t even have a finger to put in your mouth as you look on enviously at the rest of us! Let’s do our best!”

You giggled as hives spread across Overhaul’s skin, “What a pity! You shouldn’t have killed our friend and taken Compress’s arm.”

Spinner honked the horn of the truck. “Pursuers are coming! Hurry up and get in!” He shouted out the window. 

Shigaraki straightened, placed Father back onto his face, and walked back to Spinner. “Next, it’s our turn.”

You trailed after him with a pleased hum. “Revenge feels nice.” Your joy and satisfaction grew exponentially as Overhaul screamed behind you. “It feels real fuckin’ nice.”

#dabi x reader #dabi x you #todoroki touya x reader #todoroki touya x you #touya todoroki x reader #touya todoroki x you #todoroki toya x reader #todoroki toya x you #toya todoroki x reader #toya todoroki x you #my writing #bnha fanfiction #navi: we cant fix each other #writing.txt

[intearsaboutrobots]

3, 4, 7 & 22 for the meta ask thing?

3. What is that one scene that you’ve always wanted to write but can’t be arsed to write all of the set-up and context it would need? (consider this permission to write it and/or share it anyway)

oh gosh... this isn't exactly right bc i am actually very excited by the set-up i came up w i am just not good on a Long Writing Project, but i have a very good crossover WIP for Lymond Chronicles/Legally Blonde The Musical lmaoo

the thing is it is actually VERY INTERESTING how those two canons interact, and i would love to actually write the novel length fic that this would be but i am notttt an experienced Long Thing writer!!! but i will put some of my fav snippets i wrote for it at the end under the cut :33

4. Share a sentence or paragraph from your writing that you’re really proud of (explain why, if you like)

She tugged Daisy gently into her, settling her against her side. Daisy tried her best to relax, ordering her muscles to loosen. This should have been the easiest thing in the world, she and Basira should have fit together like puzzle pieces. They'd both changed too much thought, Basira growing sharp and dangerous, her angles digging into the places Daisy had been hurt.

this is from good sleep is hard to find, and i forgot how much i liked writing this dynamic ! what's more fun than two ppl who used to be incredibly close and now things have changed and they just. don't fit anymore.

7. What do you think are the characteristics of your personal writing style? Would others agree?

hmm i'm not sure if this counts but i write a lot of people suppressing reactions? not someone crying, but someone holding back tears or biting their tongue until they taste blood, yk? i'm not really sure if that's the right answer for this question tho

22. Do you reread your old works? How do you feel about them?

no aha not really... this isn't always true but for the things i didn't write in basically one sitting and put right onto ao3 and particularly for anything written on a deadline, by the time im posting it i have spent so much time editing it that i feel terrible and (esp if it was on a deadline) have possibly cried over it. so i post it and then never read it again ghslkdfhsf

(i am trying to write in a way where i don't end up feeling terrible tho ghslkdf it's a work in progress)

((also rereading old stuff for this meme has been very fun actually, it turns out i like my writing sometimes??? literally who knew))

brief context: the AU is that Lymond=Elle, Pippa=Emmett, and Margaraet=Callahan. because of the ages tho, lymond went to harvard to follow margaraet before pippa did, so he didn't have someone to help him get out from under her thumb. when pippa meets him, he's still stuck in a like, fucked up relationship w her where she is also his boss and absolutely wields that over him. also this is copied right from my drafts pls disregard typoes etc...

---

It was past midnight when Phillippa spotted Lymond's fair hair coming out of the building. Hopping off the ledge she'd been sitting on, she dashed to catch up with him. He turned when he heard her coming. His hair was in disarray, his shirt still partially unbuttoned.

"Ah, Somerville comma Phillippa," he drawled. "I don't know why I'm surprised, you found a piece of personal business to stick your nose into so where else should you be? Well, I'm afraid you've missed the boat on this one. My relationship to Margaret has been the subject of campus gossip since longer than you've been out of diapers. I've heard some remarkable suggestions on what exactly is going on under the *bench at trials."

"Stop it!" she snapped. "You won't turn me off that easily."

"Turn you off, I wouldn't dare. Besides, that isn't exactly my field, is it." Every word was spat out like a dart, aiming to hurt. By his side, his hands were fisted, and his lips were tight and drawn. Phillippa stepped closer, standing up to her full height to glare at him.

"Francis Crawford. You are my friend," she emphasised the word, stuffing any feelings to the contrary into a box, "and I do not stand by and let my friends be hurt."

His face became a cold mask. She has misjudged.

"Consider the burden of my well-being lifted from you, then. Disregard any friendship you might have thought we had, Ms. Somerville. Don't you have a job to get to? Floors to mop?"

He hissed the last words, and turned on his heel to storm off. Phillippa didn't follow, frozen with rage and embarrassment.

---

"We can fix it. We can fight it-"

"Don't you think," Lymond hissed, "I've tried that?" He was angrier, Pippa realised, than she'd ever seen him. His fists were curled, white-knuckled at his sides, and all the muscles in his body were taut and pulled tight. "Do you think I'm some sorry slut, eager to roll over for my mistress? I have been trying for years, Philippa. For years, to get the evidence to bring Margaret down. But who exactly would believe me over her?

"I know exactly how people see me. I'm not in denial as to my reputation, I know what people whisper. Half the rumors are probably true. But I'm not, I'm *not* giving up. I won't let her win."

Philippa matched his gaze, trying to hide the quivering inside of her.

"Let me help you, then. You don't have to do this on your own."

"For the love of-" Lymond spun, throwing up his hands. "I don't want you to see me with her. I am not proud of what I have to do. I don't want you to see me like that."

"It won't change the way I htink of you." Her voice gained strength as she went on. "You'll always be the arrogant, cutting, rude, brilliant, charismatic man who kicked me out of class on my first day. And I want to help you."

---

Lymond sat on the edge of the curb, coatless.

It was a chilly night. They were still in midSeptember, but the weather was ready for the cold and wind of later in the year. She unzipped her coat and shrugged it off.

"You'lre going to get hypothermia."Lymond looked at the coat dangling from her hand, then back up at Philippa. She shook it slightly impatiently.

"Don't worry about me, I am from here. You're a California boy, I'm sure you have a very delicate constitution."

"Thank you for your concern," he said dryly. He still hadn't taken the coat. Philippa gave up on any idea of him being sensible and settled it around his shoulders herself. This close, she could detect the minute trembling of his muscles. He was not dressed to be outside in this weather, and she felt a little worried for him.

"Do you need a ride? I... well, I don't have a car. But I could call you one."

Lymond looked up at her, eyes crinkling. "Your chivalry is unmatched, Miss Somerville. But unnecessary. I do not have need of knights in shining armour, or any other kind for that matter."

"You should be so lucky to have a dragon. At least they'd warm you up before you start losing digits."

It had been the right response, apparently, as a smile crossed Lymond's face that was warmer and more genuine than anything she'd seen from him before.

"Is that what you are then? A guardian dragon, here to make sure no frostbitten layabouts turn into icicles?"

From behind him, she heard a voice calling. He looked up, then back to her.

"I'm afraid my little tantrum had better be at an end." He held her coat out to her, but she shook her head.

"Keep it for the next time you decide to go stand outside in the middle of the night. In case the next dragon is not so full of fellow-feeling."

#lymond chronicles #q answered #thank u!!!

[nymika-arts]

2, 7, 10, 16 💜

2. If you had to give up your keyboard and write your stories exclusively by hand, could you do it? If you already write everything by hand, a) are you a wizard and b) pen or pencil?

absolutely not my handwriting is terrible and i pretty much only write when im on the bus/subway or in complete darkness when i'm in bed lmao

7. What is your deepest joy about writing?

i like when i surprise myself by writing an especially sexy line <3

10. Has a piece of writing ever “haunted” you? Has your own writing haunted you? What does that mean to you?

oh plenty. i have a note on my computer where i keep quotes/song lyrics that really hit me, and i go back and reread passages of my favourite books a lot 💖 when i think of writing that 'haunts' me it's generally just stuff that sticks with me for a long time. the ending of 'the magicians land' by lev grossman is one that i think about all the time my own writing haunts me in the 'you have all these unfinished wips or half formed ideas that you never work on even though you want to finish them all' fashion

16. What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever used as a bookmark?

i love this question because probably the only non-bookmark thing i use sometimes are these lord of the rings trading cards that my brother gave me lmao, otherwise i just remember my page number if i don't have a bookmark, BUT i do have an actual bookmark that looks like individually packaged sliced cheese and it's my favourite thing :)

weird questions for writers 🌸

#nyms asks #thank u for paying attention to me lol

[dragons-and-yellow-roses]

.

#i started a journal Five Years Ago when i was a baby in eighth grade #ive kept up with it amazingly #im surprised because im just absolutely terrible at sticking with things #lately I've been getting worse at journaling #it's been getting more and more difficult #when i was younger i wrote about which boys i liked and how the school dance went #it was important at the time and I'm glad to have it #but now my entries have gotten more... therapeutic #of course i still write about how much i like my girlfriend and the times that i hung out with friends #but journaling has become my version of therapy #a way to get the important things out of my head and into somewhere where i could process them better #that's not always easy #recently something happened that i dont want to face or deal with #i know that i need to write about it and if i sit down in front of my journal im going to write #but its too difficult to write about right now #so im not writinf about the smaller things #like how my Christmas went and that my friend had surgery a couple of days ago #because im scared to face the journal and im scared to face the situation #how long can i keep pushing this down? #how long until it explodes out of me and destroys me for the foreseeable future? #i want to get it out of me so that it's out #but it's not a one and done deal. i can't just write it down and be finished with it #it's going to unlock feelings and memories and thoughts that i don't want to face #i don't want to face any of it!! it's to difficult and it shouldn't have happened but now it did and i have to deal with it #she always has the control. she can always swoop in and hurt me again. all i can do is wait for the bombs to drop and clean up the wreckage #for once i don't want to be stuck cleaning up these messes #thing is #i have no choice

[shotorozu]

hellooo i saw this tiktok video and was wondering if you can please do this for shoto kaminari and bakugou

https://vt.tiktok.com/ZSJkeaV68/

‘i got a big fat 😳🎂’

character(s) : todoroki shouto, kaminari denki, bakugou katsuki (bnha)

legend : [Y/N = your name] they/them pronouns used, quirk not mentioned

headcanon type : fluff, crack (x reader)

note(s) : LMAO ANON YOU LITERALLY READ MY MIND?? I WAS GOING TO DO THIS EVEN WITHOUT A REQUEST— great to know that i have the same thinking process with you 🤩

»»————-　♡　————-««

todoroki shouto

noooow

you know shouto’s always willing to do tiktok challenges with you— he might be clueless when it came to social media (because of end**vor)

but! he’s gotten used to your antics most of them anyway

but he’s sort of confused when you show him a video of a couple uh.. walking?? he can’t tell what they’re doing exactly

“what,, are they doing?” is what he asked when you showed him the tiktok, brows furrowed in confusion

“they’re uh.. kekeing how do i explain it— nevermind that! just do whatever i do, shouto!”

he’s still confused as hell 🧍‍♀️ but he decides to not ask any questions, and push through with it, just by seeing the excited look on your face

and the audio 😳 i mean, it’s not,, wrong. to him, your cake is some fine ass cake :))

you lead him out of the frame, and you hit play— not giving shouto time to ‘rehearse’

it might seem to be that shouto has no reaction to the audio, but if you look closely— the corners of his lips are tugged upwards slightly

and he follows your every command, when you gesture for him to copy you.

now, shouto’s got the dance steps down, but man’s terribly stiff 😭 he also kept looking at you (specifically your ass) to see if he was doing things correctly

afterwards, the two of you take a look at the video. and, he asks you if the tiktok needs to be filmed once again by your silent reaction

but he’s appalled when he sees you literally driven to tears from pure, unfiltered laughter

you assure him with a kiss that you’re fine, and insist that the tiktok is fine as you upload it— and you cuddle with shouto for the rest of the day, letting the tiktok marinate

the next day comes by, and tiktok BLEW UP. like.. blew up, really. they should be honored that they’ve witnessed shouto strut to nicki minaj

the comments being well, absolutely hilarious. you could read through the comments again and again, and not be bored

“mann your boyfriend 😭 he’s staring too hard” “YUHH GET IT, I GUESS” “go hot couple go ‼️”

needless to say, he didn’t hear the end of the conversation when bakugou found out about the tiktok

kaminari denki

if denki had a list of tiktok challenges he desperately wanted to do at some point in his life,

this would be in the top 3, for sure

so, luck seemed to be on his side when you approached him first— wanting to rope him in on another tiktok you wanted to do with him

hopefully one that doesn’t center him as the poor unfortunate victim

“you wanna do another tiktok?” he beams when you nod, and when you show him what the prank is— he’s excited!!

you can clearly tell that it didn’t take that much convincing

the blond’s also thankful that it’s not another tiktok that needs him to ask bakugou if he can say pegasus but without the pega 💀

“alright! tell me when we can do it,”

“right now.”

so here he is, standing beside you, as you set up your phone— absolutely confident on what he’s going to do

the tiktok starts running, and denki might’ve underestimated his eagerness, when the camera captures his eager expression 💀

there was no jumpscare warning

and you didn’t even have to say ‘c’mon‼️’ for him to follow your movements. as soon as you turned your back, he started moving along with you, and the music.

he was watching your movements, and he tried copying them to the best of his sloppy, hyper and exaggerated abilities

denki was so excited about being in the tiktok, to the point he literally crashed behind you— making the both of you tumble to the floor, laughing

and the tiktok’s results are pretty much unknown to him— minus the fact that you laughed HARDER when you re-watched the tiktok

“can i see?” he asks eagerly, but you swiftly reject— shoving his head away from your screen with a hand.

he pouts when you say “the results are a surprise!” a bummer, but he chooses to trust you, and the rest of the day is spent on the floor in pure enjoyment

you upload the tiktok and slowly but surely, it attracts people’s attention

because of denki’s eagerness— he,, did a fantastic job with the walk! you can even say that he did better than you, minus the not so graceful fall

even the comments agree with you “MAN HIS CAKE IS THANGING‼️” “he did awfully well omg 💀” “oh to have this relationship’s energy 😔 when can i find a dude like that?”

and when denki finally sees the tiktok’s results, he’s left in tears from laughing— reduced into wheezes

DANK-i : BABE WHDJWKDKE THE TIKTOK YOU JUST POSTED— 😭💀💀 IM IN TEARS

safe to say, his wish has been fulfilled, and he can pass away at any given moment, satisfied.

bakugou katsuki

bakugou katsuki will never admit that he does enjoy doing tiktoks with you

plot twist : he enjoys it a lot more than he expects

but he knows where the draw the line, and the line was at the new tiktok you’ve showed to him

“no.”

“but—”

“fuck no— if you wanted to twerk infront of a camera, go ahead by all means, just don’t rope me into it.”

he does have his reasons. one— the bakusquad will make fun of him, and two— if the tiktok were to blow up,, he wouldn’t live it down.

and it always does— he knows that tiktoks do particularly well if he makes an appearance.

“if i didn’t post it, would you do it with me?”

but katsuki seemed to be fine with that. with a roll of the eyes, he sighs— looking at the tiktok once again. he gets up from his seat when the tiktok’s over

“let’s do this fucking thing.” he says with determination, even though no one was going to see the tiktok anyway or so he thinks

the tiktok’s video timer starts counting down, giving the both of you guys ample time to get into position

a smirk couldn’t be held back when you state that “i have a big phat 🎂” it’s anything but lies, and it would be the only time katsuki would smile on camera

you go forward, and you gesture for him to follow on beat— with a focused glare, katsuki starts strutting with you like no one’s business

it’s at a slow pace, and people would’ve guessed that he had a stick up his ass, sure— but damn‼️ he has those moves.

and before the video actually ends, he’s seen turning around with a glare— to see if the camera’s not filming it’s still running, and the camera captures his expression

“not bad.” he can’t help but smirk at the results, when you replay the video “i’m referring to the both of us. and, didn’t know you could move like that.”

“katsuki, your pace was like a grandfather’s—”

“shut the hell up!”

but little did katsuki know, when he wasn’t looking, you published the tiktok online, for everyone to view (basically, 3M people have seen him strut to nicki minaj)

the comments were having a blast “we’ll disregard the pace, buT DAMN‼️WHERE DID HE GET THOSE MOVES?” “LOL HIS FACE AT THE END WAS LIKE👹🤨” “y’all catch that at the beginning? woooh he’s lovesick.”

when you woke up the next morning— you can hear the boom of his quirk outside of your room, and you can practically hear his not so happy voice

fly high 😔🕊 you will be missed

»»————-　♡　————-««

likes and reblogs are appreciated, thanks for reading!

i do not own bnha/mha and it’s characters. boku no hero academia/my hero academia belongs to horikoshi kohei, i only own the writing and i do not profit off of my hobby

do not plagiarize, reupload, translate, or use my works for audio readings without permission

#bnha imagines #bnha x reader #mha x reader #mha imagines #bnha x y/n #bnha fluff #todoroki shouto x reader #todoroki x reader #todoroki imagines #todoroki x y/n #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou imagines #bakugou x y/n #bakugou fluff #todoroki fluff #kaminari x reader #kaminari fluff #kaminari x y/n #kaminari denki x reader #todoroki x you #bakugou x you #kaminari x you #bnha headcanons #mha headcanons #tiktok prank #bnha x you #mha x you

[heyitsyn]

MANAGER!SEIJOH AU

a/n: this is kind of an au like what if you were

for more seijoh content, check this masterlist out!

anon:

- 🥺👉🏻👈🏻 i would like to request a seijoh!manager reader who’s a first year and is siblings with ushi and the team’s reaction to finding out that she was supposed to go to shiratorizawa with ushi and their reaction with her getting along with the shiratorizawa volleyball team and maybe the manager is a small cute soft little energetic ball of sunshine 🥺🥺 also hewwo, hope youre doing well! ☺️ -🎷🐛

- Ir seijoh manager series is so gooood. Can we get something where by some weird reason yn-chan is close to ushijima and tendou and the seijoh boys dont know about it and how they'd react to her being so affectionate w them ahahwindkdn

EVERYONE SHUT UP AND LOOK AT HOW FREAKING PRETTY TENDOU IS LIKE AKLFDJLASKFJDLSKFJDSFLKD

okayokayokay

so this is a what if thing

like what if ushijima was your older brother

SLKFDJADFLIJSDKLDF I CAN ALREADY IMAGINE OIKAWA SCREAMING

you didnt exactly have the best relationship with your mom

you remember when you were younger that she used to yell at your brother for using his left hand and you got angry a lot because you were fiercely protective of your brother

this caused her to yell at you too for being nosy and being involved in something you shouldnt be in

duh we know that ushi’s dad takashi actually supported him for this and protected him too and you were also a papa’s girl so you always ran to him

he understood you both better and while your mother worked, he was at home taking care of you two

then when they mentioned wanting to separate, you were very sad but somewhat relieved

mostly because you hated hearing your parents arguing and you felt bad for your brother as he constantly did whatever to get you out of the house

thats what brought on your love for volleyball

you werent exactly the best player but you were interested in it and often watched matches with him

but you also liked volleyball because your brother liked it

you liked whatever your brother liked

he adored you too and he was a boy who didnt talk much due to your mother but he was always a talker with you

especially when you couldnt sleep, he would sneak you out of your room and you both would run to the kitchen and eat ice cream

even with just a 2 year age difference, he looked as if he was older than you due to his massive height

‘just wait nii-chan! i will drink enough milk to reach your height!’

*insert lenny face*

AKLDJFSLDKFJDF I HATE MYSELF

CAN I PLEASE DIE

however

when they divorced, you thought your father would take both you and ushi

like the lady at the court even asked you where you wanted to go and not a breath of hesitation you chose your father

you weren’t very concerned because you knew your brother was going to choose your dad as you both were closer to him

so imagine your surprise when he said he didnt care and naturally, the mother would get the child

lowkey you felt hella betrayed and when your dad whisked you away overseas, there was this grudge you held against toshi

yall youre like 5

i would be hella mad too if my brother chose the person who yells at him all the time

in california, your father made sure you still remembered your brother and you tried to detach from the japanese lifestyle to your new one but you just couldnt

maybe around 6 years you were already fed up with the hot california heat and you wanted to go back to japan to see toshi again

you got over that grudge years ago but your mother refused to have any contact or anything to do with your father and so that included you too

she refused to let you both video chat and any type of connection

your dad obviously noticed your sad expressions and your obvious longing to go back to your brother again and so he arranged something

you shut the door gently before taking off your shoes by the doorway

the large house was often quiet except for the constant typing of a keyboard in your father’s study

‘tadaima’

you meekly mumbled but his sense of hearing never wavered so he heard your voice

‘oh? y/n?’

his voice echoed through the hallways and you heard his chair squeak as it was moved back so he could stand

your sock-cladded feet padded against the hard wood floor and you walked towards his study where indeed he was standing there

your father has definitely aged yet his job as a coach made him as fit as he was decades ago

as much as it disgusted you, you could tell what your friends meant when they said your dad was good-looking

they actually said your dad was hot but you refuse to acknowledge that

you and your friends are like 12 tf

you closed the door and sat down on the loveseat at the corner of the room as it was your designated spot

‘hey, papa’

you greeted with a smile and he gave you the same grin

‘i ordered f/f (favorite food) for dinner tonight so try and listen for the bell to ring, okay?’

you nodded

there was bit of small talk and you asked about his team while he asked about school and you both arranged to hang out over the weekend at some ice cream shop

the conversation dragged on until you heard the doorbell and you ran to the door to answer the delivery man

your dad put out the plates on the table and you excitedly dug in

‘also, you remember your grandmother? and her terrible back?’

oh god of course you did

they lived about 30 minutes away from your house in japan and she constantly worried your father bc the woman was approaching 90 and was still picking peppers!

with old coach ukai

‘what did she do now?’

your father chuckled at the exasperation in your voice

‘she misses you. says something about the family’s princess needing to go back to her country or something’

there was a smile in your face

your grandmother was your favorite and she always said you were the princess

she hated your mother because of how insensitive she was so she only acknowledged you as the only other female in the family

obviously your brother was also liked but there was just a special bond between you and your grandmother

‘so when are we going back?’

you asked and it was clear that you were excited at the thought of going back to japan as you havent been back since you moved due to your father’s busy job and your school

takashi swallowed his food before revealing the news

‘actually, if you want, you could finish your schooling there. but only until college first though because your old man needs you over here too’

nah bro you didnt even care about the last part

literally your fork fell to the table and you shrieked 

‘WHAT?! SERIOUSLY?!’

and thus brought you back to japan

you stayed with your grandmother on your dad’s side and you quickly got accustomed back to japan life

OH

your BROTHER!

okay

so waka-chan def heard you coming back

your mother was grumbling about it the other day and he was sure he heard your name in there

‘sdkfjkdslfjdkslfj y/n dkfjlsdkfjldkf’

LMAO THATS ME TRYING TO SAY THAT WAKA COULDNT UNDERSTAND WHAT SHE SAID SINCE SHE WAS MUMBLING SHE WASNT KEYBOARD SMASHING LMAO

there was a mutual giddiness in there too and he was excited to see you again after many years without contact

however

there was a bit of fear in there that thought back to when you were younger and his choice of not really having a specific parent despite your pleads to stay together with him

but he was going to make sure your bond was still intact!

he would do anything in his power to do so!

when you arrived

your dad accompanied you back to japan and you both were walking out to the exit of the airport when you saw your grandmother excitedly waving a sign around

in bold sparkly letters, it said ‘USHIJIMA’

okay wait i love grandma usui 

you quickly ran over to her and she grasped you into her arms

‘nana’

you sobbed and she hugged you tightly

‘im so happy youre back home’

your father shook hands with the friend she brought to help drive you guys back home

old man ukai was basically the chauffeur but hes really good friends with your nana so it was okay

the entire ride you guys basically caught up with each other and you couldnt help but laugh whenever your dad would go on a rant about your grandma being too reckless and your nana defending herself

‘oh stop it, takashi. i was only given one life and if it’s over, it’s over. for now, ill live it how i see fit!’

your old family home was exactly as you remember it but you didnt expect the 6′2 boy in the living room

‘nii-chan’

you meekly whispered and he let out a soft smile before opening his big arms

you ran into them and he held you tightly

‘i missed you. so much’

he whispered and you nodded 

it was def such a nice thing to have your brother again

oooo your dad been knew that you would be sticking to waka like you did when you were itty bitty young

so when you practically begged waka to stay at your nana’s house the entire summer, he couldnt refuse you

duh your mom went to see you but you just quietly sat there and smiled at her

polite but distant

due to being around waka so much, you naturally went to his volleyball practices and their training camp

there

you met his friends and you guys quickly got acquainted especially with tendo bc he was just so fun

and he was your brother’s boyfriend best friend

the others were still kinda distant with you ahem ahem im looking at you shirabu

but they were mostly amazed at how powerful the genetics played in your appearances because wowza you were beautiful

lmao dont let waka hear them say that bc they would be benched all season in a single snap

during training camp, you usually sat at the sides or you would be their stand-in manager

goshiki absolutely LOVES you!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

GOSHIKI MY SON MY BABY

him and you were the same age so there was an easier way of being friends and your energies just matched so well

he would run up to you whenever he got a play right and you would ruffle his hair affectionately

LADKSJFLDSKFS FLASHBACK TO TENDO!SISTER X GOSHIKI

‘y/n-chan!’

‘y/n-chan!’

‘y/n-chan!’

hell even ushi was getting annoyed at goshiki’s constant need for you

tendo would steal you away and he would be giggling to you about how adorable you were and you just giggled along bc wow this beautiful man is really talking to me right now

ALKSDJFLKSF CAN YOU TELL IM ALSO A TENDOODOO SIMP?

‘cmere, y/n-chan. i taught toshi this the other day and he was very impressed and wanted me to do it again. okay so it goes in a rhyme, ya ready?’

you nodded along and he shot you a close-eyed smile before starting to draw on the dirt with a stick

‘there once was a man with-’

lets just say

you were definitely your brother’s sister

sometimes though

you would try and go towards the calmer players to get away from the rowdiness from baby daddy tendo and baby goshiki

you would find them at the gym just doing drills and at the sight of you, they would turn red but continue playing

they didnt really mind seeing you there bc youve always been such a positive energy and cheered them on which gave them strength

‘NICE ONE OHIRA-SAN!’

‘WAHHH SO COOL YAMAYAMA-SAN!’

you were like a cute ball of serotonin >o<

‘wah, of course its expected for you guys to be the top in the prefecture. youre like,,,,, silent but deadly~!’

duh a compliment from a girl?

dead

shirabu’s bangs would get in the way of his vision sometimes yall i will never stop making fun of that ridiculously adorable haircut so you would use a clip and tuck it away for him

this big babie is so awkward that he turns red when you whisper in his ear that you were done

semisemi baby and you got along bc you guys had a similar taste in music and because you lived in california, he was fascinated that you were in the music capital of america

‘did you see celebrities down the street?’

he asked you excitedly one day during lunch

you stopped then smiled softly

‘semisemi-kun, i didnt live at that part of california’

nah to him, america is just filled with celebrities

OH DEAR BABY BOY KAWANISHI

taichi is a generally quiet guy

like you thought he was actually selectively mute when you first met him

but you gradually got him to talk and you would help him whenever he would want to practice

usually it was during the ungodly hours of the morning

you woke up and went to grab a drink from the common room but you noticed his large build exiting the door so you followed him into the gym

‘kawanishi-san?’

you called out and felt guilty when he jumped 

‘oh, hey’

he aknowledged

‘wha-’

you stopped to yawn causing your eyes to close making you miss the brief second of softness that flashed in his eyes

‘what are you doing?’

you tiredly asked

taichi dusted off his trackpants after kneeling down to rummage through his bag and you couldnt help but gawk at his height

‘im training early’

he answered

‘why? is it because you want to keep up with the others?’

you mumbled and he was surprised for a second but reverted back to his stoic expression

‘i have to make sure i am able to reach my seniors level for next year’

taichi turned away to grab a stray ball and you moved to go to the storage room for the ball cart

‘oi, what are you doing? go back to bed’

he said from the other side of the gym but you just looked back at him with a tired grin

‘meh, i want to spend time with you, senpai’

you reasoned

he shook his head before walking over to you then ruffled your hair

‘no wonder youre so tiny. you dont sleep enough and let your body grow’

yep that was the closest youve gotten to taichi joking with you

usually, hes training and when hes in the zone, nothing else has his attention but the ball

maybe thats why the others ahem goshiki has said that he was very scary

his game face was practically a mean face

basically you spent the entire training camp with them and then soon, you were going back to school

duh everyone hmm maybe not shirabu bc he most definitely read the school book of rules thought you would be going to shiratorizawa with them 

but you broke the news to them one afternoon and imagine the tears from both tendo and goshiki

‘WHHYYYY!!!!’

‘NOOO!!!!!’

‘why can’t you?’

semi asked and you were about to answer when shirabu beat you to it

‘the school doesnt allow late transfers’

oh right

the american school system was set in a different schedule than a japanese school system

it was considered the summer for them yet school already started a few months ago

since shiratorizawa was a very academically and physically prestigious school, they refused anyone who would potentially be late or behind their curriculum

‘so where ya headed to then, chibi?’

tendou pouted and you leaned against his arm

‘hmm some school named aoba johsai? i dont know its near my grannie’s so that’s all that mattered’

oh dear

USHIJIMA NO Y/N WILL NOT ASK TOORU TO GO TO SHIRATORIZAWA

they consider seijoh a rival bc theyve played against them practically in every prefecture tournament and they were worried for that infamous setter

‘ne, y/n-chan, promise us that you won’t be swept away by them! especially a guy named oikawa tooru!’

uhhh

well

tendou’s warning was kinda ignored bc you ended up being seijoh’s manager

hehe

surprise?

but they weren’t really really shocked tho bc they knew you liked volleyball so you would naturally be in the volleyball team

even as a manager

meanwhile in seijohhh

OooOOOoOoOooooo sEiJOOhHHHH~~~~~~

okay so you were actually registered under your father’s last name usui rather than the ushijima last name

therefore you werent exactly immediately known as HEY! USHIJIMA’S SISTER!

you still became the manager the way you did as mentioned in part 1 

and you still are their adorable baby manager

you were aware of their oikawa’s hatred for wakawaka so you try not to talk about him even though youre literally the closest person to him

was it traitorous? 

maybe

but you actually even help them when they practice

duh the boys are like eyebrow raise emoji 

‘wow youre really into volleyball, huh, manager-chan?’

matsukawa commented and you just smiled

‘hmm, my family likes it so ive picked up a thing or two’

LMAO

little do they know your brother is literally the best volleyball player around and is a member of the under 19 team and your father is a volleyball coach in america and would someday be someone iwaizumi hajime (19) would apprentice under

there was a lot of times you thought you would slip up like your home screen was of you and waka but youve been careful to cover it up

BUT

you cant always be sneaky

it was during the first day of the tournament and you were filling up their water bottles I SWEAR WHY IS MANAGER-CHAN ALWAYS FILLING UP WATER BOTTLES when you found a familiar bunch of boys at the end of the hallway just chatting

you havent seen tendou and the boys in so long so you placed the bottles down and rushed over there so quickly

‘TOMUTOMU!’

you shouted and the oddly-haired boy turned and he gasped before grabbing you into a large hug

this grabbed tendou’s attention and he cheered then hugged you too

your giggles and happy cheers were so infectous and they just absolutely missed you so much 

these tall boys were at a advantage so someone scooped you up and you were just affectionately being talked to and hugged and LKDSJFSLDFJ SO LUCKY SO LOVED

meanwhile

the plant babies were wondering where the heck you went to 

‘y/n-chan?! where is she?!’

oikawa panicked quickly while iwaizumi hit him to shut up

‘be quiet! you won’t find her if you’re too busy freaking out!’

‘ill find her’

matsukawa volunteered and they nodded, feeling at ease of him being capable to find you if you were in trouble

but when he returned empty-handed and with large eyes, they knew something was up

they ran behind mattsun to stop and copy his shocked expression at the sight in front of them

is that

you?

with

shi

ra

to

ri

za

wa

oh my god

‘y/n-chan!’

oikawa shouted, being the first to speak

you jumped and your own eyes widened

‘oh. oh no’

you mumbled

the others were so stunned and seijoh itself was so hard to make speechless but they were just shocked

period

‘what is happening’

iwaizumi mumbled

yea the others were just shocked period

‘hey guys’

you waved and you motioned them closer

‘uhh,,, well,,, um they are my friends’

you smiled uneasily and they could see that

‘aaand?’

oikawa signalled you to say everything bc he knew it wasnt the whole story

you sighed

‘ushi,,, jima is my brother’

you mumbled the last part

but they heard you

‘HAH?!’

you cringed and the shira boys were about to move to protect you but they saw you glare at them

‘what? what about it? hes my brother? and?’

you babbled

‘but,, why are you,, in seijoh? dont get me wrong! its just,, youd naturally go to shiratorizawa right?’

mattsun waved his hands around and asked the question thats bugging the team

‘i came to the country late’

‘THE COUNTRY?!’

well,,

turns out you havent exactly told them everything about you yet :/

even when youve cleared the air and introduced waka as your brother, seijoh still didnt say anything

they were stuck in this shocked and surprised moment even at the end of the day and when you went straight to the shiratorizawa team,

they watched with wide eyes as you laughed with goshiki and was jumping around with tendou

‘AH! TOMU! MY HAIR!’

‘TORI-SAN! SATORI-SAN! TAKE THAT!’

wow you were actually really beautiful when youre happy

‘i dont think ive seen her this happy with this much energy’

makki said and they nodded

it was true

you were usually calm and collected and was the perfect balance to this chaotic team

so seeing you so free and loose with them was so refreshing, even if it was with damn ushiwaka

you finally went back to the seijoh boys and they all sent glares to the violet team before sending you a smile

‘you ready to go, manager-chan?’

watari ruffled your hair before handing you your bag to start walking to the bus

‘yea. lets go home’

as you all walked, oikawa was already starting his tantrum

‘y/n-chan~! why aren’t you that happy around us? are we not enough for you?’

oikawa whined and pouted

but you just turned to smiled at him and stopped walking to pat his head

‘im not their manager, therefore im not pressured to act like anyone except as a friend and a spectator. but i try to be as professional as i can with you guys to make sure you dont appear bad to others. and you guys are perfectly chaotic enough, adding me into the mix will just about kill coach’

oikawa didnt seem satisfied though

‘but! thats not fair! they get to see you smile and i dont!’

iwaizumi growled at him to be quiet but you beat him to it

well

you smiled at tooru but your eyes shone maliciously

‘i knew you would act like this, oikawa-san. as punishment, i gave nii-chan your phone number. good luck avoiding him now’

oikawa screamed

a/n: AAWWWWW LETS NOT KILL COACH IRIHATA OKAY? HES LIKE OUR GRANPAPA AND PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE LEAVE OIKAWA ALONE WAKAWAKA-KUN!

#haikyuu #haikyuu!! #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu!! imagines #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu!! headcanons #aoba johsai #aoba johsai x reader #aoba josai x reader #aoba josai #seijoh #aoba johsai imagines #aoba josai imagines #seijoh imagines #seijoh manager #haikyuu manager #haikyuu!! manager #aoba johsai manager #aoba josai manager #seijoh x reader #aoba johsai headcanons #aoba josai headcanons #seijoh headcanons #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu!! fluff #aoba johsai fluff #seijoh fluff #aoba josai fluff

[absolutepokemontrash]

MC’s Half Demon and They Look Awfully Familiar Part 4

(The side characters strike again!)

Part 1 Part 2 Lessons 1-5 Part 2.5 Group Retreat Lessons 10-12 Part 3

L!MC= Lucifer’s kid | M!MC= Mammon’s kid | A!MC=Asmo’s kid

Let’s get right to it!

The Uncle That Hardcore Simps For His Spouse In the Most Wholesome Way (Diavolo)

Gasp! More half-demon kids? Oh my! Maybe if he tried again next year a kid of his own would pop down! Hang on- he hadn’t slept with a human in almost a century... dang. No kids for him...

...maybe...

Remember when I said Diavolo would try to do those stereotypical dad (tm) things and be hip with the kids? Yeah he keeps doing that.

The number of broken windows related to wayward baseballs goes up 150%. At least that’s how they all figured out that M!MC is nearsighted like their dad!

M!MC had developed a bit of a habit of telling Diavolo about cool human stuff and making the Crown Prince even more interested in the human world than normal.

You may be thinking “what’s so bad about that?” well, the number of yo-yos at RAD went up so high that Lucifer had to ban them.

Belphie and Satan, being the rebels they are, became yo-yo masters specifically to spite Lucifer.

It was sort of like the fidget spinners craze if you were in school for that.

Oh, hi Lord Diavolo. What’s a fidget spinner? It’s this- I should stop talking...

Since no one learned their lesson from the previous incident, Diavolo threw another BBQ.

“Why are we doing this again?” L!MC asked to no one in particular.

“Don’t worry, L!MC. I’ve taken every precaution possible to make sure that what happened last time doesn’t happen again.” Diavolo said and continued in his crusade to cover the entire pathway with sidewalk chalk doodles.

L!MC, Luke, Diavolo, M!MC, Belphie, and A!MC were all busily drawing a wide variety of doodles and drawings with chalk while the other guests milled around nearby. A!MC was in the middle of drawing quite the nice looking Cerberus chibi, while M!MC and Belphie were drawing a lot of stick figures. L!MC and Luke had just finished a wonderful drawing of... an alpaca? Giraffe? Thing...? Hell, even they didn’t know what it was.

Diavolo looked over at M!MC’s stick figure army with a big smile on his face. “So what are all of them doing? It looks like that one’s flying!”

You could practically hear the Addam’s Family theme play as M!MC and Belphie looked at each other and grinned.

“Oh Belphie was just talking about L!MC’s flying lesson fails and I felt that an artist’s rendition was needed.” M!MC explained, he began to point out certain doodles. “Here’s L!MC getting up off the ground, then there’s them actually flying, and this is them falling in the fountain.”

L!MC looked over at the chalk and glared at M!MC. “It’s generous to call that an artist’s rendition. It looks like crap.”

“And what did you draw?” Belphie smirked at the alpaca-giraffe-thing, Luke protectively covered up the drawing (side note, Luke was wearing white and playing with sidewalk chalk, by the end of the day he looked like a walking pride flag).

“None of your business!” Luke huffed.

“And what about that one?” Diavolo seemed completely oblivious to the hostility brewing between the two groups, A!MC was completely used to this and walked away to grab a drink.

“Ah, good eye, Lord Diavolo!” M!MC chirped. “This is a drawing of the time L!MC almost burned down your kitchen.”

Diavolo laughed and gave M!MC a few pats on the head. “Very accurate!”

“You’re so lucky I followed the rules and didn’t bring a water gun...” L!MC growled as they slowly reached for their backpack.

“Yeah... lucky. Real lucky...” M!MC nodded as they tried to casually reach for their bag, Belphie followed suit.

“I’m so glad we all followed the rules.” Luke smiled, his own hand inching towards his bag.

There was a brief moment of stillness before the four of them whipped out their water guns and pointed them at each other.

“This BBQ ain’t big enough for the both of us!” M!MC’s terrible cowboy impression aside, their gun was poised to shoot directly at Luke and L!MC’s alpaca-giraffe-thing.

“Everyone, I know this is a human world tradition but-”

Belphie silenced Diavolo by pointing his water gun at him. “Sh, don’t talk unless you have a water gun as well.”

Deciding not to smite Belphie for treason, Diavolo pulled his own water gun out of his shirt. “Okay, what now?”

“Now, we’re in a standoff...” L!MC glowered at M!MC, the air was practically crackling with hostility...

Until a burst of flames got everyone to whirl around to see A!MC with hairspray and a lighter.

“No water guns! I refuse to go home shivering and covered in grass again!”

Crisis averted. Everyone went to go fail at throwing beanbags into a hole instead of shooting each other.

That was probably for the best... Belphie filled everyone’s water guns with paint.

The Uncle That Does All the Cooking for Family Dinners (Barbatos)

Remember how I said that Barbs liked smol Lucifer? Yea, he likes smol Asmo too. Smol Asmo is willing to admit that they don’t know how to use an oven and is willing to learn.

M!MC is formally banned from being within 50 feet of the kitchen. It’s for the best.

A!MC often tries to get Barbatos to look into the possible futures so they can see if they can avoid messing anything up and A!MC is just so adorable that Barbatos actually thinks about it.

He still says no every single time.

“Could you at least tell me if I have the possibility of doing something embarrassing in the near future?”

“My apologies, A!MC, but no.”

“P-please?”

“The answer remains the same.”

A!MC sighed and went back to helping chop vegetables. Under Barbatos’ tutelage, A!MC’s cooking ability had increased tenfold, they could now make as many burgers as they wanted without worrying about burning down the kitchen.

Pitying the anxious half-demon, Barbatos sighed. “I cannot confirm nor deny a future where your outfit gets ruined.”

A!MC perked up. “H-huh?”

“I cannot confirm nor deny a future where your outfit gets ruined.”

Quickly understanding what Barbatos was trying to do, A!MC quickly nodded and spent the rest of the cooking time carefully taking note of their surroundings.

“Hey! What’re you guys doin’?” M!MC had managed to get in... damn! Everyone must have been putting their best efforts in keeping Solomon away from the kitchen and forgot about M!MC...

“We’re just finishing up, M!MC,” Barbatos had on his ‘oh no...’ smile. “We don’t need any help.”

“Really? You guys sure?”

“Why are you so interested?” A!MC asked.

“Lucifer said that idle hands are the devil’s playthings and that I should go look for something productive to do.” M!MC huffed. “Very ironic phrase.”

“F-fine, I guess you can...” A!MC searched for the least destructive task they could give. “Take the utensils and set the table.”

M!MC gave them a mock salute and grabbed the utensils, as they turned to leave, they knocked a large bowl of chopped fruit over, sending the fruit pieces flying.

Remembering Barbatos’ prediction, A!MC didn’t bother to try and stop the fruit from falling, they only grabbed the nearest big plate they could find and shielded their outfit from harm. The fruit splattered harmlessly against the shield.

“Whoops... my bad. You alright, A!MC?” M!MC asked as A!MC inspected their outfit.

“Y-yes actually...” A!MC turned to Barbatos, who was already getting the cleaning supplies.

“Thank you!” A!MC whispered.

Barbatos smiled and nodded. “You’re very welcome, A!MC.”

Barbatos now has two sorta-children. A!MC and Luke!

M!MC means well, I swear! He just shouldn’t be allowed in a cooking environment!

The Cousin That Your Mom Points at and Goes “Look at Him, He Helps With the Dishes, Be More Like Him.” (Simeon)

Oh man... time for some more embarrassing stories.

“Asmo was the most adorable child, it’s a shame he was such a troublemaker...”

“Really? My dad?”

“What about mine?”

“I think you can guess.”

I cannot comment on Simeon’s help with flying lessons because I refuse to Headcanon what Simeon’s wings look like until canon gives us a GLIMMER. LIKE SERIOUSLY SOLMARE IM CURIOUS-

I have a feeling the children were quite curious as well.

“What do you think his wings look like?” M!MC asked A!MC as the two peered around the corner of one of the hallways in Purgatory Hall.

“I bet they’re super nice. But besides that...” A!MC leaned over and squinted. “Why is Simeon writing with a pen and pencil? He’s writing a book... shouldn’t he use a computer?”

“Bold of you to assume he knows how to use a computer.” M!MC snickered.

A!MC frowned. “Don’t be mean... I’m sure he knows how...”

Simeon picked up his DDD and took a picture of his face, seemingly by accident, with the flash on, causing him to drop the phone in surprise.

“Probably...”

The two surveyed their angel friend like two wildlife documenters, here we see, the Simeon, not in his natural habitat, surrounded by confusing technology...

“Do you think if we scare him his wings might pop out in surprise?” M!MC wondered aloud, A!MC shrugged.

“Maybe... but I don’t think we should bother him...” A!MC whispered. “He looks busy.”

“What are you two doing?”

It took literally every bit of willpower for the two half demons to not scream in absolute terror at the sudden interruption.

Ah... it was just Solomon... in an apron... Solomon... in cooking clothes...

Oh no.

“Spying on Simeon?” Solomon asked.

“N-no...” A!MC giggled nervously. “Just crouching casually in this hallway...”

“...smooth, A!MC.” M!MC rolled their eyes.

“Well, it’s great that you two are here, I made lunch!”

A!MC and M!MC looked at each other in pure horror, they needed to get out of there!

“Uh- um... we’d love to but...” M!MC looked around frantically before just pointing at a random spot behind Solomon. “LOOK! A DISTRACTION!”

A!MC and M!MC ran out of there as fast as their legs could carry them. Finding out if Simeon had wings was not worth being poisoned. Not at all...

Good ol’ Simeon... Mr. Cristopher Peugeot on the other hand- M!MC had some questions for him.

“TSL is literally the most popular book series ever, does that mean you’re completely loaded?”

“Oh, no I’m not, I don’t have any use for human world money in the Celestial Realm. All the profits go to charity.”

“...Dude really?”

“That’s nice of you, Simeon!”

“You didn’t keep any of it..?”

Wait... Who the Hell Are You..? (Solomon)

So A!MC basically has three dads; Fabulous-dad, butler-dad, and wizard-dad!

“So you just... have capes lying around?”

“Yes, would you like a cape?”

“Okay if they don’t take the cape I want it.”

Solomon shows up to RAD with his nails painted different wacky styles every week, courtesy of A!MC.

Though- the unholy combination that is M!MC and Solomon is feared by all.

“Road work ahead?”

“Uh, yeah I sure hope it does.”

Solomon and M!MC’s rampant quoting of vines elicited another glare from Lucifer.

Despite Solomon having literally been alive since the seven rulers of hell were angels, he had kept up with pop culture fairly decently. Decently enough that M!MC had someone that wasn’t Levi to bounce memes off.

“Pff...” M!MC suppressed a laugh at a seemingly normal water bottle advertisement. “Enslaved moisture.”

“I’m not going crazy, right Simeon? You’re hearing this too?” Lucifer tiredly turned to the angel, who shook his head.

“This is just the tip of the iceberg. Solomon quacked at M!MC earlier and they lost their minds laughing about it.” Simeon shrugged, unbothered by the sorcerer and the half demon’s rampant meme-ing behind them.

Lucifer on the other hand, was quite bothered. Incredibly bothered, if you will. “If you two don’t shut up right now I’m going to-”

“Quick! We must abscond!” Solomon turned and heelied away, followed by M!MC. The shoes that Mammon bought to replace the ones lost during the casino incident were apparently heelies as well...

The day was saved when a rock jammed one of Solomon’s wheels and he slammed face first into the concrete. Yikes... that had to hurt.

A!MC had fun glow in the dark bandaids for Solomon to patch up his face. Even though he he could heal himself with magic, he let A!MC do what they wanted because they were just too adorable to say no to.

Asmo has pictures

The Cousin Squad (tm)

(Luke, L!MC, A!MC, and M!MC)

Ah yes, the bab squad. The most adorable group in the Devildom. Surrender your candy immediately or face destruction.

M!MC teases the crap out of Luke, and A!MC tries to stop it, but L!MC is the one who manages to actually make M!MC stop.

Only L!MC gets to pick on the smol angel. GOT IT?!

A!MC and Luke are already baking buddies because of butler-dad so they get along swimmingly.

Poor Luke’s the victim of many of M!MC’s shenanigans.

Luke: Are you sure this is safe, M!MC?

M!MC (about to put mentos into the bottle of coke Luke is holding): No.

L!MC and A!MC get along really well, being honest, everyone loves A!MC.

A!MC makes sure L!MC gets some sleep because they don’t want their cousin picking up on Lucifer’s habit of living off of coffee and coffee alone. L!MC doesn’t get it but they’re very grateful anyway.

M!MC and A!MC were friends from the start. Well... M!MC decided they were friends right from the start and A!MC did not have the ability to fight the power of friendship.

M!MC: You are being befriended. Please do not resist.

Since M!MC is great and amazing like their pop, they took it upon themselves to be the friend that speaks up when A!MC is too nervous to do so.

M!MC and L!MC? Lucifer and Mammon 2 electric boogaloo. Sorta.

L!MC and M!MC bicker all the time but the babs bounce back from their fights way easier.

One minute they’re at each other’s throats and the next they’re showing each other memes.

“There’s no escaping this.”

Lucifer stood between M!MC and the door... their one way ticket to freedom...

“You need to go to the dentist.”

The entire HOL plus the Purgatory Hall crew were getting ready to go visit the dentist to get their teeth cleaned. It was the time of the year that Mammon dreaded most... and his child felt the same way.

“My teeth are fine! Lemme stay home! I’ll hold down the fort with dad!” M!MC smiled and nodded as enthusiastically as they could, but even the most unobservant person couldn’t miss the sweat beading on their forehead.

“Beel.” Lucifer snapped his fingers and before M!MC could do anything Beel had thrown them over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

“Don’t worry M!MC, the dentist isn’t that scary.” Beel tried to assure them. By the way M!MC was still kicking and screaming, they were not convinced.

“Y-yeah kiddo, suck it up! Don’t be a baby! I’m just gonna take my car there-”

“MAAAAAAMOOOON?!”

“YIKES!”

Lucifer had the important task of keeping a hold of Mammon as the very large group made their way to the dentist’s office.

A devious little idea popped into L!MC’s head as they all sat down in the waiting room. They began to hum a familiar little tune.

“She said be a deeeentiiiist~ a dentist!” L!MC sang to M!MC, who’s attempts to escape increased tenfold after hearing the song.

A!MC began to hum along, not seeming to notice the commotion going on next to them.

“Son be a deeentiiiiiist~ people will pay you for causing them PAIN! She said be a deeentiiiiiist~”

Belphie perked up and smiled deviously as he realized what L!MC was doing, he began to sing along as well. The three were a veritable choir of terror to poor M!MC. Mammon did not understand his child’s terror and was more unnerved by what a great team Belphie and L!MC made.

Satan rolled his eyes and tried to focus on his book, Asmo was absorbed in his magazine, Levi was having a very in depth conversation with the fish in the aquarium, Simeon and Solomon chatted about school, and Luke was stuck watching the train wreck go down.

Thankfully, it was halted by Lucifer. “L!MC, A!MC, Belphegor, stop tormenting M!MC with show tunes.”

“You would have made a good dentist in another life, Lucifer,” Belphie cooed. “You know what they say, the only difference between a dentist and a sadist is that one has newer magazines.”

Asmo grimaced at his magazine. “Is it the sadist? Because I’m reading a magazine from 1843...”

The conversation was interrupted by one of the dental hygienists coming into the waiting room and saying that Mammon was up first. The Avatar of Greed’s final escape attempt was foiled by Satan (not even looking up from his book) clotheslining him.

Thirty minutes later, Mammon emerged from the forbidden dentist room, with the look of trauma in his eyes and eating a lollipop.

One by one, the group went in, A!MC took it upon themselves to try and make the rapidly panicking Luke feel better.

“It won’t be too scary, in the human world dentists are usually very nice.” A!MC smiled encouragingly.

“I-I’m sure that’s true but...” Luke looked around. “We aren’t in the human world...”

Asmo skipped back in and flashed a blinding grin to the group. “Absolutely perfect, no flaws! It’s your turn, A!MC!”

“If you die I get to say I told ya so!” M!MC shouted as A!MC walked into the dentist’s room.

They did not in fact, die because of the dentist. A!MC walked out and gave a thumbs up. “The dentist said they had never seen a kid with such perfect teeth.”

“That’s my baby!” Asmo chirped.

“M!MC, you’re up.” A!MC and Beel had to practically drag the poor kid out of the room and into the dentist area of doom.

“GO BE A DEEEEEENTIIIIIIST!” Belphie and L!MC shouted one last time as the doors shut. Wow, what dickheads...

Mammon probably would have tried to save his poor little bugger, but he was in the middle an impromptu therapy session with Simeon over the scary scraping dentist knife thingie.

Beel was the last to go, and he walked out of the dentist’s room with his face covered in blood, the dentist walked out after him, missing a hand.

“You tasted like toothpaste.” Beel sighed. “Not good.”

“Don’t worry,” The dentist said to Luke, who looked like he was about to pass out. “My hand will grow back in about four to five minutes.”

Luke, still terrified, nodded. L!MC patted him on the shoulder.

“Anyway, almost all of you are fine, but I have to recommend M!MC to the orthodontist.” The dentist flipped through their notepad one-handed. “Their secondary set of fangs are coming out crooked and need to be corrected with braces immediately.”

M!MC sat calmly for a moment, then attempted to sprint out the door. “NO NO NO NO NO!” One of the dental hygienists grabbed them by the back of their shirt and halted their escape.

“Sucks to be you.” L!MC smirked.

“And L!MC needs to fix their cross bite, braces are a strong possibility.”

The colour drained from L!MC’s face as the news dawned upon them. “Pardon, but what exactly are you talking about..?”

“Your top jaw and bottom jaw aren’t properly lined up.” The dentist explained. “It will lead to problems later if it’s not fixed now.”

Lucifer rubbed his temples and sighed. “L!MC, if you try and run away I swear...”

L!MC stiffened and shook their head. “I’m not some coward, I’m not running away. Just... what exactly are you going to do to my mouth?”

The dentist pulled up a few pictures of the braces and explained what would be done. L!MC nodded, and turned to their father with a big smile on their face.

“It won’t be so bad, mind if I go to the bathroom before I get the mold for my teeth made?”

Lucifer nodded and almost audibly sighed in relief. He basked in the glory of having a child that wasn’t afraid of the dentist and faced their fears like an adult-

L!MC sprinted past the dentist’s office, they had busted out of the bathroom window.

“...Beel.”

“Yep.”

A few minutes later, Beel returned with a completely irate L!MC who was screaming their demands to be put down and be allowed to run for the hills. Taking advantage of the distraction, M!MC ran for the door again, only for Belphie to tap them on the forehead.

M!MC collapsed into a snoring heap on the floor.

“FATHER! DON’T MAKE ME DO THIS!” L!MC practically screamed as they tried to wrestle themselves out of Beel’s bear hug.

Lucifer rolled his eyes. “L!MC, calm yourself down. It’s just braces.”

“AS EVERYONE HERE AS MY WITNESSES I’LL NEVER FORGIVE YOU FOR THIS! NEVER!”

The half-demons in need of braces were dragged right back into the dentist’s area... poor fools.

“They’ll be okay... right?” Luke asked.

“Of course they will be. It’s just braces.” Simeon patted Luke on the head. “They’ll both be fine.”

The scream that came from down the hall right after Simeon said that did not reassure anyone.

“Hey,” Mammon piped up. “How much do braces cost?”

“From what I know about dental procedures,” Satan rubbed his chin. “A few thousand Grimm.”

“Mammon if you try and run for that door I will cut your credit card into a thousand pieces.” Lucifer growled.

Overall, it was a fairly average trip to the dentist. 0/10 would not recommend. A few weeks later L!MC and M!MC were fitted with their mouth prisons- I mean braces, and the two cousins bonded over their horrific mouth pain...

Seriously- braces suck.

——————————————

So! Those are the headcanons! Four and a half whole parts... phew... To all the people who enjoyed this series, thank you so so much for reading! You guys have been so super nice!

Fret not, I plan on writing more for this universe! From what I know about season 2 of Obey Me things will get... interesting. Stay tuned for more! Or don’t, I can’t force you.

...or can I?

#Obey me #Obey me! #Obey me Headcanons #obey me shall we date #obey me! headcanons #obey me! shall we date? #Obey me Lucifer #Obey me Diavolo #Obey me Simeon #Obey me Solomon #Obey me Mammon #Obey me MC #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #Obey me Luke #Obey me Barbatos #Obey me Asmodeus #Obey me Fic #Lucifer’s Kid

[custardcrazy]

Newt Scamander x Reader: I’ll Be Seeing You (Part 1)

A/N:  i’ve been working on this lol and writing for newt makes me stupidly happy.. lol 

anyhow, here’s part 1 of this new series about our favorite magizoologist !!  

warnings: angst (next part will have fluff dw), parents fighting, bullying, a tad bit of abuse from the father. do not read this if any of that stuff triggers you.  

part 2

------ 

Poppy 

Since you were a child, you had possessed the ability to connect with plants on a near-spiritual level- and to heal them, as well. Even for a kid born into a magical family (you were a pureblood), this was unusual. 

It was an ability that was pretty much laughed at by anyone you told. 

"That's ridiculous! Stop lying!" said some. "That'll be useless in combat," sneered others. 

Your mother was very kind, but could do little to nothing to stop people from ridiculing the "plant-talking freak". All she really did was provide you with temporary comfort and a sense of safety from the outside world that was less than welcoming. Your father, close-minded as he was, didn't directly yell at you, but you could tell from his expressions that he was disappointed. 

When you were younger, you were very lonely. It was really stupid how people would distance themselves from you, thinking that they'd catch a disease or something if they got too close. And all of this manifested itself into you being maybe a bit too friendly for some people.. because all you wanted was a real friend.    

One warm summer day when you were about seven, you were playing in the local park. Your mother was sitting on a bench nearby, reading a book. Your father was busy at work, as usual.  

With a small sigh, you had gotten up from the patch of flowers you were in, and walked over to an area of trees to look around. 

Whenever there was natural life around you, you had discovered that it was present as a dull hum in your mind and ears. At first it had been annoying, but by now you had grown used to the feeling. Welcomed it, even. 

As you peeked around a tall oak, you caught a glimpse of an unfamiliar kid squatted over the ground. They seemed to be poking at some pink, mushroom-like things. 

You drew a bit closer, trying to get a better look at them. 

But as you took a step forward, you stepped on a stick, and it broke in half, causing the kid to jump and nearly fall over backwards. 

He (now you were sure it was a he) looked at you, with widened eyes. He looked absolutely petrified! 

"Oh- I'm so sorry for scaring you!" you said quickly, holding up your hands.  

"I-I-it's fine," the boy stuttered, turning around to face the mushroom things again with a slightly flushed face.  

You tilted your head to the side slightly. "Are you okay?"  

"Y-yes-" he answered, looking extremely reluctant to continue the conversation. But being the young child you were, you didn't recognize that at all. 

"I'm glad that somebody else my age is in the park!" you interrupted, a smile beginning to form on your face. "What's your name?"  

"Er.. Newton.. but y-you can call me Newt, I guess." Newt gave a short sideways glance to you as you crouched down next to him. 

"Oh, that's a nice name! I'm (Y/N)!" You stuck out a hand for him to shake.  

He merely looked at your hand, then returned his attention back to the pink fungi things. 

"I don't.. do.. handshakes."   

You shrugged, pulling back your hand. "Alright then."  

Pausing, you focused your attention hard on the pink things, wishing to communicate with them. But, strangely enough, you didn't sense anything from them- so even though they did look like plants, they weren't, you concluded. 

"What are those mushrooms called? They're not plants, are they?" you said, now curious to what these beings were. 

Newt looked a mix of surprised and impressed, turning his gaze fully at you. "H-how.. ho-how did you know that? It's nearly im-impossible to tell between-" 

With a slight hesitation, you just grinned. "I know a few things about plants, I suppose." 

-- 

Over the next year or so, you grew closer to your new friend bit by bit. You learned that he was interested in magical creatures. That he was studying the mushroom things- Horklumps, he said they were called- to learn how they worked. Apparently he had some back in his home!  

School did start up again eventually, but that didn't stop you from visiting the park nearly every day, looking forward to the afternoons spent with him playing around in the woods. Newt had become the closest and best friend that you'd ever had. 

You still weren't sure if he'd react kindly if you told him about your freakish powers, though.. and you didn't want to lose him. 

One evening, when you were flipping through one of your favorite books, you heard yelling from downstairs. 

Sneaking over to the stairs, you peeked into the living room, where your mother and father were having a heated argument. They hadn't been getting along well as of late, with your dad growing more and more irritated at work and coming home in a terrible mood all the time, having shouting matches with your increasingly quiet mum over trivial things. (He did most of the shouting.)  

...But it wasn't like they got along very well in the first place, anyway. 

"WELL I DON'T CARE! JUST CLEAN THE DAMN PLATES BY THE TIME THAT IT'S TIME FOR SUPPER!" roared your father, red-faced in his anger. 

Your mother looked like she was on the verge of tears. "Please, just be patient! It'll only take a minute-"   

"A minute!? Woman, GET ON WITH IT!"  

She shushed him. "Please, think of our child, you'll frighten-"    

"Our child? I never asked for that plant-whispering freak!"  

Tears began to blur your vision. 

But just before you ran upstairs, you saw your mom suddenly clench her first, hissing words at your father that you couldn't hear before pulling out her wand. 

Not wanting to watch any longer, you hurried upstairs, running into your room and slamming the door behind you. 

-- 

Turns out your parents split up shortly after that. 

The feeling was numbing, really. You didn't feel sad. You didn't feel angry. You didn't feel happy, either. 

And when you learned that you were going to move to America to live with your mother's sister, you just slowly nodded and packed up your things. 

The day before your departure from your home, you visited the park for possibly the last time. The last time you'd see your dearest and only friend. 

You found Newt easily, and he gave you a crooked grin. "Hello." 

"..Hey," you said, looking and sounding as hollow as you felt. 

He instantly looked concerned. "I-is anything the matter, (Y/N)?" 

"No- well, yes." Sniffling, you nodded. "I'm.. I'm moving. I'm moving, Newt." 

"Wait- moving to wh-where?" Standing up from the ground, Newt walked a bit closer. 

"To.. to.." 

You felt tears threatening to spill over your cheeks, and couldn't find the correct words to tell him that this was maybe the last time you'd see each other. 

"(Y/N), please, ju-just tell me. I-I'm- we're friends, right? You can trust me-"   

"LOOK, I'm moving to America- and I'm pretty sure I'm not coming back!" 

If this was a normal situation, you would've laughed at the expression of pure shock on Newt's face.  

But this time, you just wanted to cry and cry and cry.  

"Th-this.. th-this isn't a joke, r-right..?" His pitiful expression showed that he was wishing for this to not be true. That it was just a nightmare. And partly, it was a nightmare. 

"I-it.. it.. it really.. isn't." You sniffled again, trying and failing to wipe away your tears. "I.. I do-don't want to leave, but t-there's really no other choice..," 

"So.. I'll never see you.. again..?" 

You could tell that he was struggling not to cry. You could see the glimmering in his eyes. 

With a sob, you flung yourself at him, wrapping your arms around him and holding him tight.  

He froze momentarily, but slowly hugged you back, tears slipping down his face. 

"(Y/N)!" 

You heard your mother's call in the distance, pulling back from Newt. 

"(Y/N), we need to get going!"  

"Look, I- I'll miss you," you said hurriedly, letting go of him and turning away. "Goodbye." 

Suddenly, a gentle hand grasped your wrist. 

You looked back, and found something being pressed into your hand. Quickly bringing it up to look at it, you found a smile making its way into your expression. 

It was a bit rough, but nonetheless charming. A little copper moon charm threaded onto a rope bracelet that was a bit big for your wrist. 

"..T-thank you," you said. 

"(Y/N), this is the last time I'm going to yell!"  

Newt smiled back at you. "Be careful. I'll miss you too." 

And you turned around for the last time, running off and not looking back.  

#newt scamander #fantastic beasts #fantastic beasts and where to find them #x reader #newt scamander x y/n #newt scamander x you #newt scamander x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #reader insert #self insert #angst #there will be a part two

[fanfic-scribbles]

Smile

Fandom: MCU Captain America/Avengers

Summary: Bucky gives you some reasons to smile.

Quick facts: Romance – Bucky Barnes/Reader – Female Reader

Warnings: Fluff, puns, cheesy jokes, so cheesy

Words: 3344

A/N: I’m going to admit it upfront, about 40 percent of the time spent on this fic was spent on writing it. The other 60 percent was spent on finding the jokes. Also, this story is semi-inspired by the fact that my face is not nearly as expressive as it feels (I basically look like the polite cat meme when I really try and I can’t do it for long before my face hurts too much) so this goes out to other people who get accused of resting bitch/asshole face. And get written up for it. Anyway, please enjoy this goofy little Bucky/Reader get together.

  ~

‘How do you make a tissue dance?’

‘Put a little boogie in it.’

Bucky snorts and coughs when he accidentally breathes coffee instead of air. ‘That’s disgusting,’ he texts back but Sam just replies with an obnoxious smiling face. Bucky shakes his head and goes back to his coffee. It’s actually not so terrible today.

He doesn’t hang out in a dive, but this coffee shop is a type of quiet he almost never sees in the city. It’s too far from the tourism path for convenience and just outside the neighborhood purview where there are many other local (better) favorites. It’s clean enough and decently sized, but it’s decorated like it was supposed to be trendy ten years ago and the place is barely staffed, to match its perpetually nigh-empty interior. There was a short-lived attempt at hiring another person, but after a ridiculous amount of turnover the owners, or whoever, apparently cut their losses and the only constants that remain are Bucky, the lone customer, you, the person actually working the counter, and your manager.

You’re nice. You always speak kindly to Bucky and, when you think you can sneak it, upsize his cup without comment or charge. Also, one time when his glove broke and slipped off, you hadn’t even commented on the arm; you’d even helped him stop panicking enough to see it hadn’t gone far and helped secure it temporarily with a rubber band.

Your manager, meanwhile, is a dick who glares at Bucky and once made a snide comment about him leaning too close to the register, and only talks to you in demanding barks. Like now– but the five minute “hushed” conversation is winding down and soon it will be safe for Bucky to go get his refill.

“I’m writing you up,” the manager says.

You jerk back in shock. “For not smiling enough?”

“It’s what we got marked down for, it’s what’s going on your record,” he says, turns on his heel, and retreats into the back to do jack shit. Bucky glares at his back as he goes. His harsh expression turns to a milder frown when he looks at you, hunched over and staring at the counter with a dead expression on your face.

He looks at his phone, looks at his empty coffee cup, and makes a quick decision.

“Can I get a refill?” he asks when he’s in front of you, startling you out of your stagnant misery. You look up at Bucky and after a second force an unnatural smile on your face. He winces on your behalf.

“Of course,” you say softly, and turn to refill the cup.

When you hand it back to him Bucky shuffles, hesitates, but finally asks, “Why are colds bad criminals?”

You blink. “Uh…why?”

“Because they’re easy to catch.”

You blink again, and then let out a startled laugh. Bucky smiles slightly at the sound, and smiles more at the more natural, smaller turn of your lips as you say, “That’s…that’s a good one.”

“It’s pretty terrible.”

“All the best ones are,” you say, and the door chimes making Bucky break away. But as he watches you talk to the delivery man like normal he nods to himself. He leaves with his coffee to start the day and fires a quick text to Sam: ‘Where do you get your dumb jokes?’

~

The next day when the door chimes and you see your one regular customer, you let yourself smile a lot more naturally than you have been. Your face is starting to hurt and your boss is probably napping in the back, so you take the chance to relax.

“Hi,” you say. “The usual?”

“Please,” he says, polite as ever as he hands you exact change and you go to fix his cup. When you bring it back he asks, “What did the fish say when he swam into a wall?”

“What?”

“Dam.”

You giggle despite yourself. Bucky’s smile is small and guarded, but you haven’t had a moment yet where you haven’t been grateful to see it. Maybe this ‘smiling’ business is all it’s cracked up to be. If only it didn’t hurt your cheeks so much.

But as he tips his cup to you and goes to his favorite corner, you find you don’t mind the ache as much.

~

Every time he comes in now, he brings a new joke.

“What do you call a fake noodle?”

“An im-pasta.”

“What does a clock do when it’s hungry?”

“It goes back four seconds.”

“Why did the bike fall over?”

“It was two tired.”

The delivery is fairly flat but there’s always at least the hint of a smile and, you don’t know, it might be his absolute seriousness that sells it, because every one of them raises your spirits. You don’t know why he’s suddenly telling you jokes. For anyone else you might think they’re flirting, but you don’t get that impression here. He’s handsome, always looks put-together in quality clothes even if they seem picked for comfort over anything else, and even before this he has always been unfailingly polite. If he wants someone, he has to have someone just as lovely. Right?

You can’t help but think about it even after he comes back. And the wonderfully terrible jokes, thankfully, don’t stop.

“Why did the mushroom go to the party?”

You keep pouring the coffee while you ponder an answer. “I don’t know,” you decide and lift your head as you hand Bucky his drink.

The way he smiles is very fetching– not quite a smirk, it’s a little too unsure for that, but it tilts up to the side and gives him a boyish charm that would make anyone weak in the knees. “Because he was a fungi.”

It makes a smile big enough for you to feel, but considering how self-conscious you are now you quickly tell him, “I liked that.”

“I know,” he says. “You smiled.”

“You can tell?” Maybe you aren’t as bad off as you thought. Or maybe he’s just being nice. But he seems honest, and he nods decisively.

“I get not being the most…expressive.” He shrugs. “But anyone can still see it, if they look.”

The implication that he cares enough to look stuns you both to silence. He ducks his head shyly and lifts his coffee cup in thanks before retreating to his corner. When you finally have working vocal cords again you say, “Have a nice day.” It might be the first time you’ve ever really meant it.

~

“What’s the opposite of coffee?”

Bucky’s eyes widen and narrow in quick succession as he goes from surprise to contemplation. He weighs your question with all the dramatic seriousness you could hope for before he says, “I don’t know. What is the opposite of coffee?”

You grin when you say, “Sneezy.”

His smile is bright and he nods his head. “Not bad, not bad.” He leans on the counter, looking more relaxed than you’ve ever seen him. It’s…shockingly warming. You have to remind yourself not to get too close. He showed up out of the blue and he can be gone just as quickly. Just because he’s nice doesn’t mean he has any attachment here. In fact, you hope he doesn’t– you’d question his sanity otherwise. “Why did Mozart hate chickens?”

“I don’t know,” you say, eager to hear the answer.

“Because when he asked them for their favorite composer, they said, “Bach! Bach! Bach!’”

You laugh– that is, of course, when your supervisor pokes his head out of the back and scowls at you. He should be happy that you’re ‘smiling enough’ but you know full well anything you do is never going to be good. You freeze whatever expression is on your face as Bucky’s mood darkens and your heart sinks. “Enjoy your coffee,” you say, infusing meaning into every word. That ekes out a small imitation of a smile as Bucky raises his cup and goes to his seat.

Your supervisor starts to stalk over to you but you are saved by the sudden ringing of a phone, and he blessedly turns on his heel and goes to answer.

You sigh and start cleaning up the counter. Bucky is in his corner, hunched over and quiet as usual. He looks fine, but you feel bad for the interruption, even though you get the impression he understands. Still, this is one nice thing you’ve had in this otherwise miserable job and you’re not going to lose yet one more good person to your superior’s shitty attitude.

You push out a roll of receipt paper, scribble ‘Why did the espresso keep checking his watch?’ on it, and stick it in your apron. You walk over to wipe down an untouched table and, before heading back, make a little detour to drop it next to Bucky’s arm. He grabs the paper as you’re scooting away (plausible deniability in case your boss comes out) but it isn’t until you’re back behind the counter that you realize what that just looked like. Does he think you just dropped your number? He hasn’t opened it yet. Is he trying to figure out a way to let you down? You suddenly regret playing into this so much; he was just trying to be nice, he probably didn’t expect you to latch onto it so–

He opens the paper, reads it, and shoots you a little smirk. You breathe a sigh of relief and mindlessly wipe things down and rearrange well-organized creamers and straws until Bucky comes up for his customary pre-leaving refill. You’re a little disheartened it’s that time already, but it means you’re that much closer to the end of your shift, at least.

“Why?” Bucky asks quietly. It takes you a second before you remember the receipt paper and you surreptitiously check the back to see the door is closed.

“Because he was pressed for time,” you say quietly as you hand back his cup.

He chuckles. “I like it,” he says and takes a sip. “Thanks,” he adds as expected, but then he winks and you…you just stare at him as he leaves.

Should you have dropped your number?

~

A few days later, Bucky is caught off his guard and pays for it.

“What’s this?”

Bucky doesn’t get to his coffee cup fast enough and Sam snatches it and reads. “Sam,” Bucky grumbles but there it is, Sam’s eyes go wide and he turns that stare on Bucky. “Don’t look at me like that,” Bucky snaps and snatches his drink back.

“You’ve been using my jokes to hit on a dorky barista?” Sam asks and follows him across the room.

“I’ve been using jokes from the site you steal yours from to share with the nice woman who makes my coffee,” Bucky says and sits in a chair. He never stays for Sam’s group VA sessions and he should have left sooner, damn it. “I wouldn’t use yours. They’re gross.”

“Potentially inappropriate for a lady,” Sam says. Bucky opens his mouth to argue but, no, that’s exactly it, even though Sam’s tone implies something completely different from what Bucky would have said. “What’s her name?”

“Bucky?”

Steve has never been more of an actual hero to Bucky than he is right now. Right on time to walk back home with Bucky, Steve wanders in, sees the two of them, and stops. “Oh, should I…”

“Let’s g–” Bucky is immediately stopped by Sam’s hand on his shoulder.

“Bucky’s got his eyes on someone,” Sam says, immediately centering himself as Bucky’s most hated arch-nemesis.

…Okay, maybe not, but if Bucky didn’t have real problems he would be.

“I do not,” Bucky grumbles, because he knows it’s pointless and Steve is immediately sitting in front of them and leaning in like he’s the last girl at the sleepover.

“Really Buck? That’s great!” Steve says. “Have you…are you going to make a move?”

“No,” Bucky says and quickly runs down the situation, hoping that it will clear things up but knowing his friends too well. Indeed, Sam and Steve share smirks before looking at him again.

“You’re a real hero,” Sam says, only partly joking.

“I hate you,” Bucky says, ducking his head down. He doesn’t really blush anymore, if he ever did, but the motion is instinctive.

“You don’t.”

“I wish I did.”

Steve grins, as does Sam, and Bucky wants to duck into a hole. Goddamn mother hens, they’re going to want to–

“Should we come by?” Sam asks and leans back in his chair. “Be real wingmen?”

“No,” Bucky says, harsher than he means to. Sam and Steve don’t look bothered– they’ve weathered worse emotional snaps than that– but they wait for him to explain and Bucky doesn’t know if he can. Because what if this is leading to something? Is he ready for that? He thinks he might like you, but would he be okay putting in the effort of getting to know you? What if he can’t handle it? What if Steve and Sam walk in and they’re all you see? Both of them are plenty distracting, and charming, while Bucky can hardly put one foot in front of the other, some days. And what if this isn’t leading to anything, you’re just nice, and it’s nice, but Sam and Steve find out and look at him with all the pity they can muster?

“I just…want to see it through. On my own. Whatever this is.” ‘Or could be’ he leaves unspoken, because hoping for anything still feels like too much.

“Okay,” Sam says first, because of course he does, but Steve nods along quickly. It’s enough to make Bucky exhale deeply and relax muscles he didn’t know he had tensed. He rolls his eyes and stands up to cover for it.

“You’ll keep us updated though, right?” Sam asks, an easy grin on his face as he lounges in the chair.

“Like I’ll be able to avoid it,” Bucky mutters, finishes his drink, and lets Sam know they’re okay by throwing the empty cup at his head.

~

The fact that you’re running out of coffee-related jokes is stressing you out. You wanted to keep on theme but too many more days of this and you’ll be scouring the internet for whatever jokes Bucky hasn’t used yet. There are some coffee-related puns, but…the ones you like carry a romantic hint to them, and you were hoping to save those in case Bucky showed any interest. So far you haven’t picked up on anything, but you’re also very oblivious, and your roommate thinks you’re an idiot and he’s obviously into you.

But he might not be.

You do what you’ve been doing since your boss snarked at you about flirting on the clock and get Bucky’s cup ready with maybe your favorite joke.

‘How did the hipster burn his tongue?

He drank his coffee before it was cool.’

And smile proudly at it. Your small handwriting is getting better– Bucky barely has to squint at it this time, and he gives you a conspirator’s smile when he slides his twenty-dollar bill across the counter at you, with the neatest print writing along the margins.

‘What do you call an alligator detective?

An investi-gator.’

It’s cute and you snicker to yourself as you gather his change and place it gently in his gloved hand. He doesn’t retreat to his corner right away, though, and shuffles in place. “I was…I just wanted to say…” But then his eyes glance to your side and his face freezes in an unfortunately familiar way. “Thank you for the coffee,” he says woodenly and raises his cup just so.

“Of course. Have a nice day,” you say as robotically as possible and watch him go. Your supervisor clears his throat pointedly and you pretend like the place isn’t as clean as it was since the last time you went around. But now you’re thinking. About how awkward Bucky looked, and how he mentioned wanting to say something…maybe…maybe he is open. To you. Potentially.

Tomorrow, you decide with a thrill of nauseating adrenaline. Tomorrow you’re going to bring it up.

~

The next day you arrive at the shop at your usual time in the pre-dawn cold only to find an extra padlock on the door and a note in the window.

You stare, dumbfounded, and read the note. You read it again. And again.

‘Out of Business.’

But nobody called you.

You immediately grab your phone and dial your supervisor’s number. When he doesn’t pick up you call it again because this cannot be real. The job was shit but it was a job, and you knew what to expect, and you’ll never see Bucky again, will you?

It takes almost half an hour for the asshole to pick up– or maybe more, as the sun is starting to show up– and upon answering, he snaps, “What?!”

“What happened?” you ask, just as unkindly.

Your boss grumbles unintelligibly but you wait. “Did you see the sign?”

“I was working yesterday; no one mentioned anything about this.”

“Corporate called last night.” He yawns loudly. “I tried to call you.”

That’s a lie if you’ve ever heard one, but your tongue gets tripped up in anger and he says, “Sorry but there’s no room at the other branches for you, your last check is in the mail,” and hangs up.

You stand there for a while, trying to blink away tears at the sudden upheaval of your life. You should have found a replacement job while you had a chance. You should have asked your co-workers where they were going. You should have given Bucky your number.

You stand there for a little while, debating spending money you shouldn’t on a nice breakfast to wallow in, when the sound of footsteps coming up behind you makes you turn around.

“Oh, Bucky,” you say and rub your face. You think you’ve managed to hold it in, but it’s chilly and any exposed skin feels frozen.

“What’s going on?” he asks and peers around you at the note.

“Um…” You gesture uselessly. “Apparently this location is no longer in business. Just found out.”

Bucky’s jaw drops. “That asshole didn’t even call you?!”

The amount of anger on your behalf startles you. Startles both of you, actually, but just as he’s about to say something you laugh and say, “At least that asshole isn’t my problem anymore.” You sigh. You have savings, and the other job, and there’s always some other crappy job waiting for someone like you. But there’s something here that won’t be, and you pull out your phone and start typing. “Um…Bucky…there’s something I wanted to say to you. But it’s hard to say.”

“Okay?” he asks. You squeeze your eyes tight, brace yourself for impending rejection, and hold out your phone.

‘I like you a latte,’ followed by your phone number, hopefully gets the point across. After a few seconds your phone buzzes and you jump and bring it back, hoping no one texted you anything terrible while Bucky was staring at your phone.

It’s a new number, and the text reads, ‘It’s hard to espresso my feelings for you.’

You look up at him and he’s smiling, mouth parted slightly, and you start smiling so hard your cheeks hurt. But it’s okay. “I only had two more coffee jokes left before that line,” you confess and save his name to his number.

“Maybe you can tell them to me over breakfast? My treat,” he says and extends his arm.

You don’t even have to think about it. “Your treat this time,” you say, and link your arm with his. “In return, I’m going to show you where to get some good coffee.”

“Oh I don’t know,” he smirks at you. “The last place had its perks.”

Lacking a good comeback, you push your face into his shoulder to muffle your laughter. He leans into you, and doesn’t pull away even when you’ve gotten under control.

It’s the beginning of a brew-tiful relationship.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #avengers reader insert #captain america reader insert #fluff #stupid jokes (affectionate) #puns

[needs-to-stop-looking-at-valves]

Can we get some more tfp megs with his bratty s/o? Its been to long

hell yeah you can, let's fucking get meggy fucky.

"No. No, hell to the fucking no, you giant metal dildo!!"

Megatron winced upon hearing his love. He was about to go check out a mining project, when she suddenly seemed VERY displeased. What was new, honestly? He sighed, handing the data pad to one of the vehicons.

"Send this to Breakdown, have him look at it and report back to me, I'm going to be...busy."

The vehicon nodded. He was about to greet his queen, when she pushed him away by his face, nearly sending him to the floor. Megatron folded his hands behind his back, bowing a bit to meet her eye level.

"Odd, you usually only torment ME, rather than the vehicons. What's made you so cross, darling?"

"YOU DID! Do you have any FUCKING idea why I'm even upset!"

"No, I don't."

That seemed to be the wrong answer. She smacked him right across his face. Her wings were at full attention, and she was damn near frothing at the mouth.

"You dirtied the rug in our room you IDIOT! Do you know how hard it is to clean the fucking thing after you get that earth soil on it?!"

"But you don't clean it, love, the vehicons-"

She smacked him again, this time on the other cheek. He winced, rubbing the spot. The ballbearings on this little fem was something else, and it made quite the heat in his panel.

"I didn't ASK what the vehicons do! I'm telling you what YOUR DUMBASS DID! YOU brought stinking EARTH DIRT into our room! The room that I fuck you in! Ugh, you're covered in it, aren't you? You're no better than a damn spark rat!!"

She was yelling like a banshee, making quite the scene, and as such, many optics were on them. She always did like to make a show of things, not that he minded. It was the same song and dance they always played together.

"Darling, earth dirt isn't anything too bad, Knockout even says-"

"OH YOU FUCKING CUCK STICK! Don't you DARE bring him into this! That's fucking it, you, with me, NOW, or I swear to fucking Primus you'll be in the doghouse till you RUST."

Megatron knew she meant that threat. He sighed, and followed her back to their berth. He looked around the room. Spotless as ever. He looked down at her, shrugging.

“Well. Where is it?”

“They cleaned it.”

“...so why are you so upset-”

“BECAUSE YOU WON’T EVEN SAY SORRY! And I’m JUST nice enough to have you apologize in public like a fucking pansy. So, say sorry.”

“Say sorry..for the mess...that’s been cleaned?”

His love would and could get mad at him for anything, but this was something else entirely. She looked at him as if HE was crazy, throwing her arms in the air.

“YES! You MADE that mess! What if I got some on my pedes? What if it’s in my vents?!”

“I’m not going to say sorry for a mess that is no longer there, Love.”

The one thing she could not STAND, was him refusing to do as she said. He was expecting a good lashing, and that was EXACTLY what he received. In the form of a shockstick right to the goddamn neck. It made him cry out in surprise, and sent him falling forward. He was lucky he managed to catch himself without falling face first on the berth. However, her smacking him with the damn weapon, right on his back, was just the thing that made him finally fall. She. Was. MAD.

“Stay like that, but open your fucking legs. NOW!”

The way she barked at him. So loud and so demanding. He couldn’t help but feel excitement run up his spine. He obeyed, spreading his legs, and keeping himself just how he was, as she ordered. He heard her fiddle with something, before she finally went up to his side, lifting his face up in her talons (which costs SO much to upkeep. He knew, given the fact that he fucking paid for it).

“You’re going to say sorry. I’m going to make YOU say sorry.”

She nearly through his face away, as if in disgust. She walked away, only for him to feel her pop open his valve panel. She stroked his folds for a moment, scoffing.

“Ugh. Of course you’re all wet already. When are you not wet here? This whore valve of yours is constantly ready for my punishment.”

She dipped her talons into him, three of them, somehow NOT tearing up his insides, but it was still nonetheless quite strenuous, enough for Megatron to lift his aft up a bit, wanting more of her touch.

“Always making fucking messes. And not even saying sorry like a decent fucking mech. I cannot believe you. You WANT me to pump all these fluids out of you, all over our bed sheets. I can’t believe I’m stuck with you. You fucking rat.”

She pulled her claws out of him in just a moment, clearing her intake.

“Turn around. All fours, like a dirty dog. Now.”

Megatron did as she commanded, and was able to see the camera she had recording. He wanted to ask what it was for, but she didn’t look like she was in the mood to answer questions. Once he turned toward the camera, he wasn’t met with a 'good boy' or 'good job', but rather, another jab with the shockstick, right to his neck cables. He cried out as it damn near seared his frame.

"Aft up, body down. Optics forward."

He did as he was told, and she got up right behind him, opening her spike panel and rubbing her spike against his wet folds. Her spike was small enough as it was, but Megatron's valve was HUGE. You'd think because of this, he wouldn't be able to feel any arousal. You'd be wrong. She dropped her shockstick, and dragged her long, sharp claws down his back. Not gently, not carefully. But the same way one would drag their nails on a chalk board.

And Megatron loved it. He gripped tightly onto the berth, glossa hung out and, rather vocally, thanking her for hurting him. Even as he felt the energon at his back slowly seep past his metal, he was terribly, and ph so awfully aroused at the pain. He felt her spike push inside of him, and despite the massive size difference, he damn near overloaded when he felt her enter him. Size did nothing in comparison to her aggressive, violent personality. Even feeling her thrusts against his mighty hips was enough to make his valve drip.

"Look at you. Absolute degenerate. You just sit there, make a mess, and piss. Me. Off. Look at the camera, and say I'm sorry. Now."

"I'm s-sorry."

"Did I marry a bitch??? No. LOUDER."

She swiped at his back, making energon flow and sparks fly. And holy SHIT was it absolutely sexy to Megatron.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry I'm so sorry! I-i made a mess and im sorry!"

"You gonna FUCKING behave?! You gonna listen to me now, you son of a fucking bitch?!"

"I will! I'll listen! I SWEAR I'll listen! I'm sorry! I'll be clean, I swear I'll be clean after this, PLEASE!"

Megtron was good at one thing in heroptics;begging. And thats exactly what she did while she fucked his valve, and make him howl loud enough to be heard through the entire ship.

Someone HAD to know who was in charge, afterall.

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

"THAT'S Megatron's mate? She's a damn cutie."

"Keep it in the panel, Wheeljack."

Team Prime had received a signal from a decepticon. Apparently it was Megatron's sweetspark, who had 'something vital to give them'. She stood right where she said she said she was going to be, dressed in not only the fanciest wool jacket you've ever seen, but with fluffy boots to match. She was small, and even Arcee had to agree with Wheeljack; she was cute as hell. The kinda fem that would get lots of attention at Maccadams.

"It's ABOUT TIME you showed up! Ugh, you've been making wait!"

"Only a minute late, sweetspark."

"One, don't sweetspark me. Two, you can take the flirts, and wreck your aft with it. Three, I'm messing up MY new boots on this DISGUSTING earth dirt! It's DISGUSTING! and four, just shut the hell up, and take this."

She handed over a camera, and Arcee looked it over, curious.

"A...camera?"

"Yes. Go home, give it to your dumb boss, have him watch it."

"That's it?"

"You're in my PRESENCE. This, along with the camera, is more than enough. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm bleaching this goddamn outfit."

She walked off, and Wheeljack whistled.

"Hoo. This must be pretty important. Not that I'm complaining, she's a little viper~"

"Long as your flirts are heading her way and not mine. What do you think is in this?"

"Vital info, maybe? Or maybe a sex tape."

"Wheeljack, be serious. No way is that on this."

"You never know, Arcee."

#asks #lemon #megatron #Wheeljack #arcee #bratty so will and CAN complain about anything

[pedros-mustache-main]

crayons & caresses

summary: you know it’s wrong, that pining after your student’s father is wildly inappropriate, but gosh if john deacon isn’t the most handsome man you’ve ever seen.

word count: 12k+

warnings: pining to the extreme!, slight angst, discussions of parental death, health scare + medical response, alcohol, language, innuendo, suggestive moments (not 18+ but be mindful)

a/n: mechanic/singledad!john is everything i didn’t know i needed in my life. also: WOW this took me a long ass time because i find john the hardest to write, but i love him so. much. so hopefully it’s worth the wait.

(photo: originally from @davidgayhan​ i think?? ugh look at him. i drool. yes i did set this during the brief short-perm-montreal moment. sue me)

september, 1981.

you love all of your students equally. each one is like a fingerprint on your heart: unique in their own way, made up of patterns and histories you will never be able to appreciate in full before they are whisked away to their next year. it is safe to say you adore the collection of twenty-four seven year olds who walk into your classroom each morning. their bright faces, some still chubby with baby fat, fill the lonely parts of your soul, and you leave your flat each morning with a sense of purpose and duty. you are their teacher, their guide through some of the most crucial parts of learning. it is an honor and a privilege to teach them—each and every one. but there is one student who sticks out among the rest. 

his name is beau deacon.

beau is remarkably quiet. he’s small for his age, both in height and in weight. at times, he appears frail, what with the way he sits by himself in the corner during reading hour, flipping through a picture book with glazed over eyes, never really concentrating on what’s before him. he walks slowly during recess, preferring to stay by himself and drag a stick along the blacktop than play a game of kickball with the other boys. he whispers when he speaks and avoids meeting the eyes of those who do try and pry a few words from him.

you try to engage him—really, you do—but nothing seems to stick. not the participation reward system you build just for him, but use for the entire class. not moving his desk closer to yours. not even coercing your best friend ami to bring in her therapy dogs one afternoon early in the year. despite your best efforts, beau remains decidedly uninterested and removed.

it bothers and worries you to the point of questioning your colleague on the matter. martha is sixty, but spry as ever. she’s been your confidant this last year. you’re new to teaching, green as ever, but she has welcomed you with open arms and a plethora of advice. you feel comfortable sidling up next to her in the car-line one friday afternoon. it’s hot outside, summer not yet allowing autumn to take root, so you hold a hand over your eyes to shade yourself from the sun.

“can i ask you something?” you say, keeping your eyes trained on the children who filter out of the school and into their parent’s waiting vehicles. 

“as long as it’s not about sex,” martha mutters. “haven’t had a good romp in so long i don’t even know if it still works the same way.”

you swallow a laugh as a trio of students pass you by. their mother waves over her shoulder, shouting her thanks, before shoving the children in the backseat of a tan mini-van. you watch the van pull away, another car rolling forward to take its place, before asking your question.

“beau deacon,” you start, hoping that, if you simply say his name, martha will fill in the gaps herself.

blessedly, martha twists and nods with a knowing smile. “i know that tyke well. had him last year.”

you release a huff of air in relief. “oh thank goodness. i’m almost beside myself. i don’t know what to do with him.” you frown as you attempt to speak as diplomatically about your student as possible. “he’s awful quiet. he doesn’t play with any of the children and barely looks at me when i speak to him. how’d you manage?”

to your dismay, the older woman just shrugs. “i didn’t really. his mum died all sudden like about halfway through the year, and he clammed up. no matter what i did, what tricks i tried to pull, he stayed completely unmovable.”

“oh.” your shoulders drop in defeat. “i didn’t know.” truthfully, your heart tugs for the child. to lose one’s mother at such a tender age? you can’t imagine the world of hurt he lives in. it’s no wonder he sticks to himself.

“you didn’t speak with his father?”

“no. was i have supposed to?”

“no, not necessarily. mr. deacon was helpful on a few occasions last year. we were sort of a united front, i’d say, when things were particularly bad in the beginning. perhaps give him a call. at least to let him know you’re in his corner.” she smiles and squeezes your bicep. “and you can always come to me, love. i may not have all the answers but i do have some.”

“thank you, martha. i think giving mr. deacon a call might be smart—” you turn at the tell-tale sound of feet dragging against the ground. in the few weeks since classes have started, you’ve grown to know the sound of beau deacon’s footsteps better than your own. he’s always on your mind, the sullen little boy with glasses, so it’s hard not to pounce on him with love when you turn around to see him in the school doorway. “oh! beau! we were just talking about you.” 

beau stops walking, and his grip tightens on the straps of his backpack. he doesn’t look up at you, doesn’t say anything. he simply stands there, as if he’s listening but doesn’t know how to respond, so you soldier forward.

“do you have any big plans for the weekend, beau?” you ask.

he shakes his head.

“none with your father?”

another shake of the head.

“well, perhaps you’ll do something fun and you can tell us about it on monday, yeah?”

to your surprise, he nods, which is more than he does most days. you can’t help the smile that claims your lips and the way your arm waves a little too hard to his retreating form. he walks to a faded old corvette and opens the passenger door with ease. you can hear a muffled voice—his father’s no doubt—and see the man stretch his arm out to take beau’s backpack. 

but then the car door is shut, and the chevy pulls out of the parking lot with too much speed to be safe when a child is in the front.

you glance at martha. she rolls her eyes and mouths men. you can’t help but agree.

a week passes before you finally find the time to phone beau’s father. you find his name—john richard deacon—and a telephone number in beau’s emergency contact form, shoved amongst a stack of other hastily filled-out parent paperwork. there’s no secondary number listed—not even a distant relative or family friend—so if the call doesn’t work, you aren’t sure what your next move will be. even so, after all the children have left and the other teachers are beginning to close their classrooms for the day, you slouch at your desk and punch the numbers into the phone. it rings three times before someone picks up.

“taylor auto-repair. this is rog.”

the voice on the other end is high and scratchy. you’re taken aback, both by the man on the phone and the blaring rock n roll music in the background. you aren’t an expert, but it sounds like zeppelin. not what you’d expected.

“hello?”

you shake yourself free of surprise, and the wheels beneath your chair scrape against the linoleum floor as you sit forward. “oh, sorry. i thought i was calling the deacon residence?”

“deacon? like john deacon?”

“yes, i’m beau’s schoolteacher. i thought—well, this was the number on the contact form.”

there’s a sigh, and the phone brushes against something rough before rog says anything more. “hold on.” when he speaks next, his voice is distant yet poorly muffled. “deaky! there’s some bird on the phone for you! what have i told ya about putting the shop’s number down instead of the house’s? fuckin’ hell, mate.”

you frown, pressing your fingers to your lips as you wait for... deaky... to take the phone from his co-worker. when a new voice does appear on the line, you again find yourself surprised.

“hello? this is john deacon.” john’s voice is almost lilting, like a song. it’s soft, comforting—though how you determine this from four simple words is beyond your understanding.

“mr. deacon, hi! my name is [y/n] [y/l/n]. i’m beau’s teacher. i thought we might have an over-due chat, if you have the time?”

“oh, hello.” there’s a pause on the other end, as if he’s considering whether or not he’ll entertain your out-of-the-blue phone call. “has beau done something wrong?”

you laugh despite the worried edge to his tone. “no, absolutely not! beau is a delight. he’s practically a model student. however, i do have a few concerns... do you have a moment?”

“yes, i can have. just give me a second.” the line goes muffled again, the only sound a fading rolling stone’s song before all goes quiet. you hear a door shut and the squeak of a chair before john speaks again. “i suppose this is about beau’s shyness?”

you choose your next words carefully, uncertain if john simply cannot accept his son’s retreat into himself or if he does not see it. you’d rather not jump to conclusions and alienate him on your first phone call, but you must admit your unease at hearing the word shyness. beau is far more than shy. despite the frown puckering your brow, you hold your concerns close to your chest for the moment.

“shyness is a word one could use, yes.”

“he’s been that way since his mum died last year.”

rolling your lower lip between your teeth, you nod. “i heard. i’m terribly sorry for your loss.”

john makes a noise somewhere between a huff and a grunt and does not acknowledge your paltry offer of condolence. “if you’re calling to ask how you can fix ‘im, i don’t have any answers for you.”

“i don’t want to fix him, mr. deacon,” you say. “i simply want to help.”

“i’m sure you’ve spoken with mrs. cooper then.” he sighs, and the sound seems to rattle the receiver pressed against your ear. “look, i appreciate what you both are trying to do for beau. but he’s young, and the pain of losing his mum— i just don’t want him to rush into moving on.”

“oh, mr. deacon, that’s not my intention at all!” you wince at the high-pitch of your voice and clear your throat. good lord, this was not going as you’d planned. “i just want him to feel comfortable in the classroom, that’s all.”

“that’s kind of you, but i think it might be easier if you just let beau work it out for himself.”

you fall silent and glance down at the hem of your blouse. there’s a blue thread dangling from the article of clothing, and you pull on it, watching the thread unravel until it falls free from the shirt itself. 

in all honesty, you’re puzzled by john’s hesitance to so much as entertain your concern. anyone—student, teacher, classroom parent—who comes across beau knows he’s more than shy. it’s written in his face, in the way he holds himself, in the way he shuffles aimlessly to and fro. god, he breaks your heart. you want to wrap him in a blanket and protect him from the cruel world.

but you’re not his mother. you’re merely his teacher, and you must respect john’s wishes despite how wrong you think they are. perhaps, in time, he will come around, see the need for a little concerted effort in helping beau work through his obvious grief-stricken state.

“is there anything more i can do for you, ms. [y/l/n]?”

clearing your throat again, you sit straighter in your chair and fiddle with a pen on your desk. you click the depressor up and down, up and down. “no, there’s not. i’m sorry to have wasted your time.”

“you didn’t,” john says—and his voice has that indescribable soft quality you noted the moment he first spoke. “really, it does mean something to me that you even thought to call.”

“i care for my students a great deal.” you aren’t sure what brings the words to your lips, but the second they fall past your tongue, a flush crawls up the back of your neck. you’re sure you sound like a petulant child, whining at the mere inconvenience of a rejected idea.

“i can tell.” his tone is anything but salty. in fact, the truth dripping from each word leaves you decidedly flustered. you click the pen faster, your leg bouncing beneath the desk.

“yes—well—i’ll leave you to it.” though you add, “if ever there’s something i can do for beau, don’t hesitate to ask.”

“i’ll be sure to.”

after a rushed goodbye, you drop the phone to its base. the hard-plastic clatters, the coiled wire dropping in a pile on the desk. you press your fingers to your eyelids and groan. both deacon boys, it seems, have the power to infuriate and melt you at the precisely the same moment.

this, you think, does not bode well for the rest of the year.

if you’re being honest, you have to admit that you think of john deacon often as the school year falls into a comfortable rhythm. no matter how hard you try to forget the phone call, forget the way his voice lulled you into a strange sense of serenity, he’s like a specter in the back of your mind: always there and definitely uninvited.

still...

when the children work silently at their desks, you sit behind yours and struggle to keep your mind from wandering to either of the deacon boys. when you greet beau as he walks through the door each morning, you resist the urge to drop a question about his father’s well-being. when the faded red corvette pulls to the curb each afternoon, you bite your tongue and fist your hands at your sides to keep from introducing yourself properly through the open window. 

it’s embarrassing, really, how much the phone call with john deacon has affected you. it’s embarrassing how... interested you are in his life. you’re a schoolgirl with a crush—a crush on a man you’ve never even seen! if you were to admit your undue fascination with the deacon household to your best friend ami she would laugh in your face and remind you how desperately you need to get out more. you keep your wonderings and your daydreams to yourself to save her the trouble of telling you what you already know.

come mid-november, when the students are well-adjusted to their daily routine and you’ve learned how to juggle so many personalities at once, you finally pause to take a breath. the breath comes at the end of a school-day. it’s drizzling outside—not raining, but not dry either. the sky is a wash of gray and a deep purple. there’s a storm coming, a bad one too from the looks of it. humming to yourself and contemplating whether or not you should stop by the grocery on your way home, you tug on your jacket and step outside the school into the chilled autumn air. 

you’re about to cross the parking lot to your car when you hear a harsh sniffle come from your left. you pause, keys in hand, and twist to see a huddled form on the curb. it’s clearly a student and a young one at that. knees drawn to their chest, backpack large over their back, fingers interlaced on their knees, they are the picture of a frightened schoolchild. the hood of their blue raincoat obscures any defining features, so you hustle to their side and kneel down, but not before glancing at your watch.

nearly four. someone’s been forgotten.

“hey?” you tilt your head to try and catch a glimpse of the face beneath the shade of the jacket hood. “did mum not come through the car line?”

you barely stifle your gasp when the slick raincoat crinkles as the student turns to meet your gaze. 

it’s beau deacon.

his eyes are puffy, tears still clinging to his blotchy cheeks. beneath the wide frames of his glasses, fear swims across his gaze. he draws in his lower lip and rubs his hand under his nose. his eyes flicker to the ground, his toes tilting inward.

you press a hand to his shoulder. he feels so small beneath your palm, like a fragile piece of clay, molded by tragedy and loss in such a short span of time. “where’s your father, beau?”

he shrugs. “dunno.”

“i guess he’s running late.” you look at your watch. very late. “should we give him a call?”

beau nods, and you stretch to your full height, offering your hand to help him from the curb. beau does not take it as he stands. he pushes his glasses up his nose and follows you inside the school office where he hesitates in the doorway as you borrow the receptionist’s phone to call the auto-shop.

no one answers.

lowering the phone to its base, you look over your shoulder. through the venetian blinds you can see the sky darkening as you hem-and-haw. in the distance there’s a flash of lightening, and fat raindrops dot the tan sidewalk.

you could leave beau with the receptionist. it’s not uncommon for parents to run late or completely forget about their child. normally, betty calls the child’s guardian and gives the waiting student a granola bar and coloring page or picture book to flip through as they wait for the mortified adult to speed to school. there’s nothing obligating you to stay. 

just as there’s nothing obligating you to offer to drive beau home.

you look at betty and calculate the words of your offer. “would it be wrong of me to drive beau home? he lives on my way ‘s all.” boldfaced lie—at least, you think—but what betty doesn’t know can’t hurt her.

betty doesn’t stop clacking on her electronic typewriter. “i don’t think so.” she peers over her glasses at the clock hanging over the door, still typing. “i’ve got a dentist appointment in half an hour, so i don’t have time to wait around today. you’d be doing me a favor, love.”

“alright, it’s settled then.” you slip the thin strap of your purse over your shoulder and turn to beau with a toothy grin. “i’ll drive you home. maybe your father just isn’t feeling well today and overslept?”

beau frowns, and inwardly, you cringe, your smile faltering. beau’s mother died of an illness, so it likely disconcerts him to think of his father in a similar state. in a piss poor attempt at an apology, you grab a piece of chocolate from the bowl near betty’s desk and slip it in beau’s hand as you make your way to the parking lot. the faintest flicker of a grin crosses his face as he methodically unwraps the candy. you take that as a sign of forgiveness.

once beau is snug in the backseat of your station wagon, you pull into traffic with a bubble of giddiness in your stomach. what you’re doing is ridiculous. though you feel horrid beau was left behind, there’s a sick park of you that is glad for it. it’s unlikely you’ll ever meet john deacon unless fate throws you together. he did not attend back to school night, and as a single father, you doubt he has time for any of the other parent-student events on schedule for the rest of the year. in all honesty, you’re taking this opportunity to put a face to the man behind the phone call that’s plagued you with daydreams since it occurred.

if you can just see his face, just learn what he looks like, perhaps the fascination with fade. unless, of course, he turns out to be as attractive as your mind has made him out to be and then you’ll be in even hotter water than you are now.

adjusting yourself in your seat, you glance in the rearview mirror. beau has his head pressed against the foggy glass of the window, his eyes scanning back and forth as he takes in the surrounding scenery. rain droplets create dark shadows over his face, and you wonder if that’s what he feels like on the inside: foggy and rainy and shadowy. you shake the thought free; you read too many melodramatic novels.

“so, beau, what’s your address?” you ask, your tone obnoxiously chipper. he tells you, and you shrug as you tighten your grip on the steering wheel. “gotta give me more than that, hun. do you remember how to get home? do you think you could tell me?”

beau nods and scoots away from the window, leaning nearer the space between the driver and passenger seats. there a gleam in his eye. you catch sight of it as you turn right at his instruction and see him hovering near your shoulder. it seems that with each turn you make his voice inches a decibel louder until you can hear every word with a clarity previously unknown. he’s confident when he’s instructing you, when he knows what he’s supposed to do.

he’s confident when he’s helping.

you tuck the bit of knowledge away for later as you pull into the cracked driveway of a red-brick bungalow. the house is small and unadorned, the homes on opposite sides just as plain and simple. a single spruce tree, like something out of a holiday catalog, is the only foliage in the yard. gauzy curtains are drawn to block the sunlight coming through the two bay windows framing the white front door.

you turn the car off as beau slides across the bench to open the car door. grabbing your handbag, you all but tumble after him, hastening up the sidewalk.

“wait a minute! beau!” you punctuate your call with a breathy laugh and smooth the sides of your hair back as you approach the front door. the bubble of giddiness from moments before has turned to a bubble of nerves, and once again, you realize this moment is entirely ridiculous. still, you adjust your blouse and straighten the crooked edge of your collar.

beau’s left the front door open, his shoes and backpack already tossed on the living room floor. you hesitate at the threshold. you haven’t been properly invited in, but the open door might just be beau’s way of telling you it’s alright to invade his home. at least, that’s the message you decide to take. 

crossing the threshold, you hold tight to the strap of your purse and glance around the cramped front living area. beau’s nowhere to be seen, and the home is silent as the grave. you bite the tip of your tongue when your gaze falls over a photograph of a woman holding a baby. it’s beau and his mother; has to be.

maybe... maybe you’ve overstepped your—

“beau, is that you?” the sound of heavy footfalls on stairs snaps your attention away from the photograph. before you can slip away and forget you ever had the silly notion of meeting your student’s father with the intent of something other than a professional hello, a man rounds the corner.

your eyebrows shoot up your forehead. it’s not the john deacon you’d imagined.

he’s shorter than you pictured, only several inches taller than yourself. his jaw is sharp, peppered with a five o’clock shadow, and a thick mustache almost covers his upper lip. a white wife-beater tucked into green trousers completes the ensemble, and his bare feet pad across the floor as he sticks his hand out in greeting.

“you must be the teacher!” he pumps your hand up and down, his grip crushing but his smile wide. his voice is friendly and welcoming, though you can’t be sure it was the voice you heard over the phone. so many days have passed since then, perhaps you just forgot, though it’s highly unlikely. 

“i’ve been trying to call deaky ever since i got here, but the damn fool just won’t pick up. i don’t even know where beau’s school is so i couldn’t come and get him myself. the ship we run here isn’t very tight.” he rolls his eyes with a grin. “thanks for bringing him home, darling.”

your head swims as you struggle to keep up with the man’s fast pace. so, he isn’t john deacon? and john deacon isn’t here? you open your mouth to ask the first of several questions but he beats you to it.

“hell, you look positively confused. shut the door, won’t you? the rain’s getting in, and molly was always worried about the the hardwood. i’ll put on the kettle.”

“oh, i don’t—”

he bumps your hip toward the door. “nonsense! deaky will want to thank you for driving beau home.” he’s around the corner before you can refuse, so you shut the front door against the steady rain and slip off your shoes, leaving them beside the two pairs already against the baseboard.

you’re quick to follow him to the kitchen. the walls are a muted yellow, the countertops clear but the sink full of unwashed dishes. the refrigerator in the corner is bare save for the back to school letter you gave to each student to bring home to their parents. that—and a photograph of four men in a basement. it appears to be a homegrown band of sorts, and the man behind the drumkit is shouting at the man who looks like an overgrown string bean. you’re not sure which one is john, so you turn away, feeling rather out of place when the man at the stovetop says:

“beau’s probably in his room. he always holes himself away as soon as he gets back. doesn’t come out until supper. that’s when deaky gets home.” a pair of mugs clatter against each other as he pulls them from a cupboard. “brian says it’s just a phase, that he’ll grow out of it once he processes molly’s death, but i’m not certain.” the man’s eyes flicker to you, and he laughs, loud and short. “oh dear, i’ve done it again! i forgot you’re not in the loop. i’m freddie,” he explains. “part-time nanny, full-time diva.”

you accept the mug of tea as freddie passes it to you, a smile lifting your tight mouth. “[y/n] [y/l/n]. so you’re beau’s... nanny?” 

freddie drops to the round kitchen table shoved in the space between the kitchen counter and the wall. you follow suit and stir a drop of sugar in your tea. “you could call it that. i just watch him in the afternoons, between school and deaky getting home.” he sighs. “since molly... well, things have been hard to juggle.”

“i thought mr. deacon picked beau up from school? unless that was you in the car i saw?”

“heavens no! i don’t drive!” freddie laughs again. “that was deaky you saw. he takes his break at the garage long enough to pick beau up and bring him here. i guess he and rog were overrun today. bet beau was terrified. poor dear...”

you glance over your shoulder, down the dim hallway leading to, you assume, beau’s bedroom. there’s a half-full laundry basket deposited outside another open door, perhaps the bathroom. a few mislaid toys litter the carpet. it’s reassuring, knowing that beau has a few good men in his life, willing and ready to raise him. still, there’s a pervading sense of loneliness throughout the bungalow. you saw it in the photos on the living room wall, but it’s here too: in the dead roses, brittle to the touch, in the table vase; in the index-card note tucked on a notch in the cupboard, the feminine handwriting unreadable from your spot at the table.

freddie’s voice is somber when its breaks through the thick air. “complications of pneumonia,” he says, following your gaze to a wedding photo on the hallway wall. “it came on quick but didn’t last long, thank heaven.”

unbidden, tears prick the corners of your eyes. you’ve never felt more like an intruder—and you know why.

your crush on john deacon is misplaced. you see that now. realizing what you’ve done in coming here—twist a child’s terrified moment of abandonment for your gain—makes you sick to your stomach. what kind of person are you? assuming a recently widowed father would be at all interested in his son’s pesky teacher? the thought brings a flush to your cheeks, and you rise from the table all too fast. the mugs of tea wobble when your knee connects with the underside of the table.

freddie frowns at you. “you okay, love?”

“i—” how to explain yourself without sounding a total fool or heartless woman? “i think i’ve overstayed my welcome” is all that comes to mind, and you aren’t surprised when freddie uses his foot to push your chair back out from under the table.

“sit down. john will be home soon. let him thank you then you can go.”

from where you stand, you look to your right. the front door practically screams for you to politely decline freddie’s insistence and high-tail it to your car, to get out while you still have the chance. but he’s making it too easy to stay for what you’ve come for: a peek at the illusive john deacon. you know you should go, that you should leave well enough alone, but despite your best intentions, you find yourself sitting down again and allowing freddie to bombard you with questions about teaching life.

half an hour later, when your sides hurt from laughing while freddie regales you with the dramatic story of beau’s birth, the door to the garage opens and closes with a loud click. you twist in your seat, arm draped over the back, and bite your lip hard to keep from drawing in a sharp breath.

by god, he’s a stone-cold looker. better than you could have imagined.

john deacon stands in front of the garage door, his head of tight curls wet from the rain. he’s tall but not towering, his shoulders made broad by the leather jacket across his back. he hasn’t noticed you or freddie as he’s too preoccupied with wiping the grease on his fingers across a piece of soiled cloth. he turns, not towards you, but towards the hallway when beau tumbles out of his room with a shout of joy. beau races down the hall, his arms extended, and jumps into his father’s waiting embrace. john mumbles something in his son’s ear, ruffling his hair, before dropping him back to the ground. the sullen little boy jumps around his father’s feet, chattering in great detail about his day at school, though he forgoes mentioning his father’s absence in the car-line. 

you exhale, a wash of new tears covering your eyes as you stare at beau. he can be happy. you’d thought it impossible.

you must have exhaled louder than you thought because john looks over at the sound. his brow tightens in a frown of confusion, his eyes flicking back and forth between yourself and freddie, but freddie is quick to explain. he stands from the table and takes your hand, pulling you to your feet.

“deaky, this is [y/n] [y/l/n], beau’s teacher. remember you spoke to her on the phone?”

your cheeks heat at the thought of him mentioning the phone call beyond the walls of the auto-shop. warmth spreads over your face even further when he gives you a tight-lipped smile and extends his hand. you slip your fingers over his palm, and he shakes your hand.

for a moment, your hands linger as john glances at beau, who is tucked behind his leg. he cringes, groaning. “please tell me you didn’t go out of your way to bring beau home today?”

you drop your hand from his and clasp your fingers before your waist. scrunching your nose, you tilt your head to the side. “well...”

“bloody hell,” john murmurs. he screws his eyes shut and runs a palm down his face. “i’m sorry,” he says. “you shouldn’t have had to do that.”

“it was no trouble, really. in fact, you live on my way home.” the comment isn’t a falsehood. you’d realized as beau pointed his way home that your flat lie only a minutes down the road. just as it had then, the realization sends a nervous clench to your stomach now. the thought of the deacons so close...

“you must think me a horrible father.” as he says this, john reaches around to smooth his hand across beau’s back. the gesture, done mindlessly, almost makes you laugh. how could anyone find him a horrible father?

“absolutely not, mr. deacon.”

the corner of his mouth twitches upward in something close to a smile. “john, please.”

you roll your lips together and blink rapidly to keep your eyes from going wide. john. “lots of people miss the car-line. it happens more often than you think.”

“well, let me give you something for your trouble.” he slides past you, the scent of cologne and car oil in his wake. his movements are stiff, hampered by beau who insists on clinging to his father’s leg, his ankles crossed over john’s foot. 

“i don’t want anything, john.” you almost trip over his name. it tastes good, strong and steady. god, you’ve got it bad. “it wasn’t a hassle.”

john ignores you as he slides open a kitchen drawer. unsatisfied with its contents, he reaches for another before meeting your eyes with a wry smile. “all we’ve got is take-out menus anyway.” he shuffles nearer, beau still heavy on his leg. “thank you, ms. [y/l/n], for bringing him home. i got sidetracked at the shop and—” he sighs. “anyway, just... thanks.”

“again, you’re welcome—and call me [y/n].”

there’s a moment where you’re simply staring at one another, the room around you lulled to a comfortable silence. john is handsome, of this there is no doubt. perhaps he’s not striking in a classical way but you’re sure someone would have killed to chisel a bust of his face during the sixteenth century. it’s regal and sure in all the right places, but soft where it counts: around the eyes. when he chuckles at something freddie says, his eyes fold around the edges, and your heart all but gives out.

“what do you say, [y/n]?”

“sorry?” hopeful no one caught you ogling, you bring your attention front and center, turning to freddie. his proposal dawns on you a second too late to be anything but obvious. “stay for dinner? no, i can’t do that.”

“why not?” freddie reaches out to pinch your forearm. “it’s our way of saying thanks, and neither of us will try to poison you with our cooking. we’ll just have brian bring something ‘round.”

you shake your head and scoot around freddie to lift the handbag hanging from a kitchen chair. “i’d like to, but i’ve stayed too long already. perhaps another time.”

prying beau from his leg, john trails behind freddie as you make your way to the front door. freddie wishes you well, reminding you to drop by any time, and john simply lifts his hand in a motionless wave. on the front stoop, hair tangled around your face by a sharp wind, you lean your torso across the threshold.

“mr. deacon—i mean, john,” you say quickly, willing your voice to sound stronger than you feel. “if you’d like, i can drive beau home in the afternoons. i live not five minutes from here, and it wouldn’t be any trouble.”

john hesitates. beau stands in the kitchen, his head poked around the corner. john looks over at his son then back at you. “that’s a kind offer, but i like coming to the school.”

your eyes flick to beau, to his round, soft face and intelligent eyes. yes, if you were his mother you’d enjoy coming to pick him up too.

with a nod, you retreat into the wind. “well, the offer still stands.”

as you slide into your car and pull out of the driveway, waving to beau who now stands in the doorway, you hope against hope that john will accept the offer one day—just so long as it means you get to see him again.

he calls during the middle of show-and-tell. you nearly forgo the call as abby sinclair insists on lifting her pet toad for all to see and you’re worried she’ll drop it, but you’re waiting for a message from the front desk—missing package again—so you pick up on the last ring.

“hello?”

“hi, ms. [y/l/n]. it’s john deacon. is this a bad time?”

“oh, mr. deacon!” you wince at the delight coloring your voice and tear your eyes away from abby, who has handed her toad off to max. “i was expecting a call from the front office.”

he snorts out a rushed laugh. “sorry to disappoint.”

you brush a lock of hair behind your ear. “no, not at all.” out of the corner of your eye you catch max squeezing abby’s toad between his palms, and you push the phone away from your ear. “oy! max, knock it off! abby, please put the toad back, dear?”

john is chuckling on the other end of the line when you return to the call. “sorry,” you say. “show-and-tell.”

“i know. beau was excited this morning.”

with a smile, you glance at the boy in question. “he did very well. everyone was impressed with what he brought.”

“brian made that for him as a birthday gift, so he can’t take any of the credit.”

“he didn’t! he explained who made the planets, but he did want to be clear about who painted the stars.” you hesitate, the sound of laughter over your shoulder reminding you not to get too entangled by the sound of john’s voice. “is there something i can do for you, mr. deacon?”

“right, yes. well, it’s a bit awkward... do you remember a few weeks ago when you drove beau home?”

you nod, the memory lifting from your heart with ease. how could you forget? you only replay the evening like a film every night before you fall asleep. “of course”

“do you remember offering to drive him home again?”

“yes.”

“i’m in a jam at the shop and can’t leave this afternoon. would you mind? taking him home, that is.”

you answer without hesitation. “i can do that. it’s not a problem.”

“you’re a life-saver. it’s just with freddie not driving... i guess what i mean to say is thanks. it helps me out a lot.”

“i’m happy to do it, john.”

“i promise i’ll make it worth your while this time. proper take-out and all.”

“you really don’t have to do that,” you say, hoping he does anyway.

“no, freddie will insist. i’ll let you get back to class for now. thanks, [y/n].”

“don’t mention it. good luck with your jam at the shop. i hope it’s cleared up soon.”

“me too. all the sooner to get back to beau—and you.”

he hangs up before you can respond, and you’re left with your jaw scraping the floor and your heart in your throat.

all the sooner to get back to you.

the words circle your head like a drug for the remainder of the day. you can barely focus as you teach, stumbling over your words and through math equations and spelling tests. 

surely he didn’t mean it like that. he probably just tacked you on at the end of the sentence in his haste to get back to work. he probably wasn’t thinking when he spoke.

but, by god, you were listening. 

you’ve never been so head-over-heels for a man in your life. each day when you wake up with john at the forefront of your mind, you wish for a morning where you can stay in bed and dream of him all day—his voice, his smile, his gentle way with beau. it all makes you crazy. ami calls your fascination puppy love and claims it will fade with time, but you wonder if it’s gone deeper. you’re interested in more than john deacon’s looks. you’re interested in what makes him tick and whether or not he’s in a band with the three other men who constantly appear in every conversation you share and whether or not he misses his wife and what his hair looks like when he wakes up in the morning. you what to know him and be known by him.

all the sooner to get back to you.

perhaps it’s wishful thinking—a dreamy idea on the part of a lovesick woman—but part of you wonders if he feels the same way about you.

driving beau home becomes part of an unspoken routine. after sharing dinner at the deacon household that second evening, john admits when walking you to your car how overwhelmed he can feel between his job at the auto-shop and his responsibilities with beau. with a tentative hand on his forearm, you promise you’ll help lighten the load. he thanks you by squeezing your fingers with his, and then he’s gone.

it begins by driving beau home every monday, wednesday, and friday. you enjoy your time with him. as soon as he settles in the back seat of your station wagon, he comes alive. the protective shell he wears in the classroom is replaced by the bright and earnest eyes of a seven year old boy, curious about the world and all it has to hold. he asks you questions and tells you stories, and you laugh as you watch the light dance in his eyes. he’s a sweet child, and you truly treasure the afternoons you spend with him.

one friday, you drop him off and find the cozy bungalow empty. beau has stopped retreating to his room once returning from school—at least, this is what freddie tells you—so you’re not completely surprised when beau invites you in for an afternoon snack. you are surprised by the empty house, however. freddie is nowhere to be seen and neither is john. what concerns you even further is when beau opens the refrigerator and slams it shut with a huff.

“nothin’,” he mutters, slumping to the table with a groan.

“what?”

“there’s nothing in the fridge.”

“what do you mean by that?” you cross the floor and open the fridge, hoping beau’s comment is nothing more than a hungry child displeased with the array of choice and nothing to his liking, but you find his statement to be true. the fridge is woefully stocked—naught but a half-filled carton of orange juice, three apples, and a sandwich wrapped in tinfoil. you glance over your shoulder. “is it always like this?”

“no.” beau circles about on his chair. “but it’s happened a few times since dad and uncle rog got more busy at the shop.”

“well, that won’t do. grab your shoes, beau, we’re going to the market.”

once returned from your grocery run, you teach beau how to make spaghetti. he stands beside you on a stool, pushed up on his toes as he watches you prepare the boiling water and pasta. as you wait for the pasta to soften, you set about crafting a homemade pasta sauce. it’s your mother’s recipe, and it’s easy to make. easy enough that you allow beau to carefully slice the tomatoes under your supervision and dice the onions and sprinkle the spices.

the kitchen smells like your childhood: fragrant yet simple, sweet and comforting. somewhere in the waiting for the sauce to simmer, beau turns on a radio and draws you to the center of the kitchen. he holds your hand tight and kicks his feet to the music. you laugh and mirror his movements. he grabs your other hand and steps on his stool, forcing you to bend in an awkward twirl around his finger. you struggle but complete the movement, though he attaches himself to your shoulders like a barnacle. you whirl around on your socked feet in attempt to toss him off, but he holds tight, his fingernails digging into the skin of your collarbone. he squeals in your ear, a mixture of laughter and gasping breath and shrieks.

“mama, mama, stop!” 

he says it without thinking, his head lolling against your shoulder as you stop short at the sound of his breathless voice. he giggles against your back then releases himself and slides to the floor. you stare at him, feel his words in the back of your throat like an uncomfortable burn, and then you hear the garage door shut.

you swallow hard and force your eyes from the yellow-and-white linoleum floor. beau hops from his stool, sauce-covered spoon in hand, and rushes to his father’s side.

“daddy, look, we made dinner! miss [y/l/n] and me!” he tugs on john’s shirtsleeve, but john’s just staring at you, his face unreadable. beau turns to one of the other three men crowding the hall behind john. “uncle roggie, taste it!” he forces the spoon in the face of a mulleted blond.

eager to break the thick tension, you motion to the spaghetti. “i—there wasn’t anyone home so...” your sentence trails off, and you bite the inside of your cheek.

so many eyes on you. you feel exposed against them all, caught in a domestic moment with a child that’s not your own in a home that’s not your own.

john looks over his shoulder, eyes flashing in anger. “fred?”

freddie winces. “about that, deak.” he rubs the back of his neck and glances at beau. “i can explain later.”

“you’d better,” john mutters.

“i should go,” you say at once, hastily grabbing your things from the table. your keys jingle in your hand with the force of your anxiety, and you stub your toe against the floor in your hurry to put your shoes back on.

john’s hand on your arm stops you. you look up, stooped as you try to slip the back of your sandal over your heel. he looks down at you, face still remarkably unreadable. “no, please stay,” he says. “you made supper.”

you shake your head and rise to your full height. “i’ve intruded enough already.”

you’re embarrassed, too. the gaggle of men heard beau’s slip up; they heard him mistake you for his mother—and certainly they saw the immediate flush of happiness rise over your cheeks at the sound.

mama. you’d always hoped, always wished, someone would call you that one day. you just didn’t think you’d hear it from a student with a deceased mother and a father you pined after first.

“[y/n], stay.” john’s voice is soft, breathy, and his eyes flit back and forth between yours with a startling amount of intensity. 

how can you say no?

once the dinner has been divided, you sit beside john on the couch in the living room. the kitchen table is too small to host the gathering, so the living room was deemed appropriate just this once, to beau’s great delight. he sits on the floor at the coffee table, a tall glass of milk beside his plate of pasta, his eyes bouncing over everyone in the room with unrestrained joy.

“beau, why don’t you introduce everyone for miss [y/l/n]? she doesn’t know all your uncles.” john nods to his son in encouragement, and beau is only happy to take the job.

standing, beau crosses first to the impressively tall and curly-haired man sat beside him on the floor. “this is uncle brian. he likes space and teaches all the big kids at uni.” 

he moves to freddie, who sits on a plush armchair. “this is uncle freddie, but you already know him.”

the last man leans against the foyer table, his ankles crossed and sunglasses still perched on his nose. beau pats his arm. “this is uncle roger and he works with daddy.” in a stage whisper, he adds, “he thinks he’s a lot cooler than he really is.”

roger guffaws and lightly pushes beau’s head to the side. “oy, you twerp, take that back!”

glancing about the room, you nod in greeting. “it’s nice to meet you all. i’ve heard quite a bit.”

brian smiles at you from the floor. his legs are bent awkwardly beneath the coffee table, and you’ve noticed the way he helps beau cut his side salad and keep sauce from dripping to the area rug. “all good things i hope?”

“oh yes, of course.”

“[y/n], dear, you really must tell brian what that student of yours did last week,” freddie pipes up. “it had me laughing well into the night. i’m sure some of his twenty-year olds are much the same.”

“i shouldn’t, fred.” you look at beau, who is watching you in interest. 

freddie nods in understanding and tugs on his earlobe. “little ears, yes. maybe another time.” he pushes brian’s shoulder with his foot. “really is a riot of a story.”

as supper progresses, conversation twists and turns down different avenues. you explain how you came to teach in the area and find you used to work with one of brian’s newer colleagues. freddie tells the group about his recent run-in with an angry bird watcher in the park. his gestures are so grandiose he whacks roger in the chest, who has come to sit on the arm of fred’s chair. there’s more laughter than there is silence, and you settle back in the couch. at one point, john drapes his arm over the back of the couch—not around your shoulders, but close enough to send your heart into overdrive. it’s all you can focus on—the proximity of his muscular arm behind your head—as brian explains to beau the difference between the big and little dippers. even as roger describes the ramshackle band they four participate in on the weekends, you barely register the words because you swear to the high heavens you feel john’s pointer finger purposefully brush against your shoulder.

beau begins to yawn sometime near the eight o’clock hour, and you jump from the couch when you realize you’ve stayed so late.

“good lord, i’ve got to go!” you shuffle about the room, gathering your belongings, as john rises behind you. “i didn’t know it was so late!”

his hands are in his pockets, and he studies you as you put your shoes on. “got a big date tomorrow?”

you frown. “no,” you say on a laugh. “i’ve actually got breakfast with my mum.”

he looks away for a moment, but you can’t help but note the edge of a smile.

he grabs his jacket from the coat-stand when you’re ready. “i’ll walk you out.”

at the door you wave to the others. “good night, all! it was nice to meet you.”

roger tips an imaginary hat. “i’m sure we’ll meet again, [y/n], if deaky has anything to say about it.”

freddie kicks the back of roger’s leg, and the injured man doubles over in a yelp of pain. “you fucker!” freddie mutters. “you know that—”

john ushers you out the door before you can see or hear any more.

the night air is chilly, and you warm your arms around yourself. you reach for your keys in the depths of your purse and slide them into the lock on the driver’s side of your car. it’s dark out. you can barely make out john’s features beneath the light of the moon, but when he shuffles to the side, an automatic flood light turns on above the garage. you blink against the sudden light and smile, chuckling beneath your breath as your vision adjusts. you’re not eager to leave quite yet, and he doesn’t seem eager to send you away, so you both stand, looking at one another in the darkness of the drive.

“your friends are nice,” you say.

he hums in agreement. “m’yes, they are. we just started as a screw-around band a few years back, but when molly got sick...” he pauses, clasps his hand on the back of his neck, and shrugs. “they’ve been my lifeline, y’know?”

“i can’t imagine what that was like, losing her. i’m glad you had them around.” you suck in a deep breath. “about earlier... i didn’t know beau was going to say that, and i’m sorry it happened. i realize that my... involvement might appear to be me wheedling my way into your family, but that’s not it, really! i mean, i like you and beau—as friends—but i’m not trying to...” you sigh, shaking your head. “i’m sorry it happened ‘s all. i don’t want you to get the wrong idea.”

before you know what’s happening, john’s reaching out to cup your cheek. his smile is soft in the glow of the moon and the floodlight, and your heart stops in your chest. 

his thumb brushes over your cheekbone. “i haven’t seen beau that happy in a long time. you’ve brought a lot of joy back into the house, [y/n].”

you’re sure you’re sweating despite the chill of night. you shake your head, but his hand holds fast against your face. “no,” you whisper. your voice sounds heady, even to your own ears. “beau’s just a good kid.”

“yes, and you’re a good teacher.” 

is his face inching closer? you’ve suddenly forgotten how to breathe.

“a good teacher and a good person.”

if it weren’t for your firm hold on the car door handle, you think you might slip to the ground in a puddle of goo. 

his lips are on yours, then, and you fall into his arms as he holds you against himself. you have dreamt of this moment far too many times to count, but you never thought it would happen. really, you thought you would finish the year without ever knowing the taste of john’s deacons lips. 

but there he is, and there you are, and he tastes like the wine he drank during supper. he is more eager than you thought he would be, and soon he has your back pressed against the door of your car. you huff into his mouth and feel your eyes roll back into your head when he drags his lips across your jaw, inching closer to that spot behind your ear. your arms practically quiver around his shoulders, and you open your eyes long enough to catch a glimpse of a particularly bright star winking down at you.

he catches your lips again, and you feel hot and delicious all over.

“john,” you mumble against his mouth. “john.” 

loathe as you are to stop the moment, you do, pushing his shoulders until he pulls himself away. his hand still cradles your hip, and he looks flushed in the moonlight. you’re sure you look equally as rumpled.

you grin. “well.”

he matches your smile, though it’s fleeting. “call you, yeah?”

unlocking your car door, you nod. “please do, mr. deacon.”

he shakes his head on a chuckle and shuts the door, waving gently as you pull out of the drive. when you’re several homes away, out of eyesight, you drift to the side of the road and blast the air conditioner. then you pound your fists against the steering wheel and let out a muffled squeal of delight.

he doesn’t call you. 

when you sit down to think about it, it’s not that great of a surprise. you’ve been around him only a handful of times, and though you’ve both been comfortable in those moments, you don’t blame him for resisting whatever it is he feels for you. there’s beau to think about. you’re his teacher; surely there’s some line you shouldn’t be crossing? there’s molly too, and her memory and the years they spent together and the child they had together. 

if anything, you figure he’s using you to test the waters of romance again. those stolen touches and deep stares and that kiss in the drive—it’s all just experimentation. the conclusion drawn from those experiments? he’s not ready.

you sigh, take another sip of wine. maybe you should stop driving beau. you like john; you like him a lot. and after that kiss, you haven’t been able to stop thinking about him. you thought about him before, but never this much. he threatens to consume your every waking moment, and it scares you because he’s not interested. desperately pining after a disinterested man means one thing: ruin. if you stop driving beau home, put some distance between yourself and the deacons, the puppy love and infatuation will fade over time.

it has to or you’ll go crazy.

it’s early evening, and your stomach grumbles. your flat is quiet as you putter around the kitchen in search of a suitable supper. there’s not much in the cupboards and even less in the fridge. you desperately need to go to the grocery store. take-out it is. withdrawing a handful of menus, you spread them out on the counter and flip through them mindlessly.

your thoughts are elsewhere. always on john.

you wonder what compelled him to kiss you. he’s an enigma, john deacon. you’ve seen him in moments of great levity—when he’s around beau or his friends or recounting a story from his youth. he has an infectious laugh, delightful crinkles around his eyes, and a quick wit. but he can be hard, too, like an immovable stone. he’s quick to toss a glare at anyone in his way in those moments of weakness, and his biting wit can turn sour at the drop of a hat. you chalk it up to weariness, those moments. weariness, loneliness, frustration. it doesn’t phase you, though perhaps it should.

with a groan, you drop your forehead to the cool counter and shut your eyes. the kiss lingers on your lips; it has the entire week since. you want him badly—in more ways than one.

the telephone rings, and you startle, clutching a paper menu to your chest. “fuck,” you whisper. you need to get a hobby other than daydreaming. pressing the phone to your ear, you barely get out a word of greeting before someone’s shouting at you on the other end.

“[y/n]? it’s fred! we’ve got a fuckin’ problem over here.”

you frown. “freddie? what’s going on? why are you are john’s? it’s a saturday.”

“no time for that! how fast can you get here?”

“well, i don’t know. i’ve got to—”

“beau’s sick! he’s on the bathroom floor, moaning and groaning and—shit!—[y/n], i don’t know what to do!”

“i’m sure it’s just a tummy ache, fred,” you say. “i see it all the time in my class. give him some pepto and he’ll be fighting fit in the morning.”

“no, [y/n]!” something in fred’s tone—a raw, animal fear—has you standing straight, your heart stuttering in your chest. “he said he feels like he’s gonna die just like molly did!”

“okay, okay.” you begin to move toward your bedroom, but are yanked back by the phone chord attached to the wall. you stumble backwards with a grunt. “okay, i’m coming, fred. just hold tight.”

“fucking hurry!”

you slam the phone down, rush to your bedroom to change from your nightclothes, and jump in the car without a pair of shoes. as quickly as you can you race to the deacon household. the sun dips low, casting an orange glow over the suburban streets lined with family cars. you grip the steering wheel tight, your heart thumping a prayer of protection for beau. 

the driveway of the bungalow is empty, the garage door thrown open. the old convertible john toys with in the evenings is parked inside, but his everyday vehicle is gone. cutting the engine of your car, you run through the garage and into the house. fred stands in the hallway, pressed against the bathroom door. he looks ridiculous, clad in a bright yellow bathroom and bunny slippers, but he pounds his fist against the door, pleading for beau to unlock it and let him in. he turns at the sound of your bag dropping on the carpet.

“oh, thank god,” he breathes. he grabs your arm and wrenches you to his side. “beau, miss [y/l/n] is here. why do you talk with her, huh?”

before you say anything to beau, you frown at freddie. “where’s john?” your whisper sound harsh in the dim lighting of the hallway.

“at the shop. overtime. i can’t reach him.”

you jerk your head to the phone sitting on a side-table in the living room. “go try again and i’ll stick with beau here.” when he’s gone, you slide to a sitting position on the floor and press your ear to the thin wood of the door. “beau? beau, honey, it’s me.”

beau only groans in response.

“beau, can you please open the door? i want to help you. that’s it; just help.”

there’s a pause then you hear: “no. go away.”

“it’s okay if you’re embarrassed, beau. we all get sick sometimes. fred and i just want to help you feel better.”

there’s the sound of water sloshing and then a hard sniff. “i want my mommy.”

“oh, baby, i know.” you clear your throat to work past the lump rising to the surface. “come on, just let me in. i promise it’ll be okay.”

“but... what if i die like her too?”

“that’s not gonna happen, beau. i promise.” he doesn’t respond, so you plead once more. “please let me in.”

he shuffles to the door, unclicks the lock, and cracks it open. through the opening, you can see his pale face gleaming with sweat. gently, you push the door open further.

beau’s curled on the floor, his head bent toward his knees. his arms tighten around his stomach, and a spasm ripples through his body. he’s dripping with sweat, his star wars pajamas soaked through. hot air clogs the room, and you switch on the overhead fan. pressing your fingers to his forehead, you cringe and draw back. he’s burning up.

“beau, baby, what hurts?” you finger some of the sweat-matted hair away from his forehead. 

“my tummy.”

“what’s your tummy feel like?”

beau shakes his head into the floor. “bad.”

“do you feel like you’re gonna be sick?”

“already did. on my floor.” he opens his eyes long enough to stare at you through thick lashes. “i’m sorry.”

“don’t apologize about that. we’ll get it cleaned up later. i’m just gonna go get you some water, okay?”

he groans, shifting against another spasm of pain. “okay.”

stepping back into the hall, you grab freddie’s arm before he can slip into the bathroom. you tug him to the safety of the kitchen. his eyes dance between yours, expectant.

“well?”

“did you get ahold of john?”

“no, the fucker.”

“we’ll have to go pick him up then.”

fred’s brow twitches. “what? why? what’s wrong with him?”

you throw a glance down the hall when beau whines. “i think it might be his appendix. my dad’s burst last summer and he looked a lot like beau does now.”

“fuckin’ hell.” freddie runs a hand across his mouth. “just what deaky needs.”

you nod in agreement. “i know. we’ve got to take beau to a hospital, though, before it gets any worse.”

“yeah, yeah, i know. go get the car started and i’ll meet you in a minute.”

several minutes later, you’re en route to the auto-shop, freddie cradling beau in the backseat of your station wagon. the drive is tense, your bare foot hard on the gas pedal. beau wrestles and whines against freddie’s hold, continuously asking for his parents and where you’re taking him.

no one wants to say the word hospital, so his cries go unanswered.

freddie directs you to the auto-shop, his phrases terse, and you pull into the drive with a sharp squeal of tires on gravel. with the car still running, you hurry across the parking lot, loose pebbles catching on your feet. music blasts from a stereo within the garage. it’s loud and obnoxious and keeps you from locating john fast enough.

“can i help ya, miss?” a lithe man steps out of a side office, his hairline receding and face near gaunt. 

“yes—i’m looking for john deacon.”

the man continuously wipes his hands on a dirty rag. none of the oil and grease on his fingers budges. “he’s down there.”

dirt and grime covers the bottoms of your feet as you race down the shop. cars of all varieties line the wall to your left, some stationary on the ground, others lifted towards the vaulted ceiling. there’s a handful of men at work, but you don’t recognize any of them as john. you’re prepared to start shouting his name when a familiar voice stops you.

“[y/n]?” it’s roger. “can’t get enough of our deaky, can you?” he’s chuckling as he steps out from behind a truck. “what are you doing here?”

“it’s beau,” you say, and his face falls.

“over here.” roger wastes no time in finding john beneath a volkswagon beetle. only john’s legs are visible, his knees bent and leather boots firm on the floor. he curses when roger hooks the toes of his shoes around a curve in the sliding plate on the floor and drags john out from under the car.

“what the fuck, rog? i—” john stills when his eyes land on you. his muscle tee is loose over his chest, and a line of grease mars his forehead. he swallows. “[y/n]... i...” he sits up. “i’ve been meaning to—”

though you’re curious about the end of his sentence, you cut him off. “beau’s sick. we’ve got to take him to hospital.”

the blood drains from john’s face in an instant. the wrench in his hand clatters to the cement ground, and he’s grabbing your elbow, pulling you toward the exit, before you can say anything more.

“crystal, i’m gone!” he shouts, practically shoving you in the direction of the car.

there’s either no reply or you don’t hear it because john shouts for freddie to move the fuck over and give him beau. you slide behind the wheel and pause, twisting to catch a look at the scene in the back. 

beau looks like a newborn swaddled in his father’s arms. his face is wet with tears and sweat, and he sobs in his father’s grasp. john feels beau’s forehead and frowns, muttering an oath under his breath. then his eyes flick to yours.

“what are you waiting for? go!”

you don’t need to be told twice.

it’s another fifteen minutes before you reach the hospital. your head throbs under the stress of it all: beau’s pitiful moans for help, john urging you to go faster, freddie barking directions as he slaps the headrest behind you. before you’ve pulled to a complete stop, john is out, beau in his arms. you shoo freddie after him. 

“go! i’ll park the car.”

by the time you’ve found a parking space and picked your way across the parking lot, beau’s been admitted for emergency surgery. his appendix, as you suspected. it’s a routine procedure, and he’ll be fine within the next hour. relief floods your system at the news, and you find john and freddie sitting beneath a large fish tank in the waiting room. you take the open spot beside john and cross your ankles.

“your feet are disgusting,” fred says. he points to the bottoms of your feet, dark with dust, dirt, and grime. 

you shrug. “forgot shoes.”

the quiet of the waiting room is both a comfort and annoyance. a clock on the wall ticks loudly, and the fish tank bubbles at an uneven rate. every breath you take feels too loud, and the antiseptic smells cling to the inside of your nose.

still, the quiet gives you a moment of rest. you catch your breath. you let the knowledge of skilled and capable doctors working on beau ease your heart-rate. it will all be okay; he’s going to be okay.

you glance at john. his fist is pressed against his mouth, his eyes shut. his leg bounces, and you dare to reach over and lay your hand against his knee. he stills, his eyes flashing to you.

“he’s going to be okay, john.”

on the other side of john, freddie jumps to his feet. “i’m going bananas just sitting here.” he rubs the side of his head. “might burst. i’m gonna give brian a call.” he stalks away, his bunny slippers slapping against the linoleum floor.

you shake your head, biting back the urge to smile.

but then john’s fingers curl around yours, and you can’t help but give into the grin.

you look up, meet his eyes.

“i didn’t call you,” he says.

“no, you didn’t.”

he shifts in seat and looks to the floor. “you should be wearing shoes.”

at the turn of conversation, you frown then follow his gaze. “yes, i suppose.”

“take mine.” he releases your hand to bend down and undo his laces.

“no, john, don’t be silly. i’m fine.”

“please, [y/n], take the shoes.” he slides the boots toward you, and you begrudgingly slip your feet into the warmth of his shoes. 

you look silly, the pair of you—your ill-fit mtv t-shirt, loose jeans, and oversized leather boots; his muscle tee with the aptly faded word muscle scrawled across the chest, his faded jeans, and socked feet. one of his toes pokes through the end of his sock, and his exposed arms look cold in the frigid air of the waiting room. you laugh.

“we look like a pair of bikers or something.”

the corner of his mouth twitches upward. “not much of a biker. that’s crystal’s territory.” he doesn’t look at you when he continues speaking. “i’m sorry i didn’t call.”

on a sigh, you drag the boots across the carpet. though it pains you to do so, you let him off the hook. “it’s not a big deal, john. it was just a kiss. no promises.”

“i know.” his head tilts to the side. “but i wanted to call you. nearly did twice, but i chickened out.” he turns, then, and meets your eye. “i like you, [y/n].”

you smile, but know it doesn’t reach your eyes. still, you reach for his hand again. “i like you too, john. i’ve enjoyed getting to know you and your family.”

he shakes his head, and when he speaks, his voice is firm. “no, i like you. that’s why i kissed you and that’s why i didn’t call. because you make me so bloody nervous.”

your shoulders drop, as does your jaw.

“ever since you dropped beau off that first time, i’ve been thinking about you and about you and him together and then he called you mum and i saw the way you acted with him and—” he pauses for a breath. “molly was different with beau. i mean, she loved him, but she was always so fragile and worried and—and that’s not the point! the point is that you make beau happy and you make me happy. and i want to be happy again.”

“john...”

his grip on your hand tightens as he leans closer. “make me happy, yeah? i’m stubborn as a mule and shy, too, but i want you—badly.”

the fire in your heart spreads at his words. it spreads throughout your body until you feel like you could burst and shine a light into even the darkest corners of the earth. a laugh bubbles forth from between your lips. you lift a hand to stifle it.

“you want to know something?” you ask.

“what?”

“i’ve been pining after you, john deacon, ever since i heard your voice over the phone. i was content to just wallow in my daydreams, but this seems better.” you lift your fingers to brush his chin. “a lot better.”

“i can’t promise i’ll make a good boyfriend. i’m pretty rusty.”

“me too. we can be rusty together.”

he grins, leans forward further, his nose brushing yours. “can’t promise there won’t be hiccups. i’ve got baggage.”

“i can carry it.”

he kisses you, his hand on the back of your head, keeping you firm against his mouth. you grin, your teeth knocking his as you laugh. his curls are soft against your fingertips, and you hold on for dear life when he chuckles into your smile.

“mr. deacon?”

john kisses you once, twice more, before pulling away to look at the doctor. “yeah?” he doesn’t sound the least bit embarrassed to be caught in such a position in the middle of a hospital waiting room, but you hide your face against his neck. your cheeks hurt your smile is so wide.

“beau’s ready to see you now.”

john stands and extends at hand. “comin’, dove?”

your footfalls are hard against the ground, the boots heavy around your ankles, as you walk with him hand-in-hand to beau’s hospital room. you lean against his side, breathe the comfort of him in, and smile.

yes, this is much better than your daydreams—baggage, boots, beau, and all.

#john deacon #john deacon x reader #john deacon fic #queen #queen fic #j writes

[softer-ua]

in regards to what you pointed out a few posts ago, ngl one of my least favorite fandom things is when they make Kaminari the Har Har Stupid Joking ADHD Bi Playboy Who Is Never Serious Trope. like, he's very smart, 'worst in ___ area of a UA course' is very impressive and I don't remember if it even said that or just that he was studying with some other students, worried about his grades overall, calls himself stupid with implied insecurities about it, and didn't think he was very smart compared to the other people in the course. quirk overuse makes him loopy, incoherent, and think everything's funny. and yeah, he's a bit of a flirt and made a few perverted comments and actions that he clearly didn't think through that well. I'm pretty sure he's not ever stated to be bi in the manga because it was written by a coward, so I think people should think more about why they're associating and pairing together the idea of "hot flirty playboy who if legally able would sleep with everyone he meets" with emphasis or joke in the captions of whatever the content is on him being bi. I don't think this is inherently bad, even put together, but the execution feels kind of :/ and shallow. and I mainly just wish they'd pause to consider if there's any reason (subconscious or intentional) why one of those makes them think about the other, and at the very least lean back to see if they're blatantly making those traits centric around each other and tweak how they're showing them a little. Part of this is also because it's basically his fanon sexuality, but then they stick together "oh he's bi and everyone thinks that" and "he's made flirty or perverted comments and actions in canon at some point" and then mentally exaggerate and have this Canon Image of him as *waves hand at above* and I don't think that's happening consciously in most cases but. again. Cookiecutter Bi Party Playboy Who's Made a Date Offer to Everyone In The Building. not a flirty Person or a Playboy who is bi and flirts with more than one genders

I myself headcanon him as adhd and while the exact sexuality depends on my mood I think of/have him as bi in a lot of my content, but it's the same thing with why non adhd people see how he acts and label "adhd!" Especially about comprehension speed and derpy acting and intelligence and attention span jokes/tropes. Again, not bad in and of itself, but the specific parts of his behavior that make them think he's adhd, or that they start making jokes about or Ha Ha ADHD'ing, or that they think is why we project ADHD on him, (which they aren't necessarily wrong about, but like right in a really disrespectful look at how funny this is oh look squirrel way that's only funny when adhd people are doing it and it isn't all mocking like that) when they see other people calling him adhd, are the wrong ones, I think, and it shows in their characterization of him.

I'm not saying that any of those traits are bad in a character, but as a queer adhd girl with very high annual test scores and Gifted Kid Intelligence but extremely poor grades, focus, and brain damage (admittedly nothing like his, it was a longterm passive thing that mainly just made me have a Lot of Really Bad headaches, and closest thing it did to me was make me sluggish and emotional on bad days and also techincally have the potential kill my language bit if left untreated or the surgery messed up, which it didn't, and it won't be a problem again. but even after explaining that it wasn't cancer or any sort of tumor, and after seeing it do very little at all to affect my behavior outside of irritability and performance, because y'know, constant migraines, gone after the surgery but this was before that, Certain People I Was Vaguely Kind Of Acquaintances With started to treat my like I was a fragile glass thing going to to drop dead and revive myself speaking like a comic relief cartoon crazy person at any moment which was. patronizing.) I've since had surgery for, the way the fandom combines them into stereotypes and portrays them really just rubs me the wrong way- "Flirty Bi(tm) Playboy" "Har Har ADHD Can't Focus Or Get Things After They're Explained To Him, He's Still Confused And An Idiot" "Stupid Person With Brain Damage Who Can't Take Care Of Or Think For Themself And Acts Stupid And Funny For People To Laugh At" which tbh is super ableist even and especially when people irl do fit that description, and also reminds me of the Autistic Person Freaking Out And Being Dramatic sense of humor. And I know it's not helped by canon, because it done for comic relief and to limit his powers, but explored more I think it as a limitation could have been used way more interestingly than canon did and also call me biased but that quirk induced brain frying sounds at least as concerning as Izuku's quirk's backlash.

And it's a shame!! Because he's so much more interesting than that! Instead, the fandom gives me the Cookicutter Funny Bi ADHD Flirt Who's An Idiot and I am sad about it.

tbh it reminds me of what happened to percy jackson, esp with the ADHD Idiot Trope thing. which sucks because apparently it originated in the author making up stories around characters like his adhd and dyslexic kid inspired by Greek myths to tell him after running out of actual myths because it was his special interest and he wanted more. and then the series got kind of all over the place and the fandom processed that the adhd and dyslexic main character who does dumb things sometimes but is very combat smart and great at strategizing and leading gets bad grades and has trouble focusing and has, y'know, adhd, and made him the ADHD Idiot and erased his Gifted Kid girl friend's traits and ADHD and dyslexia into No Nonsense Calls Him an Idiot And Thinks He's Stupid And Has To Tell Him What To Do And Manage His Life For Him and honestly that just kind of sucks and it reminds me of what happened to fandom Kaminari. and now that I think of it people have jirou like that around him a lot too.

im fine with you answering this publicly if you want or have something to add but probably tag as ableism and maybe a biphobia mention content warning for people who don't have the energy to deal with thinking about those kinds of negative things rn because I kind of Went Off About It

I love this! Thank you so much for sharing your thoughts and experiences 💚(and double thank you for tag suggestions)💚

I couldn’t agree more that a lot of fandom has messed up Kami’s character, which is why I’ve kinda been posting more about him cause he’s just stuck in my head.

I think a lot of fandoms have trouble with characters like this, people have a hard time with duality in characters and fast/fun posts are easier to make if you flatten a character down.

The did it to Kami, they did it to Percy, they did it to Ron Weasley, they do it to Thor, the list goes on. If being the Smart One ™️ isn’t your thing and you can be goofy than you get pigeonholed into the idiot trope.

I feel for Kami a lot(probably because I have adhd/brain damage too)

It sucks when you’re smart but it’s not the traditional, measurable kind of smart(even if by national comparison Kami technically is).

I got terrible grades growing up, and I pretty much got the absolute lowest gpa you can get and still graduate. But absolutely no one would have known if I didn’t tell them, because I’m not dumb.

(It’s okay if you are “dumb”, I love me a head empty just vibes friend. You’re 100% valid, stil worthy of joining discussions, and should be listened to and taken seriously. This just isn’t about that tho)

I joke sometimes that I’m clever and witty but not smart, because that’s exactly what it feels like.

I have lots of thoughts and ideas that I think I articulate pretty well, I am excellent at finding the humor in things and expressing it in a way that’s funny to others too, and there is almost zero problems I can’t find a work around. And the people in my life love it, and they love to use it.

But eventually everyone in my life finds out that I’m not smart. They see the way I have to pause to Google how to calculate a tip, that I don’t know the name of all 50 states or even where to find them on a map, or I legitimately just can not spell (if you ever see a post where it looks like I used a weird word choice it’s probably because I tried 4 times and autocorrect+Google couldn’t help me and voice to text wasn’t an option)

No one ever questions my intelligence until they find out about my adhd and/or catch me struggling with it. After the mask comes off it’s like they can’t even hear me anymore, nothing I say could be true or matter because I’m now just the goofy accident prone spacy girl. My family literally calls me Spacy

And ya know what sometimes I just let people think that because it’s easier, it’s easier than explaining that I’m dyslexic and that I didn’t have a single geography/history clas until 10th grade and shocker the capital of Iowa doesn’t come up much by then. And it’s easier for me to laugh off losing my keys again than dwell on the fact that sometimes it feels like I’m losing my marbles.

And I wouldn’t be at all surprised if after this post I get a lot more “fact checkers” and push back on anything else I post.(not talking about people who want to genuinely engage,y’all are always welcome, I’m talking those people who don’t wanna look it up themselves but no longer trust me to know what I’m talking about)

Kami is a sweet brilliant boy. He’s in a nationally high ranking school, he loves the weather channel, he’s careful about his quirk that could easily hurt his friends in combat, he has a very high emotional intelligence level, he wears dorky shirts with electricity puns on them, and he pays attention to his friends and remembers a lot of little things about them.

He wants to be a hero and he takes that seriously, and the series has tried time and time again to tell y’all that smiling and laughter are an important part of that. Kami excels at this part! So what if his history grades don’t rival the top of the class, the top 5 students would struggle hard to do what Kami does.

Iida can’t relax, Momos rather shy, Todo struggles with social cues, Midoriya is canonically not funny, and jfc where to even begin with Katsuki. I’m certain they’ll all grow up to be excellent heros in their own right, but none of them are going to bring the level of joy and camaraderie that Denki can. You can’t test that into someone.

Kami also just notices people differently and has any easy way of joining in with them, he doesn’t struggle approaching Katsuki or Shinso. Sure he doesn’t hit the the nail on the head the same way Deku does but he’s the only one who has the guts and skills to try. Also he’s not that kinda friend, he’s not looking to a save these guys but pal around with them

I think Kami 100% realizes what a special case and tough nut to crack Bakugo is, I don’t think he’s just careless or too dumb realize his life’s at stake or whatever.

I think he’s purposely testing Bakugos boundaries all while trying to not be a threat to Katsukis actual ego and calling Bakugo out when he needs it in a way that not to serious. Kami knows how to be just goofy enough that he’s approachable. He’s also keyed in that the way to Bakugo is through Deku, meanwhile everyone else is stuck believing the opposite.

Kami also realized how important music is to Jiro and saw an opportunity to let her display her skills and combin the two worlds she lives, and he wasn’t afraid to get some back lash from her for it.

Like Deku Kami isn’t afraid to be uncomfortable. You really can’t teach that level of social ease, you can teach the posture and feed people a couple of lines but it’ll never hit the same. Funny approachable people have spent a lifetime learning the craft, usually out of necessity.

It’s actually what gives me the biggest adhd vibes from him, because adhd is (speculated to be) a dopamine deficiency disorder. People with adhd are constantly trying to raise their dopamine levels, and that means looking for praise and reward and nothing makes the human brain light up faster than postative human connections.

Adhd children struggle a lot with connecting with peers and often find making people laugh a fast way into people’s circles and makes it more likely people will overlook being interrupted or spaced out on.

Also adhd people are pretty much forced by their own brain structures to be genuine in all they do, low dopamine levels make it very hard to do things you don’t enjoy because there no promise of dopamine from the activity and you don’t have enough to spare, plus impulsiveness makes it really hard to not show when you do or don’t enjoy something.

I agree that Kami is also painted as overly perverted at times, he’s a little flirty but in a fun casual way but it’s not the foundation of his personality and it’s really mellowed out over the course of the series.

And while I subscribe to the bi hc from his interactions with Jiro and Shinso, we should all be very mindful that we don’t lump these characteristics together. The are separate facets of his personality that are not dependent on each other in anyway.

Kami deserves all the respect and love, I can’t wait to see our electric king again 🖤⚡️🖤

#tw ableism #ableism #tw biphobia #biphobia #softy answers #I have a sorta sad one shot about Kami and his quirks effects #should i post it?

[set-phasers-to-whump]

hiding injury

prompt: hiding injury

whumpee: eddie diaz

fandom: 911

hi here is my fave trope ft. one of my fave characters!!! this kinda got away from me in length lmao but i loved writing it and im not mad ab how it turned out. i hope you enjoy!!!!

Something had felt...off about tonight’s victory. It had been in the way his opponent had looked at him, not the usual disappointment and anger that typically came with losing a fight, but something stronger, more violent. Eddie’d brushed it off. He’d had worse looks thrown at him. 

He’s regretting having brushed it off right about now. If he hadn’t, if he’d just talked to the guy, calmed him down, something, he wouldn’t be here right now, hand pressed to a stab wound in his torso, leaning up against the door of his truck, feeling blood slowly seep through his fingers, warm and wet. 

For a split second, his non-occupied hand reaches for his phone, but he stops himself before he even unlocks it. He can’t call 911. If he calls 911, then the 118 will discover what it is he’s been doing...they’ll realize that he’s dangerous, reckless, stupid, for having gotten himself stabbed, and he doesn’t want them to think that. He can’t lose them, not now. So no 911. He’ll be fine. He used to be a medic. He knows how to treat a stab wound. 

He gets into his truck, left hand still firmly pressed to his torso. He fumbles around with the other until he finds a rag on the floor. Not bothering to think about where it might’ve been, Eddie balls it up and presses it as hard as he can into the wound, gritting his teeth to stop from screaming. 

He drives home as carefully as he can, for the most part keeping a hand pressing the rag to his torso, but occasionally having to let go. His lap and seat are coated in sticky blood by the time he gets home. 

For the first time in his life, he’s grateful that Chris isn’t there. There’s no hiding the blood coating his torso, legs, hands… He doesn’t know how he’d even begin to explain this to his son. 

Eddie gets himself inside and into the bathroom, making a pit stop in the kitchen to grab some alcohol first - this isn’t going to be pleasant.

He stands in front of the mirror, dripping blood onto a towel he’d pulled quickly down from the rack. A first aid kit sits open in front of him. He takes a larger-than-probably-necessary sip from the bottle in his hand, then sets it heavily down onto the counter and gets to work. 

First, he has to clean the wound. He grabs a bottle of saline solution, grits his teeth, and pours it onto his torso, hissing at the stinging feeling. 

He waits for the pain from that to subside before starting on the more painful part of the task - the stitches. He pours some hydrogen peroxide over his supplies to make sure they’re clean - this cannot get infected - and then he takes a deep breath and begins. 

In, out, in, out, in, out...it’s not a terribly long wound, which is good, because every stitch feels like getting stabbed again (which it technically is). He’s crying when he ties the thread off, and his hands are beginning to shake. He’s just glad they waited until he didn’t have a needle poking through his skin.

Eddie carefully sticks a gauze pad over the stitches, then gives himself a once-over in the mirror, hoping he’ll be able to say he looks pretty good for a guy that just stitched himself up. 

But he doesn’t. His face is slightly pale and his eyes are red and there’s blood smeared all over his body like paint on a canvas. He can’t go to sleep like this, although sleep is about the only thing he wants to do at the moment. He’s got to clean himself up.

There’s no way he’s getting in the shower with his freshly-done stitches, so he settles for ruining several washcloths, cleaning his body with water from the sink. He can’t get all of the blood, because he can’t quite bend over without his torso pulling in a way that suggests more stitches will be imminent if he keeps doing it. But most of the blood is removed from his body, anyway, which is good enough for him. He strips out of his bloody shorts and puts them, the washcloths, and the towel from under his feet into the trash. He’ll take it out as soon as he gets redressed, so Chris won’t find them. 

He puts on clean pajama pants, not bothering to run the risk of putting on a shirt, and grabs the trash, taking it outside to the can on the curb, pain thrumming through him with every step. That done, he returns to the bathroom and wipes his blood off of the counter, extremely grateful that none had dripped off of the towel and onto the floor. 

He runs a quick check of the house, making sure there’s no blood on any of the floors (there is, but he scuffs a towel over it with his foot, which is not bloodsoaked enough to warrant the trash, but is instead tossed into the washing machine). He locks the doors, triple-checking to make sure they’re secure, and does the same with the windows. He doesn’t particularly think the guy that stabbed him is going to come after again (and even if he wanted to, it’s not like he knows where Eddie lives), but it never hurts to be cautious. 

When all that is done, Eddie finally lets himself sink very carefully into his bed, placing a couple more towels under him in case his wound should start bleeding in his sleep. He prays it won’t. He doesn’t want to have to stitch his skin up again. 

--

He wakes up in the morning, immediately checking himself for blood, which, fortunately, hasn’t seeped out of the gauze. There's a few spots on the gauze itself, but he needs to change it anyway. 

It looks pretty good, Eddie thinks, eyeing the wound in front of the mirror. Not infected, stitches holding...about as good as he can expect. 

He gets dressed, very painfully, and nearly dislocates his arm trying to get his shirt on without causing any stress on his chest. He makes a halfhearted attempt to make himself look like he didn’t just climb out of bed and head straight to work, but that is what he looks like, he’s sure. 

Buck confirms this for him the second he walks through the station doors. “You look like shit, Eddie,” he says, bumping Eddie’s shoulder with his own. 

Eddie gives him a smile that feels more like a grimace. “Overslept,” he says. Buck nods. “Chris was at that sleepover with...oh, what was her name...Olivia? Bet you expected him to wake you up early for breakfast.”

Eddie nods, surprised that Buck remembers where Chris is. He’d ordinarily smile at the fact, but currently can't bring himself to.

They head up the stairs to the loft, Eddie dragging along behind Buck significantly. Every step pulls on his stitches, and he feels like he can literally feel them starting to pull apart. Which he very well could be feeling, he knows. He just hopes he isn’t. They can’t know about this. 

Of course, for them to not know about this, he has to act completely normal. Which is a task far easier said than done. As soon as he steps foot into the loft, Bobby’s tossing a container of oatmeal at him from the kitchen, with instructions to come over and help him out. Eddie catches the container with a barely concealed wince, and reluctantly goes into the kitchen to help Bobby, leaning up against the counter when he can. 

“You okay?” Bobby asks him, as the team settles down to eat breakfast. 

“Yeah,” Eddie says, though it doesn’t sound very convincing, even to his own ears. 

Bobby nods, not pushing the issue. Eddie sees Buck look like he’s about to say something, but Bobby interrupts him by telling everyone what they’ve got on their plates today - cleaning the station. There are general groans from around the table, but Eddie’s never been more excited at the thought of mopping. He’s pretty sure he can do that, but rescuing someone from a burning building might push him a bit too far. 

And if that’s the case, he shouldn’t be here. Not that he should be here anyway, he knows. Ideally, he should be at the hospital. But he can’t be there, and if he’d called in sick today they would have been concerned anyway, and worse, someone might have come over to check on him. So he’s here, gratefully grabbing a mop from the supply closet. 

He turns around, mop in hand, and comes face to face with Buck. 

“Look, I know we’re still...not on the most solid ground,” Buck starts, “but I am sorry, Eddie. I told you why I did what I did, and I understand if it’ll take you some time to process that, but…”

“It’s fine, Buck,” he says, as kindly as he can muster up the energy to do. “Really.” He means it, though he’s pretty sure his words lack the sincerity he feels.

Buck looks at him doubtingly, but after a second he seems to accept that answer, and then, before Eddie can stop him or back away or do anything, Buck’s hugging him tightly around the middle. 

It would be just about the nicest feeling in the world if it didn’t make him want to scream in pain. As it is, he manages to turn the scream into a low groan, muffled into the fabric of Buck’s shirt.

Buck, of course, hears it anyway. He pulls back, arms on Eddie’s shoulders, scrutinizing him. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” Eddie says, trying to sound dismissive. Before Buck can say anything else, he adds, “we really should get to mopping.”

Buck can’t argue with that, so they begin their chore, though Eddie doubts that Buck is going to drop this. 

Fifteen minutes of painful labor later, Eddie’s taking a break (hiding from the torture of the mop) in the locker room. Even the simple task had been absolute hell on his stab wound, and he can feel wetness beginning to seep through the gauze. He’s extremely grateful that his shirt is dark enough to hide the stain that is surely growing on it. 

Knuckles rap at the glass. Eddie starts and stands up, turning around and coming, again, face-to-face with Buck. Can we talk? he mouths, and Eddie can’t exactly say no, so he nods. 

Buck comes into the locker room looking somewhere between hurt and angry. “What’s up with you?” he asks. 

Eddie turns his face away from Buck’s eyes. “Nothing,” he says, and Buck laughs humorlessly. 

“Right, ‘cause that sounds so believable. Eds, you’ve been acting weird all day, you still look like shit even after Bobby’s breakfast, and I’ve caught you wincing at least five times in the past twenty minutes. What’s up?”

Eddie shakes his head. He can’t do this...he can’t let them know. Nobody can know about this side of him, this anger and this pain and this goddamn stab wound…

Which all of a sudden hurts a lot more. Eddie snaps open eyes he hadn’t realized he’d closed and sees Buck’s hand pressing into his torso, not yet touching the wound, but extremely close. 

“Stop,” he whispers, but Buck presses on. 

“Not until you tell me what’s wrong with you,” Buck insists, moving his hand and pressing down directly on top of Eddie’s injury.

He makes a noise like a strangled scream, and Buck pulls his hand away suddenly. “What the hell, Eddie?” he asks, and then he looks at his own hands, which are covered in Eddie’s blood. 

“What...the hell?”

Eddie shakes his head. Buck pushes him down onto a bench, and Eddie goes willingly. Buck pulls his shirt off over his head, jostling his arms, and Eddie doesn’t make a sound. His eyes have gone unfocused and his vision has gone blurry from tears he’s unwilling to let fall, but he can still make out the shape of Buck in front of him, knows what his face looks like without having to see it. Disappointed. Angry. Disgusted. He knows this must be how Buck feels. It’s how he feels.

A hand touches his face, cool and soft, and Buck’s voice sounds much the same when he says Eddie’s name. 

Buck moves his hand back to Eddie’s torso, this time gently touching the skin around the wound, pulling back the gauze carefully. Eddie can’t stop himself from whimpering, which he immediately hates himself for, but Buck doesn’t seem to feel the same way when he apologizes and puts a soothing hand in Eddie’s hair. 

“Eddie. Eddie, can you look at me? Please?”

Eddie focuses his eyes as best as he can and looks at Buck, who is crouched on the floor in front of him. “Eddie, what happened?”

He can’t hide it now...Buck knows, and they’re all going to know, know how weak and angry and in pain he is, and then they are going to hate him for it. 

“Hey, hey, Eddie. It’s okay. I’m not going to be mad at you or anything. I promise. Just please tell me what happened so I know how to help you.”

Buck’s hand is back on his face, brushing away tears that he hadn’t ever wanted Buck to see. He takes in a ragged breath. 

“Got stabbed.”

“Okay,” Buck says. “Okay.”

“I’m sorry,” he says in return. It’s the only thing he can think of to say, and it’s not enough, it’s never enough, he’s never enough…

“You don’t need to be sorry, Eds. I’ve got you. We’ve got you.”

Buck shouts for Hen and Chim, and Eddie hears him explaining to them what’s happened. He tries not to pay attention, tries to ignore their voices. He can’t hear them. Can’t hear what they must think of him.

“Eddie?” 

It’s Chim. He nods in response. 

“We’re gonna take you to the hospital, alright?”

He nods again. He can’t fight them, he knows. He desperately hopes they won’t be too mad at him. “I’m sorry,” he says again. 

“For what?”

It’s Hen this time, and he feels her hand on the back of his neck. He doesn’t reply, and this seems to be fine, because nobody asks him anything else, except for Buck, who asks if he’s ready and doesn’t give him time to answer before they’re all helping him up and onto a gurney, then pushing him into an ambulance. 

Hen’s driving, and Buck and Chim are sitting in the back with him. Chim’s busy being a paramedic, though since Eddie’s already cleaned and stitched the wound there’s not a lot for him to do. He slips a pulse monitor onto Eddie’s finger and asks him how he’s feeling. 

“Fine,” Eddie says, which is the wrong answer, obviously. Chim sighs and asks if he’s sure that he really feels fine, you know, with a stab wound to his torso and all. 

“Fine. It hurts,” Eddie mutters, and Chim says a smug thank you that almost makes Eddie smile. 

Buck grabs his hand from where he’s sitting next to Eddie, holding on tighter than can possibly be necessary, like he’s worried Eddie’s going to just fall away. Eddie wishes he had that kind of power. 

“Will you tell us what happened?” Buck asks. Eddie shakes his head slightly. He can’t talk about it. Or, he can, but he doesn’t want to. Except some part of him does. He doesn’t say anything as he tries to figure that one out. 

“Eddie, listen. I know you’re hurting right now. Because of Shannon, because of Chris, because of me...I know I haven’t been the best friend lately, but I have never stopped caring about you. Whatever happened, you can tell me. I promise I won’t judge you or be mad at you.”

“Same,” Chim adds, putting a hand on Eddie’s shoulder. 

They won’t be mad, Eddie tries to tell himself. They won’t be mad. They won’t be mad. 

“I was street fighting and it went bad,” he says, the words coming out of him in a rush. 

“Okay,” Chim says, with professionalism. Buck, on the other hand, says nothing. He’s looking at Eddie with this unreadable expression on his face and he’s not saying anything, and Eddie thinks that this is it. This is something that can’t be looked past. This is the moment that Buck leaves him, for good. 

“Okay,” Buck agrees, and his grip on Eddie’s hand tightens even more. “Thank you for telling us.”

They arrive at the hospital not ten seconds later, and then Buck, Chim, and Hen are walking beside him on the path to the doors, and when they reach the doors, rather than surrendering him to the doctors and turning around, they follow him in.

A few minutes later the four of them are crammed into a room that’s a little too small for all of them. Eddie’s lying on a table and the others are standing around him, giving the nurse a wide berth but anxiously looking over her shoulders. She’d told them there was no need for surgery and that he hadn’t lost enough blood to be in serious danger. She’d give him an anaesthetic, clean and stitch the wound, and then he’d be kept for observation for a couple hours. She had also pulled the other three away and talked to them about something Eddie hadn’t been able to hear. Him, most likely. 

Buck, Chim, and Hen then clear out for the nurse, who smiles kindly at Eddie and asks whether he’s alright with receiving the local anaesthetic. He’d like to say no, that he’s fine, he’ll tough it out, but he is unfortunately now familiar with the feeling of stitches pulling through his skin, and he accepts the anaesthetic readily.

A few minutes later, he’s been stitched up far better than his at-home job, and he’s lying in a hospital bed trying to argue with the nurse about going home. 

“It really is best if you stay, just until this evening, Mr. Diaz,” she’s saying, and he knows full well she’s right, but he hates it anyway. But Buck and Chim and Hen are standing behind her, eyeing him with looks that leave little point in arguing further. 

He resigns himself to staying in the hospital for a little while. Buck, Chim, and Hen head back to the station and promise to come back as soon as they can. Eddie calls his abuela and asks whether she can pick up Chris from his sleepover. He tells her he’s been hurt on the job, nothing major, and he’ll be home that night. She says she’ll bring Chris by in an hour, and tells him he’d better not think he’s getting away with his shoddy explanation. 

He tries to keep himself occupied as he waits for people to arrive, but time in the hospital passes extraordinarily slowly, and he finds himself bored out of his mind and kind of sleepy. He closes his eyes experimentally and finds it easy to drift off. 

--

He wakes up to voices. Chris and Buck, he realizes, talking very excitedly about a new school project involving plants. Eddie smiles and opens his eyes. 

“Dad!” Chris shouts excitedly, standing up so quickly he about topples over in his haste to give Eddie a hug. Buck catches him before he can fall and reminds him to be gentle, and then Chris is hugging him around the neck and saying he’s so glad he’s okay, and did he hear them talking about the new project? And does he think Buck can come over and help him work on it after school on Monday?

Eddie answers Chris’ questions as well as he can, and Chris seems satisfied with the answers, sinking back into his chair and grinning. Buck gives his hair a tousle and looks at Eddie. “You okay?”

Eddie nods. Now that they’re here, truly, the answer is yes. “I’m sorry,” he says, and he looks Buck straight on, hoping he’ll feel Eddie’s sincerity. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell anyone. I thought it would be fine. I just...I didn’t want you to know.”

“Know what?”

Eddie looks at Chris, who is looking between the two of them somewhat confusedly. He shakes his head. Chris doesn’t need to hear this. 

At just that moment, there’s a knock on the door, and Eddie looks up to see Athena, with Harry and May in tow. “Bobby’ll be here as soon as he can,” she says to him. “And then you and I are going to talk.”

He nods. He’d figured this was coming. He’s just glad she hadn’t said they were going to talk right now. 

“Hey Chris?” Buck asks, and Chris turns to him, grinning. 

“Dad’s really okay?” Chris asks, before Buck can finish his sentence. 

Buck nods. “He’s going to be just fine, I promise,” he says, holding up his hand like he’s swearing it. Chris giggles. 

“Okay, Buck. Then...can I go play with Harry?”

Chris looks imploringly at Buck, then at Eddie, and Eddie catches Harry giving the same look to Athena. All three adults nod, and the two boys head out into the hallway, Athena and May following behind them. May closes the door behind her and smiles at the two of them, almost encouragingly? Which Eddie thinks is a bit odd. He’s broken away from the question by Buck slipping right back into their prior conversation.

“You didn’t want me to know what?” 

Eddie takes a breath in, then turns his gaze to his hands, intertwined atop the blanket. He doesn’t think he can look at Buck while he says this. 

“I didn’t want you to know how much it hurt. How angry I am. I didn’t want to tell you because then you would realize that I’m not enough, that I am angry and hurting all the time, and I’m not worth the trouble. I didn’t want you to know that about me. I didn’t...I didn’t want you to leave me.”

Buck doesn’t say anything. Eddie risks a glance up at him and sees that there are tears in Buck’s eyes. He hates himself for putting them there.

“Oh, Eddie,” Buck says, and his voice is as soft as anything. He grabs Eddie’s hand, rubbing his thumb in circles on the back of it. “Eddie, there is not a thing you could say to me that would make me leave you. That would make me stop loving you. I’m gonna be right here, no matter what. I’ll be here when you’re hurting, angry, upset...I love all of you, Eddie, not just the parts of you that you show to the world. All of you.”

He’s briefly interrupted by a whoop of joy from the hallway, a mix of Harry and Chris. Eddie looks back up at Buck, who’s smiling despite the tears on his face. 

“And all of Chris. I’m not going to leave either of you, Eds. Even if I get mad at you sometimes. Even if I am mad at you for not telling me that you were hurting.”

Eddie’s crying too, now, and he feels Buck’s hand gently grab his chin, lifting his head so they lock eyes. 

“You are more than enough, Eddie. For Chris, for the 118, for me...we all love you. We’re all right here. You don’t need to keep going through all of this alone.”

Eddie nods, feels a sob escape him, and then Buck’s holding him, incredibly gently but still grounding, running fingers through his hair and telling him, over and over, that he is enough. That he is loved. This just makes Eddie cry more, until finally he pushes Buck away, for once wanting to meet his eyes.

“I love you,” he says, and even after everything Buck’s said to him, he panics for a moment and wonders whether this is too much, and then Buck is moving towards him, slowly, looking at him like he wants confirmation that this is what Eddie wants, and of course this is what he wants, of course it is, and it must show in the look that he gives Buck in return, because the distance between them rapidly closes, and then he is kissing Evan Buckley, and Evan Buckley is kissing him. 

“Eww!” 

The two of them break apart in surprise, and Buck laughs softly, resting their foreheads together. The door to the room opens, and Chris, Harry, Athena, and May walk in. 

“Kissing’s gross,” Harry says, and Chris nods. May whacks her little brother on the head. “What?” Harry protests. “It is.”

Eddie looks at Chris, for a second terrified that his son is going to hate him for this, but then Chris gives the most exasperated sigh that Eddie has ever heard come from a child, and he says, “I guess kissing’s okay.” Harry looks at him with betrayal on his face. “It’s still gross, mostly” he reassures, “but it’s not the worst. ‘Specially since we’re at the hospital. You’re supposed to kiss people better.”

Eddie smiles at his son, and he catches Buck doing the same, looking so incredibly happy and bright that it’s damn near painful to look him straight on.

“Yes!” May says suddenly, and she meets the questioning gazes of everyone in the room, looking up from her phone, where she’d been furiously texting. “Hen and Bobby and Dad owe me $20. I owe Chimney $20, too, though.”

Athena gives her daughter a look. “You bet on this?” she asks. 

Eddie feels himself blush, and sees Buck’s cheeks darken, too. Had this been that obvious?

“Mom,” May starts, but Athena interrupts her. “And you lost to Chimney?”

May nods. 

“And so did Bobby.”

Another nod.

“So we collectively owe Chimney $60. I can’t believe it. I swore I’d beat him. Ooh, he is gonna gloat.”

“Athena!” Buck yelps, mock hurt. “You bet on this?”

“It was a matter of time, Buckaroo.”

Buck smiles at her, and then turns his face back to Eddie. “A matter of time, huh?”

Eddie nods. “Apparently so.”

aghhhh thanks so much for reading this!!! i had literally the best time writing it and i hope you enjoyed!!!

#febuwhump2021 #febuwhumpday13 #hiding injury #911 #eddie diaz #hidden injury #field medicine #kinda #stabbed #hospital #cared for #my writing #i say things

[curious-menace]

Have I really ever requested one thing of you (the pegging telltale Riddler h/c)? Time to change that; let's see how the Eddies would respond to being told by their partner that they're a "bad boy" and "need to be punishment" (sexually, of course) - Pegging Anon.

I really enjoy these kinds of asks. honestly just give me a blank check for mayhem, unleash me upon the riddlers like a plague of locusts 

nsfw below the cut

Arkham! Riddler

please be careful with this riddler. He has problems reading peoples tone and if he thinks youre angry at him you're liable to send him into a panic.

he really doesn't like dirty talk. dont call him a slut or a whore or anything like that. Not only is it demeaning and humiliating( 2 things this riddler doesnt deal well with) its just a terrible way to get him to do what you want.

again, the idea of punishment in a sexy setting is a turn off for him. He’s afraid of being strangled or choked and he doesn't find being hit sexy.

to put it simply, this riddler reacts better to the carrot than the stick. if you want a good reaction out of him, praise and affection work better. call him a good boy, give him pets and rewards. 

IF you were to coax him into it, safeword, soft restraints and reassuring from you that everything will be ok, he’ll still probably cry. he might enjoy himself but the emotional stress will still leave him in an utter state.

i know some people use BDSM to cope with trauma but maybe dont try this on him. pitch the idea and let him mull it over. dont bring it up more than once or twice and let him decide

he always needs a lot of aftercare. he needs to be constantly reassured, not just after sex, that you love him , that he’s done well. lots of kisses and soft words and let him rest from the heavy stuff for a little while. 

Blacklight riddler

another riddler you need to tread carefully with. he’s a kinky shit but like...a soft kinky shit who bruises easily.

He wont need coaxing. its either a hell yes or a hell no and you shouldn't push that. He likes sex games but he’s got trauma, sometimes something that was fine yesterday is triggering today so please be gentle and respectful with him.

He doesnt mind being called a bad boy, just not too often. mix it up and don't patronise him all the time . you can tell him off without treating him like a kid. 

he likes edging and orgasm denial as a punishment. just dont ruin his orgasm or he wont let you do it again. 

please don't ever hit him during sex. a playful thump on the arm when he’s telling a bad joke is one thing but if you touch him roughly during the act, even if he knows its coming, he finds it triggering. 

He’s pretty exclusively a sub but don't think that means he’s into punishment all the time. mostly he just likes his dominant to take care of him.

BTAS Riddler

i feel like it would throw him for a loop. he’d be confused as all hell, even if you said it in a sexy voice he might not get the message.

 he’d probably scoff at the idea. the notion that he’s anything other than perfect is laughable. he’s certainly not some sort of bad boy. you should sit on his lap and get him on the same page as you. watch his mouth go dry and his eyes go wide as you explain all the things you're going to do to him for being bad. he’ll do his best to stay composed but we both know its you who’d be wearing the pants by the end of the conversation. 

he’d want to be tied up. he’ll be gibbering and rambling the entire time, desperately trying to stay in control of the situation.  He’ll try to do things for you but a gentle reminder that you’re in control and if he doesn't anything he’ll be punished more will have him biting his tongue. 

I think humiliation works best on this one. im imagining something with rope or his suits since he’s so fond of them. maybe try and make him cum while still clothed? maybe some shibari under his suit jacket? i’ll let you decide. 

he doesnt have a safeword bc he thinks its strictly a bdsm thing and refuses to admit he’s into that. he prefers to use the traffic light system. although you probably had to teach him that. before hand he was using some nonsense riddler made system involving humming different songs. ode to joy for fun/keep going and  vivaldi winter for slow down.  you will have to gently explain what a batshit insane idea that was. 

Original Riddler

I imagine he’d be into it, moreso initially than the others. He doesnt have so much emotional baggage and he’s game to try anything once. 

I dont know if he’d find the idea of punishment sexy but he’ll try it for you. he’d probably just prefer you to frame it as impact play or degradation or whatever “just because” you wanna try it. something about it being a meant as a punishment just seems weird to him 

he does like being called names but in a cute playful way. he’s not liable to take offence at anything you say, inside or outside the bedroom but digs at his appearance do sting a little. even if youre “in character” so to speak when you say them. just reassure him after that you dont really think those things.

He’s one of the tallest riddlers and also has zero shame so you’ll need to be inventive when thinking of punishments. tying him up could actually hurt him with his circulation, he runs around in glittery spandex all day anyway so good luck trying to humiliate him. 

Because he is so tall and strong, its hard to hurt him. you could try spanking him, ask him to count out the spanks and listen as his voice gets higher and more unsteady with each one. 

actually in that note and given his penchant for dress up maybe you could try sub/dom roleplay? pretend you're a doctor/nurse or something and you're punishing him for his bad diet? if the punishment thing doesn't work out at least you’ll both get a giggle out of it. 

Telltale Riddler

Oh he is absolutely going to fight you on this one “i think YOU'RE the one who needs punishing , love.” . if you want to punish him you’ll have to fight for that right

he’s never really subbed before he met you. He’s happy to show you how to punish a sub but he really needs practice letting someone else hold the reins.

he pretends he doesn't like dirty talk. if you get him riled up and start whispering filthy things in his ear he’s going to melt a little. 

I cant think of a specific he’d like or something he’d find egregiously offensive, so i think you've got a blank cheque for mayhem here. do what you like and he’ll tell you then and there if he’s into it or not.  

but no blinders or restraints though. he’s claustrophobic after being in that icebox. He IS an escapartist mind you. even if you put him in something he’ll have wiggled out of it before you can blink . he MIGHT tolerate something just there for aesthetics or because the fabric feels nice, like maybe his tie or your hair bow tied loosely around his arms.

in the same vein, he’s sensitive so maybe you could lightly torture him with some sensory stuff. ice cubes or wax play?

Zero year Riddler

i Cannot stress to you enough what a horny fuck this one is. at the mere MENTION of sexy punishment he’s like “oh yes punish me ive been bad “ wiggling his ass in the air like a target. will call you Daddy regardless of your gender because we all know he has  issues. 

He’s 100 percent going to lean into it, goad you and taunt you to punish him more, get angrier or hit him harder. he gets off on the pain, yes but he also just really enjoys being an insufferable shit. 

“EDWARD THIS IS PUNISHMENT YOU ARENT SUPPOSED TO ENJOY IT” - you, probably. 

i dont think the traditional sexy punishment things will work on this one. youre going to have to get creative. like tell him you are in charge of his wardrobe and death traps for the week. 

something that MIGHT work would be forcing him to wear a toy or even just some lingerie under his suit. He’s going to be embarrassed as all hell because this riddler is a big buff cheeto puff who takes his appearance seriously. BUT he cant deny the thrill of maybe the lace poking out over his waist band when he bends or the outline of a bralette being seen under his shirt, isnt a little arousing.

please dont be surprised when he turns around a week later and pulls this exact same shit on you. 

there you go nonnie !  this one was quite a lot of fun! i have a rule of trying not to write more than 6 points for each but it was hard to compress down this time around. so much variety in personality and temperament in the one character there's a lot to write about 

got something you wana talk about? send me an ask or a dm! im always game to talk about our favorite curious menace 💚💜

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