#it really might have been the damn toothpaste-shopping

[here4theheartbreak]

I DID SEE THEM DO THE CHALLENGE WITH MINHO!! I LOVE IT WHEN WORLDS COLLIDE. Also, I read that Minho's dad knows San's dad?? San's dad knows everyone, it's insane. He must be the most connected man in Namhae. Anyway, I Ioooooove that Ateez do all these challenges now. 🧡🧡🧡

HELLO?? WOO AS THE K-DRAMA ROOKIE WHO DESTROYS THE VITAL EVIDENCE?? Yessss, please. It'd be so funny though. He'd play it so well. I want ittttttt!

The fancall was so sweet! San let him talk and he listened really well, just like he does with every other fan telling him something important. A whole king. But, really, I suppose he's just an actually decent man! 🌸👑

Definitely! Fans of boy groups are 'expected' to be girls/women. I think this might be a bit different when these groups go on tour in the rest of the world. Here in Europe, while the majority are still girls and women there's quite a lot of boys and men too. And everyone just blends in/together. So, I think these groups kind of get used to seeing and interacting more with male fans outside of SK at least. So, they become a little less of a 'novelty'.

Oh, yeah! There's no gendering in Ateez songs, I always forget that but it's true! And they change words when they do covers. I love it so much. 🩷

I agree. In the past, I have definitely seen interactions between male idols and male fans that are just kind of... uncomfortable viewing. So, I can't even imagine what that would feel like to be that person. Or to be someone who is a fan of that idol, and be male, or transmasc, or anything that isn't, once again, 'expected'. Even for me, I find it very off-putting? Unnerving? Uncomfortable?

I'm so glad you found comfort in the call and in San's responses and interactions! 🥺 Like you say, he didn't know it would end up online, he was just focused on the person that he was speaking too.

And you are SO RIGHT about how easy it is to say 'equal rights', and donate to charities. It's so broad and impersonal??? Literal homophobes/transphobes could do it without blinking. This kind of stuff, these ground level, one to one, interactions actually matter because they SHOW YOU what's real. I know people say music is just music blah blah blah. But K-pop is sold to us as a package - music, content, fashion, makeup, culture, dance, their actual personalities. So, I always try and determine how 'safe' a group is before I get into them properly. I really don't want to support someone, or give someone that much of my attention, if I don't think they'd actually have my back in a bad situation. And no other group has nailed that for me like Ateez has. And I mean that sincerely. I've been a fan for how long now? Over four and a half years? And not ONCE has a single member made me unsure or made me doubt anything.

It's like how Hongjoong was wearing his little LGBT keychain thing on his trousers in that vlog with his brother in Spain. He didn't know anyone would see it. It was only visible because he happened to try clothes on in a shop and he took his cardigan off. That's the energy I need. Consistent. Personal. Real.

And those few anti-lgbt atiny will say 'what else are they gonna say, they have to be nice to you' until the cows come home. BUT Hongjoong doesn't have to keep wearing that rainbow keychain. Seonghwa didn't have to show everyone that LGBT pride edition toothpaste that he owned and make a coming out quip. Yunho didn't have to tell a fan 'love is love, it doesn't matter with who, as long as you're happy in your heart'. Yeosang didn't have to personally reply to that tweet where an Atiny had put bisexual flags on his and Wooyoung's cheeks and call them '친구 에이티니'. Mingi didn't have to be so damn serious when he said 'thats not legally possible' because that fan jokingly asked when he was marrying Yunho. Sannie didn't have to be so attentive and kind on that fan call. Wooyoung didn't have to encourage (or be so invested in) that male fan when he told him he wanted to ask his male work colleague out. Jongho doesn't have to use these hearts, in this exact order, so often '❤️🧡💛💚💙💜'. All of these examples are things they didn't HAVE to do. They were completely unsolicited. No one at the company made them do any of these things. So, honestly, screw those (few) dumb fuckers who are convinced that people see support that's not there. I've never seen more heartfelt support from an entire group. Be queer, smash the system, stan Ateez. ✊🏴‍☠️🌈

/end rant.

Seonghwa won't invest in a lock to keep San out because as much as he hates it he loves it. He's always soooooo desperate to be 'WooSanHwa'. The way he flipped the pillow over when he remade the bed though. I think he just gets up in the morning and expects San to arrive at some point. 😭🤣

ALSO this competition everyone is currently involved in to try and be Yeosang's favourite?? Why is the battle this fierce? Why is this an actual thing? How did Yeosang become SO powerful? IT'S INCREDIBLE. Hats off to the man. He's got the whole group clammering and competing to be his favourite. It's like the hunger games.

Yessss. Promotions have been a blast! I'm glad you had fun with it, especially of it's been a while! 💚🥺

You're welcome for the link! 💮🧡

OH, DID YOU SEE BABY CLOUD ARIN DOING THE BOUNCY CHALLENGE BUT, MORE IMPORTANTLY, SAYING SHE MISSES UNCLE WOOYOUNG?? DID YOU SEE HE LEFT HER A REPLY/COMMENT?? I CAN'TTTTTTTTT.

ㅠㅠㅠㅠㅠㅠ

Eep! My stack of albums finally arrived and I got a couple more cards I wanted! And am trading for a few that I want (bread San V_V Please - but my friend collects Mingi so a trade worked; and then I’m hunting desperately for peeking WooSan - I will own those two I swear 😩 - but anyways, these were my pulls for all my Outlaw albums ^_^ (Unless I am weak and spot a copy still in stock at our Target or B&N or sth).

Honestly tho - you say a king but just a decent man - but let’s be so blunt here; when it comes to celebrities, it really does feel like decency like this is rare enough that it is shocking and amazing. It sucks that it is, but it’s really nice to find folks who are. One of those expect nothing to the worst so you’re pleasantly surprised when you get the best type things.

Gendering - It’s one of the biggest things that bugs me in a lot of kpop - some songs do require gendered terms, I acknowledge that, and I know that they are playing to the majority of their audience; if you’re singing a song that says idk, be my girlfriend - then okay, yeah - you need to use a gendered term (Replay lol - comes to mind - though we all cringe a little over it lbvs - SHINee included 🤣) — but for the most part, you can manage a lot of “love” songs without actually using any form of gendered term in Korean? Like it seems very easy to keep general lyrics pretty neutral. And most of the time, when groups do use a gendered term, they’re sticking the english word “girl” into a lyric that… Really doesn’t need it? Esp when it’s not a love song (which I usually don’t love anyways) - but like, in the fan songs it particularly drives me up a wall - because it’s one of those things that I think unfortunately just alienates a group of fans (a small group but still).

And agreed relating to male fans - a lot of the times it’s “X from Group B surprised by male fan!” for like, concert clips or fansign videos, etc on YT and just… ??? Maybe don’t? Or when the members actually make a comment about it that doesn’t seem… Idk, they seem confused or less relaxed by it? I obvi don’t speak for everyone who has a male/masculine/transmasc identity - but for me it feels super uncomfortable, can’t I just be a person who is a fan of a group of performers? I feel far less welcome - not even just in fandom - but specifically by the member(s) that responded in that manner. (I will give OnlyOneOf massive props for that here as well. Obvi they’re a really supportive group overall, but it was really telling seeing firsthand how they treated male presenting vs female presenting vs androgynous fans (the answer is all the same. Zero hesitation to hug or chat with anyone regardless of the fans presenting gender or age and that was wild to me.) - And I would hazard that Ateez would probably be similar in that situation; I hope to find out for myself if it’s true one day V_V.

And yeah, no, you and I are super similar when it comes to our opinions on kpop. I vet potential new groups intensely before deciding to get into them. Obvi the broad you know, how old are they, what company are they under, what type of music - but then the much deeper - how many scandals have they had, what are those scandals, how did they deal with the actually problematic ones (like - dating scandals, idgaf, that’s stupid - but like, bullying, or CA, etc — I want to know exactly how they responded and how often it’s happened), do they have deep associations with x or y particularly disgusting people, etc. 🤣 My investigative skills are well honed.

But it’s because you’re exactly right - kpop is meant to be a parasocial type relationship that you as a fan are invested in. You should be interested in their personalities and what brands they promote and what charities they talk about, hell they do lives for their birthdays ffs. Ofc people do sometimes take it too far and that’s a problem - but I also acknowledge that it’s a part of the culture of kpop that you are meant to feel like you know them (or at least the persona they’ve created for their group) - and for me, that means expecting them or that persona to not be a horribly toxic human being.

Realistically - with a solid majority of the groups I like, it’s less “they’ve not done anything wrong” and more “I’ve excused x or y because it’s likely due to culture, age, etc” - I’ve had to make so many allowances for certain things just because I genuinely don’t know how many groups I’d have if I didn’t, and that’s ridiculous. So frankly when I was doing the vetting for Ateez and realized that I could only find a singular big issue - that was dealt with perfectly not only by the company but also the member in question - I was very confused. I kept digging trying to find something else because the thought that a group that’s been active for a handful of years hasn’t had anything - I mean these guys don’t even have an “oh they didn’t censor themselves in a rap song” type scandal which I pretty much expect when it comes to rappers in groups and don’t think much of esp if it was when they were much younger. — But nothing? At all? Are they real?? I remember asking the friend that showed me them - have they ever done something wrong?? All I can find is this one thing and then a bunch of just - general anti-fans from other groups doing their regular trolling. (She cracked up at that tho - said no, they’re one of the squeakiest boy groups around it feels like - and I agree - even their company passes so many bars that I’ve have had to just completely give up for other groups (even indie groups) - how tf??)

I usually take fan interactions with a grain of salt, bc they’re secondhand accounts, usually like - oh we met and he did/said this — that’s great, but I also know that that can be spun to make the person not look so bad. But actual video evidence - that’s not going to be spun. Not when you can see the idol’s expressions, watch how they process what’s being said, hear their responses, etc and - frankly - I’m socially anxious spectrum person from the queer community with a decade of psychology training, I know how to read expressions and body language, I have learned that skill for decades. THAT is the real indicator. And I was perfectly happy accepting this group as being supportive without that video evidence but honestly seeing it is so much more real, it’s that physical proof that I almost never get.

And all the evidence you listed as well, 99% of it - if they’d responded in a more neutral way, say, - Mingi making some joke instead of getting serious; Seonghwa saying he bought the toothpaste bc he thought it was pretty (or not commenting at all about what it meant); being far less invested (both San and Woo) with their male fans, just smiling and saying something general and nice.. All San had to say was thank you to that fan, and it would have made his day - but instead he took the time to respond thoughtfully and positively in a way that showed he listened and understood. — Nothing bad would have happened if they’d been more neutral. Nobody would’ve called them homophobes, horrible people, etc - because they would be acting like 90% of the groups out there, no active, open support or dislike, just neutrality. So the whole “they have to do it” - they really don’t, because they could be entirely neutral about things with no backlash. (Honestly probably would have had less backlash by remaining neutral because I’m sure anti-lgbt+ fans aren’t delighted by the support at all, and I wouldn’t be shocked if they lost a few fans over that support). They chose to be that supportive presence - the whole group, not just 1 or 2 nice members, but overall, they as a group have made that choice and that means something.

Adding into general support - the comment about how their group color should be rainbow when asked about official colors as well; and their whole subtle rainbow agenda during their Thanxx stages.

I’d also like to point out that it’s consistent. It’s not 1 or 2 times they were supportive and the rest is just meh, neutral. They’ve been consistent in this behavior for a long while. I just finished their pre-debut reality show actually, and couldn’t help but notice that during their improv class - they changed the genders, rather than playing a girl/boy - they played boyfriends; and instead of a girl bringing her boyfriend home to her parents, it was a boy bringing a boy home to his dads — Sure, it’s easy to say oh they just didn’t want to play girls, but that’s sort of a kpop thing it seems? Every group does that (and they’ve played girl roles in other shows so it isn’t that.) And when they were showing their first fanmeet - I noticed the camera showing male fans which, unless it’s an American or European program filming sth for kpop, I don’t think I’ve ever seen? I noticed hello82 doing it as well, but assumed since that’s an LA based company it was bc of that, but their pre debut show was headed by their own company iirc? - Which tells damn near all I need to know, and it’s all good.

(I could rant about this for hours because it’s just so damn nice to see so you’re not alone there lol)

Yeosang is adorable and should be everyone’s favorite, he’s just too sweet 😭It’s fierce because he’s a shy little guy and everyone’s gonna do everything they can to make him laugh 😂 - I adore him to pieces, I mean - I’m biased given my biases — but even before they were, he was absolutely one of the first members I noticed. He’s so cute and how someone that strong can simultaneously be so tiny - it is magic. Truly, he’s a wizard lol. He has every single member (and a solid chunk of the fanbase) absolutely smitten and whipped by him and nobody’s upset about it lmao.

I DID SEE ARIN, my God😭 - my heart genuinely needs a break from the cute with those kids. If they don’t have at least Woo back on the show soon I might implode (tho if it was just Woo the siblings would be upset, so I think they HAVE to bring back all of them. Or just hand the whole group over to the kids for a day. Jaeyul would be able to keep most of them plenty busy just by himself 🥹

#answered #ask #daegu-flowjob

[after-witch]

Sweet Escape [Yandere Overhaul x Reader]

Title: Sweet Escape [Yandere Overhaul x Reader]

Synopsis: Escape isn’t easy. Nor is it very long-lasting. When Overhaul’s men drag you back into captivity, you brace yourself and wait for what your captor will do with you. 

Word Count: 7,592

Notes: yandere, kidnapped, humiliation, degradation, mentions of eating disorder behavior, improper use of household cleaning products, Overhaul is a mean man 90% of this fic is just Overhaul being an asshole to you

There are going to be bruises on your shoulders. Fingerprint shaped bruises from the men holding you steady, afraid that you'll try to sprint off--maybe afraid that you'll try to spring at their boss, disobedient, unruly possession that you are.

You know that Overhaul won't like it when he eventually sees those black-and-blue fingerprints marring your skin--he might kill them for it, or worse. They're digging in too hard, but you don't warn them to ease up lest they find themselves on the wrong end of Overhaul's hands; they brought you back to this place, after all, and they deserve nothing but your hot, raw contempt.

You could run. You could slip out of their grip, if you put your mind to it. Your clothes are wet and the medical table that you're sitting on is slippery from the rainwater that's dripped out from your soaked clothes. But Chisaki Kai--no, Overhaul, you remind yourself, for the energy he’s exuding now is very much that of a foreboding boss--is standing in front of you, and you'd never make it to the doorway.

"Leave us," Overhaul says, not bothering to move as the men gripping your shoulders release their painful hold and swiftly leave the room. He tears off a sanitizing wipe from the ever-present canister on his desk and wipes down the doorknobs that they touched, before locking the door. An unnecessary precaution, given your nerves, given your state, given your realization that your escape attempt was a massive fluke that would never be allowed to happen again.

You numbly watch as he gathers up supplies from around the makeshift clinic he'd created in the small suite of rooms he allowed you to exist in. The canister of disinfectant. Medical-grade soaps. Sponges. A bucket. Needles, needles, needles... you remember the feel of the syringe you'd stolen in your hand and distract yourself from the fear of what he's going to do to you by retracing the steps of the past day.

**

You got farther than you thought you would--really, you did. At every stage of your plan, you expected Chisaki to suddenly reveal that he knew every step you'd taken so far. That he'd catalogued every act of false obedience to lure him into relaxing the rules, that he saw you swipe the syringe of tranquilizer from the clinic when he'd left for a moment to grab a fresh pair of clothes for you, that he knew you asked to sit with him at his desk only to sneak a glance at his calendar, so you could sweetly plead for an afternoon in the garden when he would be busy, when he would surely ask a highly trusted subordinate to watch over you.

A highly trusted subordinate who knew all about your weeks of good, sweet behavior and who was none the wiser when you'd jabbed him with the syringe, plunging the medicine, the same kind your captor once used to 'calm you down' when you were having fits, right into the man’s thigh. 

You didn't hesitate: you'd dipped your hands into the man's pockets, pulled out his wallet and ran. You barely remember anything until you were in the forest--you vaguely remember using the key card to open the gates surrounding the base, you remember the fear that at any moment you would hear an alarm sound; but from there, everything was a blur as you sped into the forest wearing only the soft day shoes you'd been given to go outside.

You made it through the forest, though not without bumps and cuts and sore feet and a dimly throbbing ankle that was thankfully only turned. You ran until you reached a small town, one you'd never been in before. You buried your first instinct deep, deep, deep: do not contact the authorities. Who knows what connections Overhaul had, especially in a town so close to where he operated? So instead you waltzed into a little corner shop and made a beeline for the bathroom--where you promptly vomited out your breakfast as all of the anxiety and fear and adrenaline caught up with you in an instant.

You remember staring into the bathroom mirror afterwards, your face cold with splashed water. It was then, staring into your pale and anxious face, a face you hadn’t been allowed to see in a mirror for ages, that you felt freedom slamming back into you. You could do what you wanted, now. You were going to get your life back. You could make your own schedule and have your own hobbies back and eat what you wanted and--your stomach had gurgled, as if on cue. You had to get something to eat. But how would you pay?

The wallet you'd pilfered felt heavy in your pocket, and you opened it without a second thought. No cash. But a credit card. It would do, until you were able to get some cash of your own. You wandered back into the shop and even now, you can still feel how struck you were by how cozy, how nice, how different it felt. Just a small general store with big open windows and soft music in the background, and an old woman behind the register who immediately asked you if you needed any help finding this or that.

You smiled--a real smile, how nice that felt--and shook your head and loaded up a basket. A first-aid kit, a large water bottle, a toothbrush and toothpaste... then came the snacks. Candy. Chips. Soda. Things you hadn't tasted in so long. You even grabbed a pointless fashion magazine. The old woman had glanced at the name on the card and you offered a sheepish smile, a fake one that made you feel a pang of guilt for lying to her: "My boyfriend sent me to do the shopping. He's no good at this stuff." She'd smiled and nodded, oh I understand dear, before packing up your order.

You stepped out into the sunshine--you can't pretend like you remember how it feels, right now, shivering from the damp rain on this table--and took a deep breath of fresh air. It smelled crisp and sweet and clean. Not the sterile cleanliness of your captor's clinic, but truly pure--real. There was a slight tinge to the air, and you spotted grey clouds on the horizon. Not an omen, no: just another sign that you were outside, you were in nature, you were free. The smell was the promise of thunder, of electricity, of cool rain.

It also smelled like... well, lunch. Or more precisely, you smelled the vague scents of the little pizza shop a few shops down.

And here is where you made, looking back, your biggest mistake. You should have headed to a bus station. Or called for a taxi. You should have gotten the hell out of there right that second. But your mind flashed back to Overhaul's little calendar, the words printed neatly in the little square for today: he would be away until the evening, which meant you (surely, surely) had a few more hours before he came back and discovered your escape.

He’d ordered no one to bother you and your now-unconscious guard in the garden, so if no one saw you run out, then an alarm certainly wouldn’t raised for a while. You had time, didn't you? Time to grab a meal? You could always get it to go, and you could even ask an employee inside about buses or taxes. Yes, it was fine--you would get a few slices to go and hop on a bus and leave forever. More than that, it was practical. You needed energy, and the junk in your bag--while undoubtedly delicious--wasn't going to be enough to sustain you for long.

The door to the pizza place dinged when you entered, and you almost teared up at the normality of it. It was a buffet style place, with rows of pizzas under yellow-cast lights and rows of red booths and people lifting slices onto their plates with shared tongs. Unusual for a small town, but maybe it was a remnant from a more bustling time, when American-style pizza places were all the rage. For a moment, your thoughts had turned back to your captivity: Overhaul would have never set foot into a place like this--nor would he have let you. Germs, germs, everywhere. And you loved it.

You paid with the card, but there was no need for excuses this time--the young man behind the register didn't even check for a name or signature, much less ask for identification. You asked about a to-go box and he'd shrugged, mumbled out an apology--they didn't do that here. You have to eat inside.

For a moment, the rational part of your mind screamed: get the hell out of here, then! But your stomach growled, and hunger beckoned, and damn if that row of glistening pizza slices didn't make you want to eat. And eat.  And… eat. You shoved repressed thoughts deep down, your heart hammering all the while, and took a tentative step towards the buffet. Thunder rumbled as you debated. You could be out of here in... 30 minutes? Enough time to eat--to binge, your mind whispered, you can now--and maybe get it out after? Yes, it would be fine. (It would not. Future you, the one sitting on the table and watching in increasing anxiety as Overhaul finishes up his tasks, wishes she could tell you.)

You should have seen the start of the rain, sudden and relentless, as a bad sign. Instead you ignored it and filled up a large cup with diet soda that spilled a little when you forgot to let go of the button. You ate without thinking, not even really enjoying the taste of the first greasy pizza slices you’d had in ages.

You were on your fifth slice when the restaurant doors dinged, but the sense of small town charm was overrun by the immediate realization that you were caught. You were fucked. The air thickened--were you the only one to notice?--as two men in slim suits entered the restaurant with an air of immediacy. You were spotted in a second, if that. You thought about running.

But then you thought about the bored teenager behind the register and the old man cutting up his wife's pizza slices because she had trouble chewing and the little girl stacking up pepperonis while her mom chatted on the phone and you resigned yourself. You didn’t want anyone else to get hurt…even if it meant giving in. You didn't struggle, couldn't struggle, and let them lead you swiftly outside where the torrent of rain soaked you immediately  as they pushed you down the block, where an unmarked car waited. You glanced up helplessly as the cloudy sky and rain streamed down your face before you were unceremoniously pushed into the backseat.

Overhaul was sitting inside, staring at you with an intensity you've never seen before.

**

Your backpack drops with a thump next to you and you flinch out of your memories.

"Let's see what you bought with that stolen card during your little adventure."  His voice is deceptively calm. He must be furious with you, you think. And you can't believe you didn't think about credit fraud alerts before you used the damn card.

The noise of the zipper is thunderous and you scoot yourself back on the exam table, pressing against the wall to put a little more room--even if it's only inches--between you and your captor. He begins to pull everything out of the bag, one by one, and seeing it all lined up makes it clear what type of lecture is coming.

A few bags of chips, a bottle of soda, bars of chocolate, all junk, junk, junk. All food he would never permit you to eat, and certainly not in such quantities.

"Disgusting," he murmurs, before tossing each item into a trash bin kept against the wall, one by one. You cringe at the sound of each bag, each bottle, hitting the bottom of the trash. You didn't even get to taste them. He stares at the trash, eyes narrowed, as if the food itself was worthy of his venom. "Full of unnecessary sugars and fats and oils. Eating so much of this will make you sick. We've talked about this."

You say nothing. You press your lips together. You won't give him the satisfaction of argument. You won't let him pretend like he has any right to lecture you on what you eat, and certainly not what you eat after you've escaped (however briefly) from his clutches.

"At least you didn't have time to ingest them during your ill-planned escape, hm?" He replaces his previous gloves--tainted with the thought of germs on the junk food bags, no doubt--and your stomach flips at the sound of the medical gloves he's snapped on in their place. "Which is more than I can say for the pizza." You never knew someone could say pizza with such a ridiculously nasty tone, but you've learned a lot of things during your captivity.

"You weren't content with this junk hoard," he says, gesturing towards the trash while keeping his eyes firmly on you. "You had to gorge yourself on greasy pizza from a dirty buffet, too? We are going to clean your mouth out, by the way.”

You hate the way he says gorge--you hate the way he says greasy--you hate the anxiety that comes with wondering what he’ll do to ‘clean’ your mouth. You hate him, you hate him, you hate him. The hate makes you answer defensively, despite your earlier resolution to stay quiet. You can't help yourself, in a lot of ways.

"I was hungry," you say, still feeling defiant.

"No one working on their fifth slice of pizza is hungry," he answers, simply. You feel diminished, but not enough to shut you up.

"So? It's not your business what I eat anyway.” A familiar tightness is springing to your throat. You don't want to cry in front of him ever again, so you clip the words out, fighting to retain control.

He presses a fist to his forehead in a sudden, rather surprising show of frustration. "Not my business? Not my business? It's my business to take care of you. Do you have any idea what could have happened to you out there?"

The fullness in your stomach, the cold rain soaking you, the remembrance of the wind and branches lashing at you as you ran hours before, all these freedoms have made you feel bold. Or maybe you're succumbing to the effects of an adrenaline crash and you just can't control your mouth.

"I could have been free. You can’t--you can't just keep me here. You can't just kidnap someone and decide you know what's best for them."

There's a long, steady pause as he stares at you. His expression--what you can see from his eyes--is blank, and you almost wonder if perhaps you've stumped him.

"I can," he says, lightly. Easily.

Fucker.

He sighs, and you get the distinct impression that you’re a nuisance, something to deal with, something he’s having to deal with instead of doing far more important things. "You’re showing a severe lack of appreciation for all the work I do to take care of you."

You don't know how to respond to that. "You kidnapped me.” It’s all you can think of--the bare truth.

He doesn't speak at first. Then he lifts something from the supply tray he's set up--a blue hospital gown, thin and short, and tosses it towards you. You catch it instinctively, feeling the thin, feather-light material in your fingers. He tosses a towel, next, and you hold it against your damp chest. He turns around.

"Change."

You don't want to. You don't want to. But you've never pressed your luck on what would happen if you refused to get dressed before, afraid that he might do it himself, and that fear overrides any thoughts of outright rebellion. For now. You slide off your wet clothes and push them towards the end of the table, then use the towel to dry off your skin. There are scratches and bruises, including a nasty looking one that's already turning green on your ankle. Your feet are swollen from running on the hard forest floor with your thin day shoes.

When you're finished, you clear your throat, and he turns back around. He tosses your wet clothes right into the trash--damn, you liked that shirt--and wipes off the table with a separate towel. You sit, legs dangling off the table, and wish he'd just get the punishment or examination or whatever it is he has planned over with. You can feel the coldness of the table through the medical gown, and its thinness makes you feel even more helpless. Weak. You want to retain that feeling of freedom that you had earlier in the day. Even choosing to return without a fight, choosing to avoid hurting the innocent people in that town, made you feel bold.

He stands in front of you until you force yourself to look up, to get it over with. He's swapped out his mask for a medical one.

"Have I ever hurt you?"

You hate this.

"No," you admit, voice tight. "Not physically," you add spitefully, because fuck him for trying to make himself sound like a decent person because he kidnapped you but didn't happen to hit you.

"Do I take care of you?" His tone is firm, commanding. It leaves no room for silences. Instead, it makes your stomach feel light, makes your heart feel like it wants to race.

"I can do that on my own," you counter.

"Can you?" He says, voice dripping in condescension.

"Yes," you spite, bile rising into your throat. "I can take care of myself."

He reaches back and grabs the little stool he keeps in this room, rolling it up to rest in front of the table and in front of you. He sits down and cups his hands together, resting them on his thigh. He leans forward. An easy gesture. Like he wants to have a conversation. But something about his movements sends out warning signals. Big, glaring, flashing warning lights that scream DANGER.

“You can take care of yourself.” It’s a statement, yet the way he says it is brutally mocking.

“I can,” you insist, your voice cracking just the slightest bit under his gaze.

"So, where would you live?" He watches you intently and it takes a moment for you to realize what he just asked you. He isn't offering you freedom, no. But maybe you can win an argument, just this once, and forcibly stop his delusions that he's "taking care of you."

"Anywhere," you say, but he looks unimpressed. "An apartment," you correct. "Like my old one. Doesn't have to be big." Your heart pangs with nostalgia for your old place, for your independence, for your life.

"Ah." Overhaul brings a gloved finger up to his chin and rests is there, nodding, as if he's seriously considering your words. "And how will you pay for rent at this apartment?"

You can't resist the snarky tone. "A job."

He rests both hands on his thighs. "Tell me, how much did you make at your last job, again? No--tell me, how long did you hold your last job?" You cross your arms defensively around your waist as he continues. "If I recall correctly, you were fired rather quickly from that one... and the one before."

You squeeze your waist, hoping for the tiniest bit of comfort from the gesture. "I... it wasn’t my fault.” You feel like you’re under a magnifying glass. “The first time. And the second, well, I was looking for something better, anyway."

He raises his eyebrows, curious. "Looking where? At the bottom of a bottle?"

Your entire body tenses.

"After all," he continues, voice almost taking on a syrupy sweet tone. "Your fridge was so well-stocked with them. Hmm. Do you think it's responsible to spend so much money on alcohol when you're behind on rent payments?"

"No," you say, voice tighter, "But--"

He doesn't give you a chance to finish. He stands, and you immediately squeeze your arms again. "And how much were you spending on other luxuries? Those clothes you kept carelessly shoved in your closet... they were a name brand, weren't they?"

Your throat is dry and your mouth is dry and you lick your lips. "There were sales," you insist.

"Ohh," he says, his voice lifting in mockery. "And I bet there were sales on the jewelry, the trinkets, the--" his eyes drift upwards, an implication of his disdain, "--figurines."

You lift your chin in defiance. "I'm allowed to buy things that I like."

He begins to pace. Not aimlessly, no, nothing with him is ever aimless. He paces until he stops in front of you, turning to face you for effect.

"What happens if you're late on three rent payments? Remind me of the policy that decrepit building you called an apartment complex had."

You squirm on the table. "I was only behind on two--"

"What happens?" His voice is firm. You can't avoid it.

There's a pause before you murmur, unwillingly. "You get evicted."

"So." He takes another step, and turns back towards you. "Do you think it's responsible to spend money you don't have on luxuries, when you're behind on rent?"

You want to run. Maybe you should have run at him earlier. Getting tossed into a solitary room after attacking him might be better than this interrogation.

"No," you admit. You swallow, dry and thick and a bit painful. "Okay. I'm not great with money. I bought things to make me happy because I was stressed out about---life. It's not that big a deal. I--I didn't get kicked out, anyway."

He sits again, but keeps himself upright, the air of faux casualness replaced with an air of command. "How did you catch up on your rent? Tell me."

You hate him. You stare at him, hoping he'll end this, but he simply stares at you until you blurt out the words. "You paid my landlord. Anonymously." You stare down at the floor, at the drops of water still there from earlier. "I didn't ask you to. I would have figured something out."

"I'm sure."

He stands, and you stare at the wall until you hear him roll the tray of supplies towards the table. Your body trembles of its own accord when he grabs your arm firmly and wraps a blood pressure cuff around the top. You sit in silence as the cuff gets tighter then mercifully deflates.

He tsks at the number, and jots it down on the pad resting on the table. For once, you're not tempted to peek.

"I need to take some blood," he says, and you stick out your arm in automatic, habitual compliance before your brain even realizes it. He grips your wrist firmly while he swipes your arm with an anti-bacterial agent.

"How much do you weigh?" He asks suddenly, voice nonchalant.

You stare at him, incredulous. He's never brought up weight before. He’s always been careful to avoid details about weight, nutrition--calories. The most he would do is point out that you need a well-rounded diet with the right vitamins and nutrients, and ignore your questions about sauces and cooking oils and grams, all attempts to find out something that could give you an ounce of control over what’s going into your body.

"I--I don't know.  You don't let me look at the scale when I step on it." He knows this. He knows that he's forbidden you from seeing the number, because he knows about your past, knows your tendency to get obsessive and strict and focus on food and weight and worth.

"Why don't I let you look at the scale?"

Your stomach feels like it's twisting.

"I don't know." The lie is bitter on your tongue.

The casual tone in his voice when he replies is far more biting than any cruel insult. "Yes, you do." 

His words are punctuated by the harsh medicinal smell of the next wipe. But you're in no mood to appreciate that he's still choosing to numb your skin despite your earlier transgressions.

The tears you felt building earlier begin to prick at the corner of your eyes. You don't want to cry, you don't want to cry, you don't want to cry.

“Why don’t I let you look at the scale?” He repeats, firmer, more insisting. He winds a band around your arm and taps at your veins.

Your arm looks fatter, like this. You swear it does. You look away to avoid your arm and the needle and his gaze.

“Because, um, I sometimes have problems with food. Or weight. Or whatever.”

“You have an eating disorder,” he tells you, all business as he plunges the needle into your skin; there’s only the ghost of a sting as he begins to slowly draw your blood. But you barely feel it, you can only feel the impact of his words, blunt and hateful.

"You were going to throw up in that germ-infested hovel. Eat until your stomach was distended, then head into a bathroom--which I'm sure the staff hadn't cleaned in ages--and stick your unwashed, greasy fingers down your throat until it all came back up. Am I correct?"

You can't tell if you feel woozy because of the needle or the way that your heart is racing at his words. Throw up. Greasy. Disgusting. You're disgusting.

"Stop it," you say, voice muddled with humiliation and anger.

He pulls the needle out, and quickly presses a bandage to your skin. He keeps a finger there, firm and pressing. He looks up at you, now, as he continues his onslaught.

"And then what? Let me make an educated guess. You were going to get on some filthy bus and open up all the junk you bought earlier? Perhaps," he muses, as he rips off a piece of tape to keep the gauze in place, "you could have asked the bus driver to stop at a public bathroom for a vomit break. And you'd probably make sure that whatever flea-ridden hotel you found along the way had a scale in the bathroom so you could keep track. And another one of your delightful," he practically spits the word out, "cycles would have started, hm?"

"Stop it," you repeat, voice breaking. "I wasn't--I wouldn't have--"

"You were going to," he says simply, interrupting. "Thankfully, we got there in time. Although I'm sure now you will endure a stomach ache after your reckless indulgence. A lesson, perhaps, though not the exact one I would inflict myself."

As if on cue, your stomach rolls and clenches. You’re keenly aware that you’re going to have digestive problems tonight, and the thought of being at his mercy while you’re dealing with them threatens to send you over the edge.  Could you get even more disgusting? The thought of how you look right now, stomach no doubt bulging, hair disheveled and damp, covered in ugly bruises and cuts--combined with the fear of spending the night on a toilet sends you over the edge.

You press your knuckles against your mouth and squeeze your eyes shut and try to force the sobs down. Your body begins to tremble, even more so as he lifts your leg. Without warning, he begins to unceremoniously scrub it down with a sponge dipped in disinfectant.

It stings and your eyes feel like they might pop at the sudden pain. You hiss at the feeling of the liquid on your cuts and try to pull away, to no avail. Your legs feel like jelly in his grip.

“That hurts,” you whine. 

“It can’t be helped,” he tells you, holding your leg firmly as he scrubs the sore bottom of your feet. Any sensitivity you had there is overruled by the soreness and pain from running, from the stinging aches that remain in your cuts. “I have to clean every cut or you may get an infection.”

He sets your leg down and lifts up the other, and you cringe before he even begins to move. You can’t help but whimper as he scrubs your leg, and the helpless stings of pain only increase when he moves on to your arms.

“Please,” you say, feeling low, nearly flattened. “I can’t… I can’t take this.”

He pauses, and the seemingly genuine concern in his eyes (it’s not, you remind yourself, it’s not--you think of the shop and the pizza place and the old man cutting his wife’s food, that was concern, that was care) has you feeling sorry for yourself.

“The stinging will go away in a few minutes. You chose to run away, you can certainly deal with this minor consequence.” He retains his grip on your upper arm and he swipes the sponge across your shoulders, briefly pushing the fabric aside as he does so. He pauses when he sees the blooming fingerprints on your shoulders, but says nothing.  You wonder if those men will survive the night.

There’s a a cut, thin and long, dragging from your collarbone down across your chest. He dips unceremoniously below the gown, touching you in a spot he normally avoids. The feeling of him so close, touching you--not quite on your chest, but close enough--only intensifies your humiliation. You whimper again and try to pull away, but his grip offers no room to move.

“I can’t--” You don’t finish. Your throat is so tight and you hate it, you hate that you can never talk about anything with him, never argue with him without clamming up with tears and a thick throat.

You bring your hands up to your hair, tugging on it until it prickles. Your breath starts to come in short bursts, your chest having as you pull on your hair and will yourself to be anywhere but here. For a flashing moment, you wish you’d never tried to escape. If you didn’t, you’d be getting ready for bed right now. Things would be--not okay. Never okay. But you wouldn’t be here, on this table, cold and stinging and in pain and utterly despondent from having your failures shoved in your face. But then you remember that if he’d never kidnapped you, you wouldn’t have had to try to escape in the first place, and the wish fades.

He remains silent, and instead simply keeps a steady, firm grip on your upper arm until your breath slows, until you can control yourself. Your skin feels at once numb and prickling in anxiety and adrenaline and emotions coursing through you.

Overhaul gives your arm a squeeze that is, perhaps, meant to be reassuring. “Are you suitably recovered?

You nod. Your stomach feels sour. You want to ask if you’re done, if you can just go sleep or get sent (you dread the idea) to solitary confinement or whatever it is he has planned in the wake of your escape. Anything would be better than this room and this soft, thin gown and his bright blue surgical gloves and your failure hanging in the air.

He extends his arm out and you pause for a moment before you grasp it, holding tight as you get off the table and stand on wobbly legs. You’re loathe to touch him, but you’re even more loathe to fall flat on your face on the hard floor.

He speaks before you get a chance to ask if you can change out of the medical gown.

“Now, we’ll go to the bathroom.”

Your knees suddenly feel like they might drop out from under you. “The bathroom?”

He nods, and pulls himself away from your weak grip as he begins walking towards the door. You follow without thinking, pausing when he stops to slide his medical gloves into the trash before slipping on another pair.

“We’re not finished here,” he tells you, and you swear his voice is almost giddy as he turns his head to meet your questioning face. “I told you earlier, we’re going to clean your mouth out.”

He can’t mean--

You take a step back, and your knee buckles. He’s quick--he catches you before you fall, but doesn’t let go. His pulls you upright and pulls you along. Your legs have no choice to walk--walk or be dragged--and you struggle for words as he leads you out of the clinic. Before you know it, you’re back in your room (familiar, warm, the same as it ways this morning) and led swiftly into the attached bathroom.

He pulls you in far enough that he’s able to shut the door behind him, trapping you inside. As if you wouldn’t be trapped by his mere presence. For a moment you wonder if he was bluffing, trying to scare you into submission, but by the time you take another breath he’s running the sink water and tearing into a new box of bar soap.

Your voice catches as you finally speak up. “You--you can’t be serious.”

“What makes you think I’m not serious?” He doesn’t even face you as he speaks. Instead, he turns on the tap and fills a paper cup with water before setting it on the sink’s edge. Next comes the bar of white soap, which grows slick underneath the water. He turns off the tap and lets the excess water drip off, before turning to you, soap bar in hand.

“Open your mouth.”

Your lips press together automatically, and you shake your head. No, no, and no. This isn’t happening.

He sighs, and again the feeling that you’re annoying him creeps under your skin. Why does it bother you that you’re annoying him? It shouldn’t bother you at all, but somehow you feel a pang of regret at how much has changed in less than 24 hours. 

“If you don’t open your mouth willingly, I will open it for you.” He takes a step closer, but your legs feel heavy now, rooted to the spot. It isn’t like there’s anywhere you could run, anyway. “I don’t want to do that,” he continues, voice slightly softened. “Cooperate and open your mouth.”

What choice do you have? You could protest, you could argue, you could leap into the bathtub and make him fight for what he wants. You could keep your mouth shut tight and force him to find a solution. But he is stronger than you, in more ways than one, and he would get his way in the end.

So you make the only choice available to you. Your entire mouth shakes and seems to fight against you as you slowly open your lips in compliance. You feel stupid, standing here with your mouth hanging open.

You can’t reflect on the feeling for long, as he wastes no time in shoving the bar inside your open lips. You can’t help but whimper at the intrusion, but he doesn’t let up and begins methodically scrubbing at your tongue. At first, there’s no taste--then the built-up slick of clinical soap makes itself known, and you take advantage of the soap slipping out of your lips to press them together again, denying him entry.

“Open,” he orders, soft and firm.

And you do, heaving your shoulders in an unreleased whimper. What else can you do but listen? He continues to scrub, this time moving the bar into the side of your mouth to scrub at your teeth. The clammy, greasy feeling of soap coating your teeth makes you curl your wide open lips downward. You must look ridiculous, in all respects, lips gaping in an unpleasant frown as your captor mercilessly soaps the inside of your mouth.

“Do you not like the taste?” His eyes glance over at your frown, and the mockery in his tone is more than blatant. 

“Uhh-uhh,” you mumble, open-mouthed, shaking your head. The position you’re in--Overhaul scrubbing into your mouth, your shaking body, the dim feeling of your bruises and cuts from earlier--makes you feel so painfully exposed. So painfully helpless.

He hums and rests the soap against your tongue. Before you can attempt to move your tongue, lessen the feeling of the taste of the soap against it, he gives you a command.

“Bite down.”

Your teeth sink into the soft bar, keeping it in place, and your whimpers grow stronger at the humiliating order you’ve just obeyed. Could you sink any lower?

You watch him through tear-brimmed eyes as he moves to stand in front of you. You know what’s coming before he even speaks and when he does, it’s no surprise.

“Have I ever hurt you?”

Back to this, again.

You shake your head, mumble around the soap: “No.”

“Are you capable of being on your own?”

You hesitate, and he merely jumps to another question, one far more pointed.

“Have you held a single job for longer than a year?”

You want to protest, but any attempt at complicated speech is marred by the soap--the weight of it, the taste, and your need to keep it steady in your mouth.

“No,” you admit, hating the feel of the bar as your lips press against it with the effort of speech.

“Would you have been evicted if I didn’t pay off your debts?”

“Yes.” Tears sting at your eyes. You want to wipe them away but you’re afraid you’ll get soap in them, somehow.

“Are you responsible enough with money to hold a job, maintain an apartment, and buy yourself the necessities for life without someone else stepping in?”

The soap somehow tastes even more bitter. “No, I can’t.” Your tongue pushes up against the soap at this, and you resolve to keep it to one-word answers only.

“If we didn’t intercept your little outing, would you have attempted to throw up at that restaurant today?”

You shake your head, but it’s a lie, and you know it’s a lie--and he knows it’s a lie. So you nod, weakly. “Mm-hmm.”

“Have I been feeding you healthy meals? Have I been ensuring that you don’t engage in disgusting self-destructive behaviors?”

He has, but that’s not--your mind wants to argue, but you’re so tired and sick and your stomach hurts and the taste of the soap is too much. So you nod, instead.

He nods in response, and you pray that he’ll take the soap out and end this. Instead, he lifts your chin with a single finger, making you keep eye contact as he speaks.

“Do I take care of you?”

“Yes,” you cry out, your words garbled around the wet soap bar. He releases your chin and it’s these words, this final question, that make you break entirely. Your shoulders ache from bruises as you cry, hunching over slightly and watching as some drool-laden soap droplets fall on the floor. “Yes, yes, yes,” you repeat, mechanically, crying around the bitter soap that’s digging into your front teeth.

Satisfied, he takes hold of the bar and waits for you to release it, then tosses it with ease into the trash. You blubber and spit, only succeeding in releasing a trail of soapy drool down your chin. Your tears are hot and stinging as they roll down your cheeks. You open your mouth, you try to say something, but all that comes out is soft cries punctuated by your attempts to spit out the soapy film.  

“Look at you,” he murmurs, bringing a gloved hand up to your cheek and wiping at the tears. “My poor thing. You can’t even speak. You can’t even articulate yourself. How could you ever hope to make it on your own?” His words are soft and cruel and you merely cry harder, humiliated and helpless.

Your throat is sore. Your stomach hurts. You want your warm nightgown on. You want to be in bed. You wish your stomach didn’t hurt so much from eating junk. You wish you weren’t covered in cuts and bruises. You wish you’d just enjoyed the garden and went back inside. You wish you’d never done this at all. You’re so stupid. You’re so stupid.

And you finally say so, all of it, blubbering, bits of soapy drool dribbling out of your mouth as you cry and admit your faults out loud.

After your wrought-out apology dissolves into meaningless whimpers, Overhaul finally grabs the glass of water he set on the edge of the sink, and you gratefully swish the lukewarm liquid with earnest. You lean over the sink and spit, body trembling, then fill the cup again and repeat the gesture again and again to get rid of every bit of white soap stuck in your mouth. Even as you spit, you realize that the taste isn’t going to be completely gone anytime soon--it’s stuck in your mouth like a bad memory.

You jerk when his hands are suddenly on your back, rubber gloves sliding up and down the thin medical gown covering your cold, helpless body. But he merely keeps rubbing, gentle and soothing, while you swish and spit, and cry and cry.

His hands leave your back only to grab a washcloth from the built-in shelves across from the toilet. You watch as he wets the cloth and you stand silently, allowing him to wipe up the drool and soap from your chin, your neck, even a bit on your chest where it dribble-dropped downward.

When you’re all cleaned up, he fills up a cup with mouth wash and silently hands it to you. You gratefully swish it for as long as possible before spitting it into the sink. The soap taste is still there, but lessened somewhat by the overpowering mint of the mouthwash. He gestures to your toothbrush and you pick it up, and begin mechanically brushing your teeth, stopping when the 2-minute timer flashes on the bottom. You instinctively grab your floss without having to be told and make quick work of that, too.

He opens the door to the bathroom, but gestures for you to wait. You do, standing numbly, wishing that he let you have a mirror so you could see your own state. But he doesn’t, and you can’t, and so you wait until he returns with a bundle in his arms.

It’s your pajamas. A soft, pink nightgown--he didn’t pick the soft blue one, tonight, and you’re grateful to avoid any reminders of the medical gown you have on--with matching socks and underwear. You nod and accept the bundle meekly. He turns around and you make quick work of the medical gown, tossing it in the trash yourself before you get dressed for bed.

“M’done,” you mumble, though you quickly realize speaking makes the lingering soap taste stronger. You follow him silently out of the bathroom and into your bedroom, which is just as you left it that morning. The only thing different is you. Subdued, humiliated, helpless.

Overhaul pulls the cover on your bed and you sit down, numb and chastened. You pull your legs up and tuck them under the soft comforter. You’re forcing yourself into the routine you’ve been following for the past few weeks, but the secret thrill you once had of obeying with ulterior movies is no longer there. It’s been replaced by a heavy stillness, the knowledge that you failed in more ways than one. The occasional roll of your stomach reminds you that the night may not be over, bedtime routine be damned.

But you ignore it for now, and you lean your head back on your pillow as he pulls the comforter towards your shoulders, tucking you in. Rather than leave immediately, he sits next to you on the bed, looking down at you with an obsessive, possessive expression in his eyes.

You force down an instinctive flinch when he suddenly begins to stroke the top of your forehead, moving up to pet your hair softly. His gloves are gone. While not completely new, it’s rare--rare enough that the feeling of his bare fingers is still an unusual sensation.

You close your eyes. It usually makes him leave faster. Your heart begins to pound as you hear him stand, as you sense him leaning in, as you feel the ghost of his breath against your face.

“Sweet dreams. We’ll start fresh in the morning.”

What a silly thing to say, you think. Your dreams are never sweet anymore.

#yandere overhaul #yandere chisaki kai #yandere #yandere x reader #overhaul x reader #afterwitch writes #uhh I added 2000 words in between last night and now

[honeydarlings]

Can you please write a one shot about yandere!All Might in his hero form stalking the reader (knows their schedule, habits, etc.) and in his mind, he’s just protecting them? Then later on, he notices the reader isn’t back home at their usual time and finds them hurt after being mugged in an alley way. Perhaps he takes them back to his place to fix up their wounds and when they want to leave, he won’t let them since he’s overprotective.

First request !!! I hope you like it !!

I'm Doing this for You

TW || Stalking, kidnapping, manipulation, drugging, gore and violence.

7:30pm, you walked through the front door to your apartment. Right on time, as always. Whenever you got home after work you would tie your hair back just to get it out of your face as you started cooking dinner. All Might loved the way you looked with your hair back, he got to see more of you. He sat atop a building right across from your apartment window with a pair of binoculars. Everyday he watched you. He would watch you wake up, take the train to work, eat lunch, return home. Almost everywhere you went he was watching. “7:45, you always turn on the radio.” The hero mumbled to himself as you turned on the small radio sitting on your kitchen counter. He smiled, happy to know your every move. At first he was unsure about following you, worried he would be found out by you or another hero. But then he realized he was doing this for your sake, to protect you. It’s a dangerous world out there, especially for someone as delicate as you. As 8:15 rolled around so did your dinnertime, you sat down on the couch and turned on the TV. “True crime.”He muttered. True crime indeed, you turned on one of your favorite true crime shows as you began to eat. Suddenly All Might’s phone buzzed, startling him a bit. “All Might we have a situation downtown, we need you here” The text read. “Damn.” All Might huffed, couldn’t it wait until after you went to bed, so he knew you were safe?. Another text came through, “It’s urgent.” He scowled and got to his feet, leaping off, leaving you all alone.

8am. He barely made it, watching you wake up was one of All Might’s favorite things. Your messy hair and groggy face. You were so damn adorable, he couldn’t help but smile. Everything you did was absolute perfection to him and he wanted nothing more than to stay by your side and keep you safe. You departed for work, walking to the train station. All Might following close behind, leaping from building to building. He made sure that you safely boarded the train before going off to do hero work. After all, even though it tore him up, he couldn’t watch you all day, he was still a hero.

By the end of the day, All Might was exhausted but he still rushed to get to your window to watch you come home. 7:30, on the dot. He sat, staring at your front door. It didn’t open. He felt a pit form in his stomach. “Maybe they’re running a little late.” He reassured himself, trying to stay calm. He waited five more minutes, still no sign of you. The panic had now settled in, All Might quickly stood and raced to find you. He followed your exact route to the train station, you weren’t there. He scrambled to the small library where you worked and peered through each window, you were nowhere to be found. He quickly made his way to the train station, checking every shop. He had never felt like this before, he had never been this panicked fighting villains or saving others. He reached the alleyway you always cut through and was met with a sickening display.

You were sprawled onto the pavement, covered in bruises and blood. Soft whimpers escaping your lips. A tall lanky figure stared down at you with a led pipe in their hand, your bag in his other. “What the hell is going on here.” All Might boomed, trying to maintain his composure. The figure looked up at All Might with fear and then took off in a sprint, dropping the led pipe but still holding your bag. “Bastard.” All Might growled, chasing after him. It didn’t take long to catch up to the criminal, seeing as All Might was much faster and could cover more ground. He grabbed the thief’s shoulder and pulled him downwards onto the pavement. He landed on his back, knocking the wind out of him. All Might made sure that he was out of your sight, then picked the man up by his head, gripping it tightly. He started to squeeze. The man screamed, clutching All Might’s massive hand trying to pry it off. “You are lower than scum.” All Might snarled as his hold tightened. A crack rang out through the alley. Blood started pooling out of the man's eyes, nose and mouth as All Might continued to squeeze. Another loud crack followed by silence as the criminal's body went limp. Blood and teeth were splattered onto the ground as the man’s corpse hit the pavement. The blonde hero shook drops of blood off his hand then wiped the rest off on the corpse's jacket.

All Might returned to you, your bag in hand. “Are you alright?” He asked softly. You slowly shook your head, unable to get any words out. “Please, let me take you back to my home, I can patch you up and keep you safe.” He gently wiped your tears from your cheeks as you nodded. He smiled and picked you up bridal style. “You don’t have to tell me what happened yet, we can wait until you’re all fixed.” You nodded again, clutching his chest. Once the two of you reached his house was when you managed to speak up. “Thank you, All Might.” You said in an almost whisper. The hero’s stomach fluttered, you were so damn cute! “Of course, anything to keep you safe.”

He walked you through his massive mansion, up the stairs and into his bedroom. He set you down gently onto his large bed. The sheets against your bruised skin was like heaven, you’ve never laid on anything softer. “Wait here while I get my medical supplies and something to drink, I shouldn’t be long.” All Might said as he exited the room. You laid in silence, still trying to process everything that had happened. You were mugged, some creep attacked you with a led pipe and took your bag. Good thing All Might showed up when he did, if he was even second later you could have been killed. The thought made you shudder. You looked around his large bedroom which was surprisingly empty. Nothing except a bed, dresser and a TV mounted on the wall. You were still trying to process the fact that you were inside the number one hero’s home. Does he give treatment like this to all civilians he finds injured? Your thoughts were interrupted by All Might entering the room holding a tray with painkillers, bandages, tissues and a tall glass of water. He set the tray down and grabbed the tissues. He lightly brushed the soft paper against the semi dried blood that gushed out of your nose earlier. “Is it broken?” You asked. “No, but pretty close. You’re lucky I showed up.” He said. He sounded stern and a little bit angry. “Here, take these. I’m sure those bruises are hurting.” He said handing you three small pills and a cup of water. Without hesitation you swallowed the pills with a big sip of water. All Might continued to work in silence as he bandaged your hand, suspecting it to be sprained, and cleaning out the scrapes that covered your hands and knees. As he worked you started to feel dizzy. All Might noticed as your wrist went limp in his hand. “Feeling sleepy, y/n?” He asked. “H-how do you know my name.” Your speech was slurred as your body relaxed into his bed. He brought his hand up to your face and caressed your cheek. “Y/n, sweetheart. That’s not important right now. You should rest. I’ll finish patching you up.” Suddenly all the worry you just felt went away as you drifted off. “You’ll be safe here, y/n. Safe with me.” All Might whispered as he gently kissed your forehead. “I’ll be back in about an hour, my dear.” He stood and planted a kiss on your limp hand. He picked up your bag and fished out your keys. He sighed and shrunk down to his small form, leaving his house and catching a taxi.

The blonde hero stood outside your apartment fiddling with your keys, trying to find the one that fit into the keyhole. “Bingo.” He muttered with a smile as a silver key slid in perfectly, unlocking your door. He stepped into the darkened room and inhaled. He couldn’t believe it, he was in your house! It smelled just like you. He rushed to your bedroom excitedly. He stepped inside and grinned. The whole room just screamed “you”. Even your bedsheets reflected you. All Might grabbed a suitcase laying on the floor and began to pack things for you, inspecting every single one. He smelled every shirt and sweater. After a few minutes he closed the suitcase and was about to head to the bathroom to pack more but then he noticed something on the top shelf of your closet. It took no effort for him to grab it, seeing as he was still massive, even in his small form. A small All Might plushie, a soft shade of pink dusted his face as he held the stuffed toy. You were his fan. He toyed with it before gently placing it in the suitcase. He then made his way to the bathroom grabbing your toothbrush and toothpaste placing them in a plastic bag and then inside the suitcase. He pulled his phone out of his pocket to check the time. 9:01. “Shit! They’ll be waking up soon!” He rushed out of your front door, quickly locking it behind him. Once he reached the street he changed back into his muscle form to get to you quicker.

You slowly opened your eyes. You were still in All Might’s house. Why would he keep you here for so long? Footsteps quickly approached the bedroom. You groaned and sat up, still groggy. All Might burst through the door. “Ah you’re up! How did you sleep? Feel better?” He questioned as he rushed to get by your side. “I slept well, and I’m feeling a lot better, thank you.” You smiled. “I should probably start heading home soon though. It’s really late already and I have to work tomorrow.” You swung your legs off the side of the bed and tried to stand. All Might jumped in front, knocking you back onto the bed. “I can’t let you do that, y/n.” You stared up at him, wide-eyed. A pit formed in your stomach. “What the hell do you mean?” You shouted, instantly regretting when you did. “I can’t let you leave. It’s way too dangerous for you out there. I’m the only one who can keep you safe.” You tried to stand again only causing All Might to push you back down. “Please listen to me y/n. I’m doing this to protect you!” You were too scared to move anymore. “Wh-MPH!” All Might pressed his thumb over your lips, shutting you up. “The only place that you’ll be safe is here, with me.” Tears stung the corners of your eyes. He pulled his thumb away, letting you speak. “You’re scaring me.” You whispered. All Might’s face fell. He was scaring you? “Darling, I’m so sorry. I just want to keep you safe! Isn’t that what you want? To be safe? To be with me? I planned everything out! Here, I’ll show you!” He ran out of the bedroom only to return with your suitcase in hand. “I packed all your clothes and I even brought your All Might plush!” He held up the small toy, smiling wide. You started sobbing. “I want to go home. Please just take me home.” You choked. “Darling. I don’t think you’re in the right headspace right now. You’re still a bit woozy from the sleeping pills. You can’t possibly be thinking straight right now. How about you sleep on it again and then we’ll discuss this again in the morning?” He picked your legs up and placed them back on the bed, pulling the soft sheets over top. You were frozen with fear. He kidnapped you. He drugged you. “You’re a monster.” You whispered as he placed a kiss on your forehead. “It might seem that way right now darling but, in time, you’ll see that I’m doing all this for you. We’ll speak more about this tomorrow.” He smiled and left the bedroom, locking you inside. He had you now. And he would never let you go.

(This was so fun !!! Feel free to request as much as you like while they’re open !!)

#all might x reader #yandere all might #yandere x reader #yandere mha #yandere my hero academia #yandere x darling #yandere all might x reader #yandere toshinori yagi

[kuroos-babie]

This is Home

Tendō Satori x fem!Reader

[ Oneshot ]

wc: 1.6k

Request: The Tendou childhood sweethearts scenario is just so friking cute. Is it okay if I ask for a one shot of them in high school?  —anonymous

a/n: so this is like a second part to red craft yarn inspired by the request above and ½ of a request from @lunabby010 !! sorry it took so long, i hope you like this one 🥺 also tagging @bitchofthecourt ​ bec u might wanna see this hehe

The sound of your best friend’s footsteps bounced across the walls as he skipped and skidded through the dorm halls, stopping right by your door.

“Y/N-chan~” was his little chant as he slowly opened the door without waiting for your reply, spiky red hair sprouting from the gap as he peeked through it.

He had a cheeky smirk on his face when he saw you sitting on your study desk, earbuds in and your back to the door. Tiptoeing silently, he wrapped his long lanky arms around both your shoulders, earning a surprised squeak from you.

“Satori don’t scare me like that”

It came out as a whine but you leaned back to him nonetheless, reaching back to pet at his hair, “How was practice?”

Breathing in, you caught a whiff of his lemon-scented shampoo and minty toothpaste, his own breath fanning against your ear as he chuckled. It was a familiar scent, a familiar feeling of being wrapped comfortably in his arms, that always lulled you into a dreamlike trance — one you wouldn’t mind never waking up from.

“Can we cuddle? We did so many drills today and that Chemistry test sucked”, you could already hear the little pout in his voice and you couldn’t help but laugh a little, “Please? I’m so tired. I just want you to hold me, Y/N-chan~”

He rubbed his cheek against yours, earning a fit of giggles from you as his back ached from bending over low enough to reach your seated position, “Alright alright”, you replied in between smiles.

With a short celebratory “yay!”, your bestfriend assumed his regular position on your bed and stretched his arms out for you and made grabby hands, beckoning for you to lay on top of him.

You did so with a soft smile on your face, straddling his waist before leaning down and resting your chin on your hands, elbows on the mattress beside either side of his head.

He smiled at you broad and lazy before wrapping his arms around your waist, squeezing you tight, “Y/N-chan, you’re the best”

You gave the compliment you’ve heard a hundred times before a short chuckle before lightly tracing the bridge of his nose with a finger, the action making Tendō instantly relax.

He closed his eyes and let out a sigh, his breath tickling your face. He caught your hand in his and pressed your palm against his cheek.

Tendō let his fingers wander over the worn-out thread that wrapped around your finger, playing with the red craft yarn that silently held your promise to be with him forever.

The content smile he had pressed against your palm caused a comforting heat to creep up your cheeks as you buried your face against the crook of his neck

"No, you", was your weak retort which he just laughed over before turning to his side and wrapping his leg over your waist.

"Let's go out tomorrow"

You shook your head, your hair tickling his chin, "Sorry Satori-kun, I promised Suga-san I'll help him with errands tomorrow"

"Again? You've been helping him out a lot since our last match", you looked up at his pouting face, "you've been neglecting me~"

You rubbed your nose against his chin with a giggle and a promise to make it up to him which he dramatically took a hot minute to agree with.

The weekend comes rolling in and you soon found yourself with Karasuno's setter, sat in a quaint little café after finishing up with your grocery runs and a short trip to the shopping district.

"You've been a great help, Y/N-san! I couldn't even imagine doing all those without you"

He smiled at you a beaming one as he reached over to grab your hands, "I'm glad I could help you with that thing, though"

You felt your face effectively flush as he sent you a cheeky grin, wiggling his eyebrows at the tiny drawstring bag in your purse.

"Thank you, Suga-san. It was a tough time picking out the best one"

You continued chatting with the grey-haired man in front of you, basking in laughs and banter shared over some drinks and croissants, completely oblivious of the pair of red eyes ruefully observing the way you and Sugawara seem to perfectly fit each other.

The setter seemed to complement every beautiful feature you had, warm smiles and soft eyes were a stark contrast to his piercing ones, Tendō thought.

He left with a sigh, not wanting to see you getting comfortable with another guy that wasn't him.

Damn. Jealousy wasn't great on him at all.

Acting purely on instinct and muscle memory, Tendō walked over to your dorm room and plopped on your bed before even realizing it wasn't his own.

He laid there, face down, and replayed the scene of you laughing with that pretty boy over and over again until he fell asleep on your sheets, the familiar smell of it the only thing comforting him in the chill of the empty bed.

You arrived later— an hour or so, to your bestfriend lightly snoring on your bed, clutching your pillow.

He stirred a bit, the mattress dipped beside him as you sat down, running your fingers through his hair.

It's always been soft, just like you speculated back when you were kids.

"Satori-kun~ I got you some chocolate croissants"

After a moment or two of silence, he let his hand lazily snake around your waist to pull you closer, his other hand reaching for yours that was still playing with his hair.

His hand played with your fingers, rubbing and squeezing them but soon came to halt when they grazed over your ring finger.

"You don't have it on"

He looked up at you with evident panic in his eyes, the absence of the silent promise between the two of you effectively causing a chill to run up his spine, giving him this disgusting feeling in his gut.

"Y/N?", he searched for your face but he only found confusion in the way you tilted your head and furrowed your eyebrows, "You don't have the red string on"

"Oh that!"

Tendō didn't really know what to make out of your reaction but his mind was reeling, running a thousand miles a second with thoughts of you going off with that Sugawara guy— was that why you took off your makeshift ring?

He bit his lip at the thought, willing the headache that was starting to creep in away.

"I just thought it was a little worn out," you whispered and took his hand in yours, unwrapping the red string from his finger— undoing the safety blanket he had on for years.

Was this you saying good bye to your promise?

"Y/N, no. Please—"

The look in his eyes was pure panic, distraught by the thought of you leaving him behind.

But your thumbs running over the back of his hand helped ease his nerves and pull him back down with you again— like you always did.

"Hey, calm down. I got a better one for us"

He watched you, his breath slightly heaving, as you pulled the small pouch from your purse, "Suga-san helped me pick it out"

The ache in his chest quickly disappeared as he saw you pull out a ring from the pouch and put it on your finger where the red craft yarn had previously been, "This one's mine"

His eyes widened as you pulled out another one, the same silver ring with a red band running its length, and proceeded to put it on his finger— once again enveloping him with the feeling of being wanted, of being safe.

"And this one's yours", you said with a grin as you looked at him, sliding the ring snug on his ring finger.

When he didn't say anything, you pulled his face close to press your forehead against his, closing your eyes and bumping your nose with his.

"I didn't want my promise to be held by a flimsy piece of craft yarn"

With that, Tendō went slack, all the tension in his body bidding good bye as he held your face in his hands— your face that still fit snuggly in his palms after all those years.

"I thought you were done with me. I thought you were gonna leave me and go off with your Suga-san"

You hastily pulled away from his hold, gripping his shoulders for support, "What?! I told you I'm staying with you forever, didn't I?"

The scowl on your face made Tendō laugh as he sighed, cupping your cheeks once again, "Yeah, you did"

He was pulling you closer, gently, slowly, "And I told you I was going to marry you, didn't I?"

His eyes were now closed but his lips kept that soft smile, "I guess you did"

"And I told you I'll marry you again and again— over and over, until you believed that I'll forever stay with you, didn't I?"

You squeezed at his shoulders, making him look at you, his eyes beholding you with all the adoration in the world, "So, please, Tendō Satori"

You held his wrists and pulled his hands off your face, cupping Tendō's face instead

"Marry me right now?"

He gave you a soft chuckle, the cold from the metal band on your finger a foreign feeling but was definitely something he could get used to

"You know I would"

And as you pulled him closer, lips softly brushing, bodies flushed against each other, he felt his heart beat at ease— knowing it belongs to you

Knowing that his place was in your arms and in your arms was home.

bonus:

"Y/N-chaaan~ I told you I was saving that kiss for the real thing!" his lip jutted out in a pout, tempting you to press another kiss on it, sucking ever so lightly before pulling away.

"Can't this just be the real thing?"

You tried to attack him with kisses but he was pushing you away, craning his neck to get his face away from you

"IT DOESN'T WORK LIKE THAT"

#I LOVE THIS #i love it so much #i hope y'all like it too #Tendō is babie🥺 #haikyuu #haikyuu!! #haikyuu tendou #tendou satori #tendou #hq tendou #tendou x reader #tendou hcs #tendou scenario #tendō satori #tendou satori x reader #tendō satori x reader #haikyuu x reader #tendō x reader #haikyuu tendō #hq tendō

[sylvies-chen]

Sending in "Going to the grocery store/running mundane errands together" for Burzek. I think this would be cute when Kim is out of the hospital and still recovering.

“You should have stayed home.”

Adam doesn’t say it bitterly or harshly, just with a sympathetic glance. Somehow, to Kim, that’s worse.

It’s been a week since she was discharged from the hospital. She has another week to go before CPD can even consider clearing her for work. It’ll probably take a little longer, frankly, because of all the details surrounding her shooting. On top of healing physically, they’ll probably want Kim to go through a bazillion psychological evaluations to make sure she’s still mentally fit for duty. At that point, it’ll take forever to get back to normal.

She’s tried this whole taking it slow thing but man, it’s hard. Adam’s been looking after Makayla and picking up slack around her apartment which she’s eternally grateful for. She knows Makayla loves it, gets giddy whenever Adam’s around the house and clings to him almost as much as she does to Kim (which is all the time and puts pressure on Kim’s gunshot wounds but she stomachs it, because the last thing she’s going to do is refuse a hug from her daughter). It’s why Adam’s with her at the grocery store, because he’s been the one who does the driving and grocery shopping for them the past week. But Kim’s getting impatient now, eager and itching to get back to the way she was before. So she’d hobbled into the passenger seat and tuned out Adam’s comedic bitching the whole ride there.

So yeah. She knows he’s just worried and trying to help her, but that sympathetic tone he’s giving her right now is annoying as hell.

“These are my groceries, Adam,” she grumbles, leaning against the edge of the shopping kart and using it for support as she slowly pushes it along. “I’ve really appreciated your help this past week but I can do this on my own now.”

“Oh really? You’ve got superhuman healing now?”

She knows he’s being sarcastic but she plays it cool anyway. “Yeah, I do. I’m a regular Hulk.”

“Hulk has superhuman strength, dummy,” he replies amusedly.

“Whatever! The point is, I can get my own damn groceries.”

Adam looks at her, a little bit bewildered at how flustered she is and very unconvinced that she can actually do it, but shakes his head after a while and steps aside from the shelf he’s standing behind. “Ok, fine. I won't get in your way then. Grab the peanut butter.”

“I will.” She sticks her chin up, accepting the challenge and stepping past Adam. As soon as she reaches up for the peanut butter though, she hits a bit of a snag. The peanut butter is on the third shelf. When she reaches, her stomach muscles stretch and the burning soreness where two bullets used to be start hurting again.

Before she can even think to hide it, she retracts in pain and stabilizes herself on the handle of the kart.

“Ok, come on now,” he soothes her, his arms wrapping around her shoulders as he offers his other hand for support. “Easy, darlin'. Yeah, maybe this was not a good idea. I knew when you got in the car that this might not go so well.”

“I’m fine,” Kim insists. “Really, it’s just a little too high on the shelf, that’s all.”

“Clearly,” he replies sarcastically. “Just leave me in charge of the groceries for one more week, Kim. I don’t mind helping, really.”

“You really mean that?” She asks skeptically.

“I do. I mean, I get to see Makayla and get to buy her all the tooth-rotting cereal you wouldn’t normally let her get. That’s a win in my book if you ask me,” he tells her. "And you need someone to help you out or else you're going to try and do everything yourself and end back up in the hospital. You already gave me enough of a scare, Kim. So let me help."

It makes Kim’s heart swell with something subtle and quiet and strangely familiar.

She narrows her eyes at him, mulling it over quietly before sighing in defeat. “Ok, fine.”

“Thank you, that’s what I’m talking about,” he replies victoriously. “Alright, what’s next on the list?”

Kim pulls the piece of paper with their shopping list out of her pocket and reads off the items they haven’t already scratched out. “Grapes. But only—”

“—the green ones, I know,” he finishes for her. “Trust me, I got the whole ‘no purple grapes’ speech from Makayla the other day.”

He remembers. He remembers Makayla doesn’t eat purple grapes. And god, that shouldn’t make Kim fall completely in love with him all over again, should it? But it does because by some miracle, he remembers. He remembers things like the foods Makayla won’t eat and to remind Kim to change the gauze on her wounds just in case she forgets— even when she rarely does. It’s so... Adam. She loves him for it.

Kim smiles, fights back a giggle as Adam starts to head down the aisle. She pushes the kart along next to him, still using it as a support but leaning more to the side of the kart closest to Adam. He notices it, she thinks, because he just smiles at her wordlessly and continues to walk down the aisle. Eventually, she leans so far to the one side of the kart that it almost veers into the middle of the aisle but she quickly catches it. It doesn’t stop her from leaning again. Just like always, she’s drawn to him.

They reach the produce section eventually and he reaches for the grapes. They get a few other things on the list-- toothpaste, ibuprofen, baby carrots. At one point, they get acai berries for smoothies and Adam completely butchers the name, which makes her laugh so hard she thinks her stitches might pop. And every time they get something, Adam wordlessly reaches for her, grabs whatever it is they need off of the shelf it's on. Never teasing her, always smiling when she doesn't try and reach for it herself, lets her rely on him for this. Tiny little things like this are what remind her of how close she feels to him. And each time, it cheers her up just a little bit more. Her life feels so much better with him. It almost makes getting shot twice bearable.

They get to the checkout, and the cashier compliments them. "How long have you two been married for?"

Kim remembers blushing at that question, speechless to the point where Adam has to answer for them. "Six years," he replies, which surprises her even more than the fact that the cashier would assume they're married in the first place. She figures he just doesn't want to go through the hassle of explaining to her that no, they're not married-- that they used to date but now are just living together temporarily while she heals for a gunshot wound and raising the child they're both technically guardians for. Yeah, saying they're married is much simpler. But why six years? Because it would have been how long they've been married for if they'd gone through with the marriage when they first got engaged all those years ago?

The cashier gives her a smile as Kim puts her card in the machine and pays for the groceries. As always, it comes to a total that's painfully expensive for everyday items.

They leave after that, Kim hobbling as she pushes the kart and Adam walks next to her. They don't talk about what he told the cashier at all, instead strolling in complete silence. It's for the best, maybe.

"You did a good job pushing the kart," he compliments her, finally breaking the silence as he puts the groceries in her car. "It's not exactly chasing down perps but I think you'll be back to work in no time."

"Thanks," she replies, the word barely escaping her throat.

It scares her a little. Because for the first time since she got shot, she's stopped feeling a rush for things to return to normal. Having him here, having him show her the smallest bits of devotion she's always dreamed of, it's everything to her. She stiffly shift into the passenger seat of her car once the groceries are loaded and thinks if healing gives her more time with Adam then maybe taking her time to heal isn't the worst thing in the world.

#thank you for the request Lexi!! #I've been dying to write for Burzek so this was so fun #abby writes #burzek #kim burgess #adam ruzek #fanfic #fanfic prompts #prompt requests #cpd

[rixxy8173571m3w1p3]

Can I Take Your Order?

For the anons who wanted a Cat Rick x Reader fic. For My other Cat Rick x reader fics, check out this master post.

——————-

You were about to step out; car keys in hand and with only one destination in mind, but your feline man child of a pet swaggered on over and got in the way. “Baby, I'm hungry.”

“Yeah,” You sighed, already sure where this was going. “and I'm supposed to care because?”

Taking in the sight of your baggy joggers and bleach stained t-shirt, he rolled his eyes. “Since you're ugh - you're clearly dressed to impress, you might as well feed me before you go.”

“I just fed you.”

Pointing at his empty dish, he complained. “But I'm still hungry. You think I'd be satisfied with only th-that much?”

You had hoped so. “I swear to God Rick,” you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose to keep calm. “if you want food that badly then get it yourself. There must be more than enough in the cabinet. And don’t pretend that you don’t enjoy meow mix, because I’ve seen how obscenely excited you get over it.”

“Come on baby, I don't want to eat any more of that right now. I-I figured you're already wasting your life and cash away at Taco Bell. Might as - might as well pick me up some Mcnuggets on the way.”

“If I'm killing myself softly with junk food then that's my own business, but you, I thought you were given doctors orders to eat better, weren't you?”

“Screw him. He - he only said to cut back on the liquor. He never told me I-I-I had to ruin my quality of - of life.”

You eyed the areas around his neck that were in patches because he couldn't stop scratching and wondered where you had gone wrong in a past life. “Yeah, I don't think so. Until your rash goes away, then there'll be no garbage food for you.”

“But baby, I-I'll starve.”

“No," You flicked his nose, "you won't. Anyway, I'll see you later.”

“But baby…"

"Look, we've already talked about this. In this home, we respect the holy shell of Taco Bell.”

“There's nothing sacred about th-those ingredients.”

Pushing him out of the way, you rolled your eyes. “Tell me something I don't know, fuzzy butt.”

His ears flattened. “There's a-a lot you'd rather not know, but whatever.”

Something told you this wasn't really about food. "Rick, is something wrong? Is this really about food?"

He didn't answer, but he did grab the meow mix and left to sit on his favorite spot; on top of the fridge.

__________

You had grabbed your food a half-hour ago, but couldn't bring yourself to drive home. Thoughts on how uncomfortable Rick must've been feeling kept plaguing you. Did he bring it upon himself with his habits? Yes, but it could have happened to anyone, and considering that he spent his time with mostly human versions of himself, it was possible that a lot of places in the Citadel didn’t cater to felines. It was these thoughts that convinced you of where you ought to go.

You set your directions to lead you to the nearest pet store, and once there you searched for the anti-itch creams and ointments, and cat-safe toothpaste since he couldn't use yours. And although you couldn't get him McNuggets, you did pick up some ingredients to make him homemade nuggets. As you drove back home, you kept asking yourself why you put up with his behavior, and why do you care about him despite it all? Perhaps you were losing it, but after all the time you two spent together, you had become rather fond of him.

Though, it was easy to forget how fond you were of him when he got on your nerves, damaged your stuff, and ate as though he’d never eat again. Still, coming home to see him sprawled out and asleep on your couch, or to find that he had bought you a gift brightened your day. Yet, nothing could top the amusement that comes from having him cling to you the moment you returned home. And as you got home, today was no different. You felt his nails prick at your skin as he latched onto you and complained, “Where the hell have y-y-you been?”

“I went shopping for a few things. Now, are you going to let me go, or do you not want to eat?”

His ears perked at this. “You got me th-those nuggets.”

“No, but I’ll make you some. It’ll take maybe half an hour but…”

“Damn baby, y-your cooking for me now? Do I have t-t-to return the favor somehow?”

Lightly pushing him away, you answered, “Don’t get any weird ideas now.”

“But you never cook f-for me.”

“Yeah, and don’t get used to it.”

A part of you was delighted he was looking forward to it. Who knows, maybe you’ll cook for him again, but only if he doesn’t complain about today's meal.

Fin

#not doofus rick related #cat rick x reader #cat rick #Kitty Rick x reader #Kitty Rick #Rnm fanfiction #Rnm #Rick and morty #Rick and morty fanfiction #My fanfiction #My works #Rick Sanchez #Rick Sanchez x reader

[earthfire-75]

I don't know what to say about it,

When all you ears have turned away,

But now's the time to look and look again at what you see,

Is that the way it ought to stay?

Kashmir

Chapter Two, Part One:That’s the Way (Sleepwalking)

(Author’s notes: co-written with @nature-and-music and beta’ed by @lady-jane-revisited )

I woke up the next morning and got out of bed. It was then I realized that I was indeed in a bed, when I had fallen asleep on the couch. Robert must have moved me when he came up to the room. I shook my head and went back out into the main room to get my clothes, quietly and quickly getting dressed. Sure enough, there was Robert in my place on the couch. I took the room key once more and made a dash out to the hall. Unfortunately, I was stopped by Cole.

“Enjoy yourself?” He asked sarcastically. “Honestly, though, I figured you’d be coming out of Jimmy’s room. Since he found you and all. Such disloyalty.”

“Do you actually know what happened last night, or are you just talking out of your ass?”

“I know how things work around here, girl. More than you do. It would have been bad enough if you had been with Jimmy. But Robert? That just looks bad for you. Half the other roadies already think you're getting special treatment just because you’re a girl. Myself included. This? Just reinforces that assumption.”

“I’m sorry, should I have slept out in the hallway? You know what, I don’t have time to stand here and justify to you where I slept last night. I have things to do before I officially start my job this morning. If you’ll excuse me.”

I stepped forward, trying to walk past Cole, but he stuck his arm out to stop me from leaving. Thankfully, before he could say anything further, G came around the corner. Less fortunately, Rogina was right beside him. It seemed they had been talking, but stopped upon seeing the scene in front of them. Rogina came to my side, glaring up at Cole, but it was G who spoke.

“Is there something wrong?”

Cole immediately dropped his arm and straightened his posture. “I was just explaining to the newbie that employees don’t sleep with the band. Even if she is a girl.”

G’s eyes narrowed at Cole. “I wasn’t asking you.”

“And I was explaining that it’s none of his damn business and I got a couple of things to grab from the drug store across the way because I currently have no toiletries or anything to pack my stuff in.”

“You’re right, it isn’t any of his business. That being said, you were supposed to get everything you needed yesterday.”

“I know and that’s on me, but everything was so rushed yesterday. And I know it’s not going to be any less so today.”

G sighs but nods. “Five minutes. That’s all I can give you, my dear.”

“You’re just going to let her go?”

“Yes, and if you’re the reason she’s late coming back because you refuse to get out of her way, not only will you be picking up her slack, you can carry her things as well!” G boomed at him.

Rogina piped up beside me, “I’ll go with her, help her get what she needs so it goes faster.”

Cole just threw his hands up and stepped to the side. “Fine!”

Rogina roughly bumped her shoulder into Cole as she walked past him, glaring daggers at him before we headed to the elevator. We were silent for some time as we made our way to the drug store across the street.

Rogina grabbed a shopping basket, “Sorry that you had to go through with that Anj. Cole’s always been fucking prick that loves to cause trouble.” She tossed in hair brush, “If he or anyone gives you trouble, let me know.”

I smiled as I added in shampoo and conditioner bottles, “Thank you. I’ll be okay, I can handle him.”

Rogina sighed as she placed a tube of toothpaste in, “Well let me know if he does anything, okay?”

“I will. Come on, we better hurry.”

We had managed to grab what we could during those five minutes. Having her here was great, given the time crunch and that she could help me find the necessary items that I would need, plus a backpack to my belongings. She offered to help pay for some of the items, but I let her know that I could take care of it. Once we were done, we hurried back to the hotel and found everyone in the lobby. G and Bonzo were conversing with Cole, their arms were crossed as they stood before the bearded man.

Robert spotted us and walked over, “There you are, is everything alright?”

I nodded, “Yeah, I just needed to get a few things-”

“No I mean, I heard about what happened this morning. G told me. I’m sorry Anjelika,” he continued.

“Really, I’m okay Robert. Besides he can say and think whatever he wants to,” I assured him. “I doubt he’ll be much of a problem anyway.”

Robert’s eyebrows pulled together, “Even so-”

G’s voice bellowed, “Alright everyone, make sure that you have what you need! It’s time to head out!”

And with that, we all grabbed our stuff and made our way out to the buses.

Robert had been kind enough to already have my things with his, so I was able to quickly transfer it all to the backpack. He mentioned something about needing a bag for my dresses so they wouldn’t get all wrinkled, but I didn’t have time to respond, quickly closing up the backpack and getting on the roadies’ bus. At least the trip to the venue wasn’t all that long.

Once there we got out and started unpacking the equipment to take inside and set up while G took the bands to go talk with the venue owner and crew. The whole process took quite a few hours and we took a break for lunch before resuming. We finished about three hours before the show was to start and slowly, everyone else left the stage.

Alone at last, the other roadies, Cole included, left the stage after everything was set up, I went to pick up the acoustic and sat at one of the stools and began to play. I didn’t know it, but I was being watched by Robert and Jimmy at one side of the stage, Rogina on the other.

“Life detaches

Much less loved

A taste familiar

But watered down

And each day passes

Into the next

Like television

Flickering unseen”

“She sounds so sad,” Robert whispered to Jimmy.

“She sounds…lost,” Jimmy responded thoughtfully. “There’s something else, too. I get shivers whenever I hear her sing.”

“I breathe

But I don't often think about it

Anymore

It's become a habit

Those embers fragment

That fire was

Just a fracture

In the ice“

Bonzo came up behind Robert and Jimmy. “Hey, guys!” Robert and Jimmy shushed Bonzo at the same time.

“Okay…” he responded in a whisper. “But why are we watching Anjelika like a bunch of creeps and whispering about it?”

“Do you hear me?

Can you hear me?

Do you hear a voice from my side?

Sleepwalking“

“Because,” Robert whispered sadly, “I don’t think she would keep doing this if she knew she was being watched.”

“She’s turned down every opportunity to play in front of an audience, even as a backup. But, for me, it isn’t just that. I get the feeling she isn’t telling us everything.”

“And poetry

Fills an empty room

With science broken

And confused

And my desire...

Becomes a pacifier

I need to feel

Alive & awake”

“Everyone is allowed some secrets, Jimmy. You, of all people, should understand that,” Bonzo said pointedly.

Jimmy finally looked at Bonzo with a raised eyebrow. “You know something we don’t, don’t you?”

“Do you hear me?

Can you hear me?

Do you hear a voice from my side?

Sleepwalking”

“S’pose I do?”

“Care to share with the class?

“Not my story to tell, Jimbo,” Bonzo shrugged .

“Something aging

In the water

In the damage

To my soul

The wishing fire

Is still alive

And I think his heartbeat

Will not die

How can I give

Anymore of my life

Away…”

“Fine, keep her secrets too.” Jimmy walked away.

Robert and Bonzo sigh and shake their heads at their friend. Both of them know that Jimmy won’t let it go so easily. He never did.

“Do you hear me?

Can you hear me?

Do you hear a voice from my side?

Sleepwalking.”

“I just want her to be ok. No, more than that, really. I just…don’t know what to do.”

From her side of the stage, Rogina finally stepped out of the shadows toward me, a broad smile on her face. “That was beautiful, Anj. Robert’s right, you really should show off your talent.”

I smiled and ducked my head, given that my face was red. She had been nothing but good to me and for some reason, I had a harder time resisting her charms. Not that it was easy resisting Robert’s. Instead of answering her, I started to play again, something that might be more familiar to her. Tom Petty’s Breakdown, even taking on the singer's more southern dialect.

“It's alright if you love me

It's alright if you don't

I'm not afraid of you runnin' away, honey

I get the feeling you won't”

“There is no sense in pretending

Your eyes give you away

Something inside you is feeling like I do

We said all there is to say”

“Baby, breakdown, go ahead and give it to me

Breakdown, honey, take me through the night (baby, baby, breakdown)

Breakdown, now I'm standin' here, can't you see?

Breakdown, it's all right”

“It's all right

It's all right”

The next thing I knew, Rogina sang along with me as well. Her singing started out softly at first until she reached the chorus and her voice came out strong and powerful like a mountain. While I was familiar with Daltrey’s voice, to hear it before me was something else. As we continued, we found ourselves singing in such a lovely harmonious manner that the world around us seemed to have stopped.

The song came to a close, she placed a hand on my shoulder, “You have a great talent Anjelika.”

“Well compared to you, I seem like more of an amateur,” I joked.

“No Anj, your voice is lovely and so is your playing. That song you were singing before, I’ve never heard of it.”

I looked down for a moment, “Oh it’s just a little something that I’ve been working on.” I stood up from the stool and placed the guitar down, “I better get back to work.”

“Anj-”

I had already made my way off the other wing, only to see Robert, Bonzo, and Jimmy there. My face was flushing as I walked past them. I felt like such an idiot! What on earth was I thinking? The show was to start fairly soon and I had a job to complete. The ticks on the clock continued as everything from lighting, technical matters, clothing, and the instruments were put into place. The doors to the stadium opened and the fans made their way inside. The more dedicated fans were attempting to do what they could in order to get as close to the band members as possible. Security was already on the matter and they kept their composure as they desperately hoped to catch a glimpse of their idols.

I walked through the hallway with a black coffee in hand, hearing the echoes of varying conversations going on between roadies. I would offer a smile as I passed by, some would offer one back, others would give me a look of disdain. Cole was within my sights and so I kept my eyes facing forward. I kept my distance from him as I moved out of the way.

Cole blew a cloud of smoke in my direction, “On your way to give ol’ Plant a little ‘warm up session?”

I kept my back to him, “Why don’t you go do that yourself? Since you seem so keen on the idea.”

G walked over, “You two ladies fighting again?”

Cole answered back, “Actually I was just about to check on the boys.”

G raised a brow as he watched him walk away, “How are you doing Anjelika?”

“Well things seem to be going well for my first day.”

“Good. Now since this is your first night, I don’t expect you to know everything that happens. You might feel a little confused about how we do things at first, but you’ll learn pretty quickly.”

I nodded, “So how long do you think tonight’s show will be?”

G took out a cigar and lit it, “I reckon about three and half, four hours tops. I’ll have you out on the wings to help with instruments for right now. I want to see how you do tonight, then I’ll add more duties to your list.”

“Thank you Mr. Grant.”

I felt a gloved hand on my shoulder. Following the black leathered glove, I was greeted with the sight of Alice Cooper wearing a leather ensemble. His eyes and sides of his mouth were marked in his signature look.

“How do I look?” He asked

“Like a freak,” I answered with a smile.

“Why thank you,” he responded kindly with a genuine smile. “See you after the show.”

He and his fellow bandmates excitedly made their way down the hall, ready with their instruments in hand. They greeted the cheering crowd with the first notes and so the first act of the show began.

I gave all the support I could from the sidelines and adjusted guitars, restringing them when needed. His act lasted for a little under an hour and I gave him a hug in congratulations when he came off the stage. The Who were next and as Rogina passed me, I gave her a hug as well and a kiss on the cheek, despite my better judgment. “For luck.” I explained with darkened cheeks when she gave me a questioning look.

“Thank you,” she responded with a smile, then headed out onto the stage to join her bandmates. Halfway through their act, Rogina made some anecdote about life on the road and as a woman in rock music. She mentioned me, though not by name and dedicated the next song to a “special someone”, all the while looking at me and began to play ‘Love Ain't for Keeping’.

When their act was done and Rogina came off the stage, she came up to me and gave me a proper, if chaste, kiss before going back to the changing rooms. Then it was time for Zeppelin, the last act for the night. I hated how heartbroken Robert looked as he walked past me on his way to the stage. I had been so worried about getting my own heart broken…

“Wow, Anj…Rogina too? And poor Robert had no idea, did he?”

“Shut the fuck up, Cole,” I seethed.

“Or wha-“

I was beyond done with the man, if he could be called one, I whirled around and decked him, knocking him to the floor. Standing over him now, I took a fistful of his shirt and hauled him into a sitting position and got in his face. “You really need a lesson in minding your own fucking business. Do yourself a favor and keep Rogina’s name out of your mouth and the next time you decide to butt into my life outside of actual work, I’ll shove my foot so far up your ass, you’ll be eating my steel toe boots!” I hadn’t realized it, but my eyes were glowing as I spoke.

I stood back up to find G standing there, but he didn’t say anything to me, just gave me a nod and I went back to doing my job. G had security take Cole to another room to get looked at and bandaged up as his nose was bleeding a little.

I marched into the hallways, grabbed myself a beer, and found an isolated area to sit and cool down. The day hasn’t ended yet and Cole continues to be a nuisance. I had hoped that after today he would have gotten the message. I heard the sound of footsteps approaching and quite frankly I wasn’t in the mood to talk. At this point I didn’t care who came over, I was angry and I needed some time to be alone. Yet my ears perked up when I heard a familiar voice.

“Anjelika,” Rogina softly called. “Are you alright?”

She took a seat next to me, but I scooted away, keeping my eyes on my beer, “I’m fine.”

“I saw what happened from the changing room.”

I uttered under my breath, “So? It’s resolved, let it go.”

#led zeppelin fanfic #the who fanfiction #robert plant fanfiction #roger daltrey fanfiction #fem!roger daltrey #robert plant #fem!oc #Led Zeppelin #the who #alice cooper #peter grant

[emmy-writes-sometimes]

Lonely

Henry notices you’re lonely after moving out to the country with him, but he has a surprise under his sleeve.

Pairing: Henry Cavill x reader

Word Count: 2,627

Warnings: FLUFF! Fluffy puppies, fluffy Henry, etc. 

A/N: I had this idea and HAD to write it down. I hope you love it just as much as I do! 

-

           “Are you sure you’re alright? I really can just ask for them to switch scenes and…” Henry started when he saw you sitting on the floor of the den, Kal’s head in your lap as you rubbed behind his ears.

           “I’m fine,” you insisted. “You two go. You’ve been here long enough.” You and Henry had finally bought your own place together – you’d sold his old house in Kensington for a small farm. It was gorgeous – it was a few acres in every direction, an old but gorgeous house, and stables for Henry to live his best horse boy life. It was definitely a little bit more responsibility, but it had so much room for Kal to run around and it had extra bedrooms for when you and Henry would have a family of your own. You loved living out there. The only con was that Henry had to leave an extra half an hour early just to get back to the studio they were filming the Witcher at. You’d moved in two weeks ago and this was supposed to be his first week back on set.

           “Alright. If you insist,” he sighed. “Can you get Kal’s bag ready?” You nodded and stood up, earning a small whine from the dog who just wanted his mum to pet him. You walked over to the hutch by the door, one that you’d brought from Henry’s old house, and started packing up Kal’s toys, wipes for his eye boogers, and a small jar of peanut butter that Henry usually filled a toy with to keep him busy while Henry was on set.

           You put Kal’s harness on him by kneeling down and putting it over his head. You sighed when his face hit your arm and reached up to scratch his ear again.

           “I know, buddy, I’m gonna miss you too,” you said in the voice you reserved for just him. The black and white and brown dog pawed at you as you started to hook his leash to the red harness. You didn’t realize that Henry heard you, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to. He hated leaving you, and normally you worked from home so you were able to go to set with him and with Kal. But the house was a lot more responsibility now, so you needed to be there as much as you could. You could come with Henry maybe once or twice a week, if even that, especially now that you had horses that needed to be taken care of every so often during the day.

           “Alright. Kal, car!” Henry made a kissing noise as he pointed toward the door, opening it, and the dog disappeared through the crack in the door and out to the car. Henry put a hand on your waist and tugged you toward him, leaning down and kissing your lips. He was wearing your strawberry chapstick, you noticed, probably because it was on the vanity and it was so cold outside that his lips would get chapped before he even got to set.

           “Have a good day,” you said sweetly.

           “You too. Let me know if you need anything, love, and I’ll come home. I promise.”

           “I’m fine, Hen. Go film your show.” He gave you a soft smile.

           “I love you.”

           “I love you, too.” You stood on your toes and kissed his clean-shaven face, smelling the Lynx aftershave he always used. And then he turned and left the house, taking Kal’s bag with him. You were alone.

           The first part of the day was fine – you checked on the horses, even braided one’s mane because you were a little bored, and then took a walk around the house to take care of the garden. You had to admit that you were lonely in the gigantic farmhouse alone, but that was mostly because of the size. You were sure you would get used to it eventually.

           Henry called you during his lunch break and told you what had been going on so far, but that only made you feel more alone when FaceTime hung up and left you alone. You desperately wished there was a dog at your feet keeping you warm or Henry sniffling in the corner, highlighting his scripts. You looked behind you in the office you two shared, looking at his desk, and grabbed his cashmere blanket to use.

           Henry was finally home late that night, and after making himself an extremely late dinner he came and joined you in bed. He pulled you into his chest and shut the bedroom light off right after the shower shut off in your bathroom. You smelled the aftershave from that morning, but there was a hint of the chamomile tea he drank on his breath mixed with his toothpaste.

           “How was the house?” He asked you. You put an arm around his waist and cuddled into his bare, slightly damp chest.

           “A little lonely,” you admitted. “I think it’s just because it’s bigger. And we have all these empty bedrooms. And I miss Kal…” Your voice trailed off. “But I love it. It’s just a little lonely.”

           That wasn’t the first time you’d expressed how you felt to him – the loneliness started when you were packing up the old house while he was working. You missed him when he was gone. You were both notoriously clingy, especially toward each other, and most of the time you even traveled with him. You wanted to be around each other, all the time. That was just how your relationship was – your language toward each other was physical touch.

           “What if I told you I might have something that’ll help?” He asked. You felt the vibrations in his chest and shut your eyes, relaxing at the sound of his voice.

           “And what would that be?” You asked.

           “That, darling, you’ll have to find out this weekend.” You giggled and settled down, hoping that he wasn’t just messing with you. “Alright. Good night, love.” You turned away from him and he adjusted, putting his chest against your back, and tugged your duvet up toward your chin so you would be warm.

           You woke up the next day and he was already gone. You started your routine again, but you had to make a run into town for groceries. That really reminded you of how alone you were – you’d only been out to the town two or three times, all with Henry, all laughing and talking the whole time. You put your AirPods in and listened to a podcast to feel a little less alone, but as soon as you got into the house to unload everything, the feeling returned.

           It was just making you feel depressed, more than anything. You missed your person. You missed your pup. You hated the silence so much that you turned the TV on just to keep you company. You nearly jumped with joy when Henry pulled into the driveway, just in time for dinner, and you sat up like a child while he talked, eyes wide, wanting to hear everything about his day.

           “Will you give me a hint?” You asked, trying to figure out what Henry’s solution could be. You were thinking either another horse or a new car or maybe that they were transferring to a closer studio, but you really had no idea. And by the way Henry looked at you and ran his fingers through his curly hair and grinned, you had a feeling that it was something good.

           “No. Not at all. You’ll just have to see tomorrow.” You sighed and crossed your arms, letting him clean up as you started to get ready for bed.

           You woke up bright and early, nearly dragging Henry out of bed, and he finally just told you to get in the damn truck before he lost his mind. He took you out for tea and shopping, probably just to pass some time, but instead of heading back toward the house he went to the other town. You looked at him, confused, and you were especially confused when you saw a text from the dog-sitter saying that Kal was excited. That confused you even more, and when Henry pulled onto a dirt road you realized he was going toward another farm.

           “I swear, Henry, if we’re getting another horse…” He grinned and took your hand, squeezing it tightly.

           “We don’t need another horse,” he said, trying to rationalize you a little bit. You rolled your eyes and let go of his hand, crossing your arms against the sweatshirt you’d borrowed from Henry.

           “Well, where are we?” You asked when he pulled up to a house. He shut the truck off and let you out first, and without answering led you up to the front porch. He rang the doorbell and the wooden door erupted with bark after bark, and that was when you kind of realized what was going on. Maybe. You looked at Henry, who was grinning.

           “Do you know now?” He asked.

           “Henry,” you started to say. And then the door opened, revealing a woman who was holding a fluffy puppy in her hands.

           “Now do you get it?” He asked you. “Hi, I’m Henry, this is my girlfriend, Y/N,” he said to the woman. The woman shook both of your hands and you started to realize what was going on, but only briefly.

           “I think?” You responded, trying to contain your excitement. The woman led you into the house’s living room, where there was a gate set up. The room had probably about eight or nine puppies in it, and you looked over at Henry. Happiness flooded into your heart when you finally understood what was happening. You were getting another Akita. Henry smiled back at you, knowing that you got it.

           “We have three females and five males,” the woman explained, “but since you already have a male I would suggest you get another. Of course, it’s up to you, though.” Henry put a hand to your back.

           “Well, go on and pick one, love,” Henry said with a smile on his face.

           “You mean…?”

           “It’ll be all yours.” You hugged Henry from the side, squeezing his waist as he kissed the top of your head. “Go on.” You giggled and sat down on the floor. The puppies were all different colors, and you could see what looked to be the mother or the father in the other room walking around. Henry started talking to the woman and you soon came to find out that this was where he’d gotten Kal from. So, theoretically, this dog would actually be related to Kal. Something about that made you tear up.

           You looked around and petted all of the pups, who had different colored ribbons hanging on their necks. The pink and green ones were running around you, too busy playing with one another. The red and purple ones were sniffing you, and the others were walking around you. The blue one, though, was the first one that rest his head on your lap. He looked a little like Kal, but instead of almost black fur he was mostly the color of caramel with a little black and a little white. He was absolutely gorgeous. As soon as you looked down at him, he was the one.

           “You found one you like yet?” Henry asked a minute later, walking into the little corral and sitting down beside you. You carefully picked up the blue-ribboned puppy and smiled when the dog put his head on your shoulder.

           “I think this is the one,” you said softly, stroking the fur on his back. Something inside of you just broke and all of the loneliness and sadness you’d felt recently flooded out of you. Your eyes filled with tears and suddenly Henry was sitting beside you, his hand on the dog, too, and he put his lips to your temple.

           “I cried when I got Kal, too, it’s okay,” he said. You laughed and sniffled, hugging the soft, warm pup in your arms. “You know what you’re gonna name him?”

           “Well, it has to be after a superhero,” you responded like it was completely obvious. “But I don’t know yet.” Henry chuckled.

           “I’ll go arrange it. Spend some time with your new buddy.” Henry rubbed the dog’s ear for a second, agreeing with your decision, before walking back to the other room where the woman was standing talking to her family.

           In a few minutes you were all set and you were carrying the puppy out to the lawn, sitting back down. The puppy seemed to enjoy the sunshine, and when you got him into the car, he settled right on your lap. Henry’s hand reached over to pet the dog and etched on his face was a beam you hadn’t seen in a long time.

           “It’s not a fix-all,” Henry said to you. “But I know how much you love Kal and how happy he makes you. And I know how lonely it gets during the day, so when I take Kal, you can have this buddy.”

           “I can’t believe you got me a puppy.” You cuddled the dog like you had before, up by your neck, the soft puppy smell invading your nose. So did the hair, and you turned away to sneeze for a second.

           “Anything for my favorite girl,” he said to you. “I think you made the right choice. He’s so good in the car. Kal was absolutely evil when I got him, crawling around everywhere.” You giggled.

           “Yeah, he’s a good boy,” you commented as the dog whimpered when Henry went over a bump. “Drive carefully, my baby’s sad!” Henry chuckled.

           He pulled into the driveway a few minutes later and you made the introduction between the two dogs. You expected it to go worse than it did – Kal was territorial, especially over Henry and you, but he sniffed the puppy and sat down and let the dog even bite his ear without protesting at all.

           “I think they’re getting along well,” Henry commented as the two of you sat down on the couch and watched. You leaned into Henry’s shoulder, burying your face in his sweatshirt.

           “Thank you, Henry. You’ve no idea how much this means to me.”

           “I don’t want my love to be lonely. And I secretly just wanted an excuse for Kal to have a brother.” You giggled. “Thought of a name yet?”

           “You’re going to hate me for it.”

           “It depends, I’ll only hate it if it’s stupid.”

           “Well, since Kal is named after Superman, maybe we should name this one after another superhero.”

           “Oh, I hate where you’re going with this.”

           “Okay, you might kill me,” you confirmed. “But doesn’t he kind of, at least a little bit, look like Pietro? Maximoff?”

           “I’m sorry, I don’t speak Marvel.” You rolled your eyes and took out your phone, searching Google. Henry just tilted his head when you showed him a picture of the character you were referring to, and instead of protesting Henry just kind of nodded.

           “He… actually kind of does.”

           “Maximoff it is,” you grinned, walking over to the puppy and picking him up. “Max for short?”

           “Yeah, I’m calling him Max,” Henry said with a small roll of his eyes. He walked over to you and leaned down, kissing you. “Our family’s growing, love.”

           “Yep.” Henry reached down to pet Kal, praising him for being such a good boy to the new puppy, and you squeezed your new best friend tightly. “I love you. And Max.”

           “His name is Maximoff!”

#henry cavill x reader #henry cavill fluff #henry cavill x reader fluff #henry cavill

[prolestariwrites]

Dante x Reader: ‘What Are We Doing?’

Fandom: Devil May Cry Rating: Explicit Tags: Sex, Explicit Sex, Oral Sex, Reader-Insert Words: 3041 Also posted on AO3

Dante stares across the room at you, and you stare back. The light in the little hallway to the bathroom is on, putting him in silhouette so you can't see his face. The motel he pulled into isn't a dive, it's quite decent actually, you've slept in way shittier places in the past, but even the sight of the one bed in the room didn't make you pause the way his look does now.

It's the same way he stared at you earlier, across the broken cemetery where some demons had put up shop, buying and selling in souls and blood before the legendary devil hunter had rolled up on his bike and sent them packing. You were there, of course, your knack for putting up wards and your knowledge of the nasties that slither in the dark coming in handy on jobs like this. He takes care of the bad guys while you sprinkle some sage and eye of newt and make sure they can't come back. He's been taking you more often, not that you're not grateful for the money, but this is the first time he's looked at you like this and it makes your heart stop.

What changed? He hasn’t spoken since you left the site, job well done and heading back home, where you’d stop at the same bar and have a beer, three cheers for surviving another night. Depending on how gross you both ended up you might stay a bit, have a game of darts, laugh at the ones shooting glances because they don’t know better, don’t know what the world is really like. You might even have a shot or two, really loosen you both up, until the game turns dangerous and one of you has to go home before you both win, or lose.

Dante crosses the room, getting up close enough that you can smell the sweat and the dirt from the fight and the worn red leather, smooth like butter. He swallows thickly, and you watch the column of his throat in fascination, wishing you could taste it, take a bite. There are so many delectable parts of Dante Sparda you've wanted to take a bite out of over the months and months of jobs and beers and cautious flirtation, his throat just one of many.

"What are we doing here, doll?" he asks, his voice like sandpaper.

You shake your head. He's the one that drove, you want to point out, he swung the bike into the motel and left you gaping as he climbed off and disappeared into the office. He's the one that emerged with a key and returned without a word to grab his bag as you scrambled off and followed. He hadn't asked and you hadn't answered, but you thought you knew why and how and there was no question that you wanted to follow him through the door that had a four hanging crooked on the outside. Four, your lucky number.

He steps closer, the air crackling. It's electric and tastes sharp. He's probably spoiling for a fight, the devils you were sent to dispatch way too easy, just some chumps looking to make a quick buck. Nothing wrong with that, until Dante had swung his sword and took their heads, ending it so quickly you hadn't finished the sigil on the ground to keep any other baddies from the place. When you did finish, he was staring at you just like this, so intensely that for a moment you had thought he was hurt.

Dante doesn't get hurt though. Come on, pizza boy, the old taunt sticks in your throat as his eyes go downward. You use the opportunity too, taking in the broad chest and thick arms, thick thighs, everything about him is so damn big, he even stands a head taller. You've never once seen him with someone, never ever, even though he could have any man or woman on the planet with those dangerous good looks. Maybe he has, and you're the last?

"Gonna take a shower," Dante says, and turns to disappear into the washroom.

So weird, this whole situation is so strange. You flirt and joke and yeah you go home after the job and your celebratory drink and think about that rock hard body, but he's never been like this. The shower turns on and you try not to think about him naked and wet, using the time to grab some tissues and try to rub some of the mud from your boots and not think of Dante.

But then he emerges in a towel. His chest is bare, the deep carve of his muscle damp from the shower, his hair wet and plastered against his face, and you nearly lose your mind as your eyes sweep over the hip bones and the smattering of chest hair you only imagine must be soft to the touch. You toss your jacket and make a beeline for the washroom, not wanting to hear him speak or see him change because you really will lose it and throw yourself at him.

The air in the bathroom is surprisingly cool. Did he take a cold shower? Well yours is hot, scalding hot, and under the safety of the spray your fingers find that part of you between your legs that will bring some relief. The sight of his body in that towel that barely covered his hips, his arms, his eyes intense on you—it only takes a minute before you are shaking with relief, your forearm pressed to the tile to keep you upright. You laugh shakily, glad that's taken care of, and use the rest of the soaps to wash your hair and body quickly.

Your bag is still in the other room, no big deal. Dante came out in a towel, so can you. You wrap it tight and step into the hallway, but immediately you spot him. He has shut off the hall light and turned on one dim lamp next to the bed, so he is still in a dark silhouette. Dante sits on the edge of the mattress, still wearing that fucking towel, only the front is tented and the electricity is back and crackling between you.

He stands and walks over to you slowly. Prowling. You flatten back against the wall as one of his hands flatten against either side of your head, and now you can only smell shampoo and toothpaste and heat. "What are we doing, babe?"

You shake your head. "What do you want?" you ask, knowing the answer.

His eyes drag over you. "Take off your towel."

You never could just do what you're told. "Yours first," you joke.

Dante leans closer. "Take it off," he growls, and then covers your mouth with his.

You open for him immediately, groaning when you taste him. Months of wanting this make you forget his order and you reach up instinctively, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him against you. Dante makes a noise that has your toes curling into the carpet, and his hands slide up your sides until he does the job himself, easing back a bit to leave enough space to yank the towel away before pressing you against the wall. His body covers yours as the kiss grows aggressive, and you can add his tongue to that mental list you have of thick things you want to bite on his body. It dips in and out of your mouth, stroking yours leisurely, while his hands roam your curves.

He covers your breasts, squeezing gently, then dragging down your stomach. He massages your hips before reaching your thighs, and then he lifts you, his hands gripping your legs like it's nothing, pulling them around his waist. Of course it’s nothing, he’s Dante, and you’ve seen him swing that crazy sword of his like it’s nothing, you think he’ll even break a sweat lifting your body? Hell no.

His cock is hard as it grinds against you, the friction making you wild from the scratch of the terry cloth that still covers it. Your body responds with a flush of arousal and you gasp against his kiss, thinking Dante is going to fuck you here against this wall, and you never wanted anything so goddamn badly.

Instead, he carries you to the bed, dropping you almost comically. You protest when your mouths disconnect, but it's worth it when his own towel drops and you see his erection. Your mouth actually waters a bit; it's thick and long and the dark gray hair that trails upwards has your core throbbing in anticipation. How is he going to fit?

Dante climbs on the bed, and you slide upwards, making him crawl after you. When your back hits the pillows he settles on his knees, and you watch him stroke himself as his other hand presses on your thigh. "You want this, right?" he asks, his voice tight.

"God yes," you answer, blushing when he laughs.

"Good." His hands push your legs open, and then he leans down, pressing his nose to your pelvis. You shake in anticipation, your clit throbbing as his lips ghost downwards. He looks up at you when they reach your hood, and you are so grateful for that lamp being on because the way his eyes focus on you as his tongue darts out to nudge against your clit has you almost coming apart right there.

Your little shiver of an orgasm means nothing now. Dante rolls his tongue in flat circles against your hood, the wet muscle slipping and sliding in waves of pleasure over your clit. You let go a moan, reaching down to touch him, his shoulders tight under your palms. His tongue doesn't stop, now stroking up and down your slit, flickering dangerously at your opening, making you melt as your thighs fall open and your body is nearly flooding with desire.

How is he so good at this? It's not fair, it's really not, his hands gripping your hips and his stubble scraping your labia, sending little shocks of pleasure with each pass of his tongue. You want to grab his hair and ride his face, grind into him good and hard and fuck his tongue until you come in a mess of moans, but there is more of the demon hunter to have, and your mouth is watering.

Instead of pulling him closer you push him back, following to cover his protests with your kiss. Now it's your turn to demand, your tongue rolling insistently around his as you taste your own arousal, the scent filling your nose. Dante holds you tightly against him until you try to do just as he did, lean over to take him in your mouth, but there isn't enough room here at the head of the bed.

So Dante pulls back, moving off the bed to readjust and climb back on. But you flip to your back and push yourself to the edge of the mattress, reaching out for him. Dante steps forward and his cock bobs into view above you, and you stretch up to wrap your lips around the shaft. First you simply slide your mouth up and down the underside, your tongue flat and wide as you move lengthwise along his sex, grinning when he groans. Then you tilt your head back and open your mouth, the head pushing on your tongue as you suck on him gently.

Dante curses and presses forward. His cock slides into your throat, filling you almost uncomfortably. But being at this angle makes him easier to swallow, the length sliding neatly into your upside-down throat. You choke a bit when he reaches the back of it, the tip pushing as you try to take more and fail. It's still not enough, his pubic hair just barely grazing your face, but he pulls back before going any deeper.

You grip the base and hold him steady as you start to work. You suck on the head before opening again, guiding him in, and Dante wastes no time. He starts fucking you slowly, carefully, and you close your eyes as you enjoy the salty taste and the deep moans that are your reward. You want to please him suddenly, wipe the memory of every girl who let him sink deep inside her body, so you form a tight seal as he pumps his hips and open your legs, giving him a full visual of your body.

The bed dips slightly as he plants his knee on the mattress and leans over you. The mass of his body is almost smothering, but at this angle you don't have to stretch your neck, and your moans join his as he pumps in and out. Then his tongue is on your sex once more, licking long stripes on your slit, and you nearly choke on his cock again when he thrusts deep inside your throat as his tongue enters your body.

You pull back, gasping, arching off the bed when his tongue pushes inside your tunnel. His cock jerks against your chin and you seek him out with your mouth, sucking him hard once he's back between your lips. Thankfully he goes back to the long licks that are more a tease than anything, each pass nudging your clit until your cunt is wet and flushed, pooling against your backside.

Dante uses his thumbs to gently open your folds, and when the tip of his tongue flicks your clit you cry out. His cock falls from your mouth again, damn it all, but his tongue is prodding you as his fingers rub up and down, spreading the moisture over your lips and down between your cheeks. You follow suit, reaching around to grab his ass, fingers digging into the muscle as you squeeze and pull them apart. You tilt your head up to flick your own tongue against the sac that hangs heavily between his legs, mimicking his movements, and you lose yourself to the silky sensation of his fingers and the scent of his body, distinct and male. You grip him firmly by the rear, thinking to yourself that when this is over, you are going to roll him onto his stomach and sink your teeth into the hard muscle.

He pulls away, and you look up at him as he looks back at you, upside down. You slowly turn over to push up on hands and knees, your eyes connected as you wait for his word. How will Dante Sparda, legendary devil hunter, fuck you tonight? Will he lay back and let you do the work, let you ride the cock you've been dreaming of for weeks and weeks? Fold you in half almost as he throws your legs over his shoulders and fucks you hard and deep until you shatter? Maybe he'll bend you over, your most frequent fantasy, take you on every surface of this room, his hand smacking your ass and pulling your hair as you beg for more.

But no, he crawls onto the bed, pulling you against him in another kiss. You sigh into his mouth as he lays you back on the pillows. Dante is a romantic, of course he is, why wouldn't he be? He lost his parents and his brother twice, he told you those stories over pizzas and beers. You knew this about him, you know he wants a connection to something, anything, it's probably why there aren't chicks walking out in the morning as you walk into the office. He wants someone, and you're here, and when he covers your body with his you want him more than anything.

Your thighs wrap around him as the head of his cock nudges you. Dante kisses down your neck and to your breasts, sucking one rosy nipple, then the other, back and forth until the pleasure sharpens into pinpricks of delicious pain. "Dante…" you breathe, and he's there, kissing you slowly as he enters you even slower, your core nearly burning with the stretch and the sensation of being filled so completely.

He's not human, not one hundred percent, that was obvious enough the first time you watched his neck sew shut or a puncture wound close on its own. But what exactly you've never asked, and you wish now you had, because when his hips go flush against your thighs you wonder how you'll survive this. Your hands cradle his face as he slowly rocks into you, against you, in and out, the drag of his cock overwhelming. But he seems to be just as lost, moaning into your mouth, whispering how you are so tight, so hot, so perfect.

Just fuck me already, that's what you want to say. But there is something about the slow drag that has you intoxicated, so when the orgasm builds you barely notice until you are almost there. Your eyes open in alarm, and you cry out his name almost in warning before it hits, deep and devastating, more than you could have imagined. You reach up to claw for something, anything to keep you from losing it through the contractions of bliss, and when you find nothing he takes your hands, your fingers entwining tightly. Dante mouths at your neck as you ride the waves of pleasure, his hips snapping now hard and sharp as he chases his own, and it doesn't stop, just starts again with his new movements, and one moan blends into another until you hear him curse and hiss and you are filled with thick, hot seed.

You are still trembling when he slowly releases his grip. His breath fans against your neck as he pants, and you smile to yourself a bit through the haze to know he was just as undone. "Dante," you whisper, and he leans over you, eyes bright and cheeks flushed as you push his hair back from his eyes.

"You wanted that, right?" he asks again, and it's so ludicrous you laugh as you nod.

"I want more," you murmur, remembering his backside under your fingers, and as he carefully pulls out you push him back, climbing over him this time.

━━━━━━━✧━━━━━━━

Thank you for reading! I’ve written smut before but this was my first reader insert. Please let me know what you thought! If you liked this I’ll do more. Feel free to send a request through the month of March, and if you liked this, check out my other fics for DMC! :D

#dmc #devil may cry #dante sparda #dante x reader #dmc dante #lemon #reader insert #oneshot #myfic #what are we doing

[mostlycompetentwriter]

“Blessings”- A Domesticated Drabble

F/M Pairing: Y/N X Bang Chan (Stray Kids)

Word Count: 4K

Warnings: Language...I guess?

Genre: Married Life AU, Parent AU

Note: This was a request from an anonymous user so I can’t tag them but here ya go!

I should have known better because it was one of those days teetering over the boundary of too perfect. I woke up next to Chan in bed, his hospital pager eerily silent, feeling as though I had been asleep for years. My body felt great, the sheets bundled around my waist because I was a notoriously bad bed partner, pulling the blankets further and further away from Chan as I sought additional warmth. But Chan didn’t seem to care, wearing nothing but boxer shorts as he remained statuesque-still with the heavy promise of a rare morning where he could sleep-in. I decided to leave Chan alone while I prepared breakfast, catching the attention of a still-groggy Felix who walked into the room with heavy eyes, grabbing a piece of toast before struggling back to his room. It was almost too peaceful, cooking alone in the kitchen with the company of my thoughts.

I fixed myself an omelet because I was feeling especially cheerful, flipping the eggs as the ingredients provided an alluring smell. Taking a seat at the counter, I started eating while scanning through my phone, excited to see a few promising emails swimming through the promotions tab. “Yogurt,” I murmured quietly, suddenly filled with an odd craving for the frozen treat.

Yet, just as quickly, my stomach suddenly started churning uncomfortably as if deciding that breakfast was a really bad idea. A wave of nausea washed over me like a profound warning before I was rushing to the bathroom. I tried to be as quiet as possible when I closed the door, dropping to my knees to empty the contents of my stomach into the toilet, groaning as I tasted the foul substance on my tongue. I couldn’t remember the last time I had been so sick, and I pressed my cheek against the cool surface of the floor, sweat pooling above my upper lip.

“Sweetie?” I heard Chan’s voice somewhere through my disoriented haze. “Are you okay?”

I swiped a hand across my face, flushing the toilet before pulling myself up against the sink. “I’m fine,” I tried to assure him, grimacing as I reached for my toothpaste.

“Are you sure?” Chan insisted and that’s when I knew that he must have heard my unfortunate bout of sickness. More than likely, every doctor instinct ingrained in him was demanding to assess my condition courtesy of endless training in college.

“I promise,” I said, closing my eyes against another passing pain of abdominal discomfort. 

“I’ll use Felix’s bathroom,” he said kindly and I thanked every possible deity for the inclusion of Chan in my life because he always understood when it was best to leave me alone.

“How about this one?” Minho asked loudly, holding up the pregnancy test for everyone in the whole damn store to see.

“You idiot,” I hissed at him, snatching the offending object away. “I don’t need everyone in here knowing!”

“Congratulations,” an elderly woman said to Minho, offering him a pat on the shoulder and a wink in my direction.

“We’re both excited,” Minho said to the woman before I dragged him further away since he insisted on embarrassing me.

“I hate you right now,” I said, slamming a few different tests on the counter, waiting for the cashier to process my order. 

“You definitely have the mood swing thing,” Minho commented.

“And you definitely have the asshole thing.”

“Why do we even have to do this?” Minho asked. “I’m sure Chan can just run some stupid tests or something.”

“Home tests are better for me right now,” I said, handing the cashier my debit card. “And Chan is a general doctor. I would set up an appointment with the OBGYN.”

“Are you planning to set up an appointment without him?” Minho asked with a gasp. “Can you film his reaction when he finds out?”

“I’m not trying to keep anything from him,” I snapped. “I need to be sure first before I go telling Chan that he knocked me up.”

“It’s not surprising, Y/N,” Minho said. “You told me that you stopped using Condoms, so what the hell did you expect?”

“It felt better that way,” I whined, snatching the grocery bag from the innocent cashier who was watching us with trepidation.

“Bad things always feel better for you,” Minho said, reaching into his jacket for a box of cigarettes. “See?”

“At least pregnancy won’t murder my lungs.”

“Yeah? But you’ll feel like shit,” Minho argued like the supportive best friend that he was. “Swollen feet, morning sickness, and carrying around an extra ten pounds? I’d rather lose my lungs.”

“Remind me again why I decided to call you this morning,” I lamented. 

“Because you weren’t going to ask Felix to shop pregnancy tests with you and Chan was unavailable?”

“That’s right,” I nodded, pausing next to my car. After my corvette was totally wrecked a year ago, Chan had decided that small cars just weren’t safe enough. This is why my ass had to drive around a Sienna Minivan now despite my protests.

“The Grandma car could use a fresh coat of paint,” Minho snickered and I sighed as I observed my bloated reflection in the side view mirror.

I held the pregnancy test up high, trying to catch it just right in the dim light of the bathroom. “Five minutes,” I murmured, re-checking the box to make sure I had read the instructions correctly. “What the fuck am I supposed to be looking for?”

“Are you almost done?” I heard Minho’s voice from outside. “God, it can’t possibly take this long.”

“Will you come in?” I asked nervously because I was starting to really hate the fact that my urine on a stick was somehow supposed to determine a very important yes or no question.

“You’re still not pissing in there, are you?”

“Minho,” I snapped through the door. “Just get your ass inside!”

He twisted the doorknob, hesitantly looking inside to meet my glare. “Sorry,” he whispered, opening the door fully to join me. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know what the hell I’m doing,” I said, trying to hand him the test but he quickly threw his hands up. 

“Didn’t you pee on that?”

“Grow the hell up,” I said, slamming the stick onto the counter. “It’s supposed to show a blue stripe if I’m pregnant.”

“So if there’s nothing, then we’re good?” he asked, squinting down at the device like he was suddenly far-sighted.

“Not necessarily,” I said, handing him the box. “Red if not pregnant.”

“But there’s nothing.”

“Thank you, asshole,” I grumbled. “Why do you think I brought you in?”

“You’re always dragging me into your problems, Y/N,” Minho said, shaking his head. “Just take another one I guess.”

I let out a groan. “I can’t spend all day taking pregnancy tests!”

“Is that so? Well, I could be with my girlfriend right now if I wasn't here with you,” Minho pointed out.

“Fine,” I muttered, grabbing a different test box.

After a series of failed observations, including an unfortunate incident in which Minho knocked a test into the toilet, we finally got a reading on a particularly expensive offering. “Pregnant,” Minho declared, glancing at me nervously. “Are you okay?”

“One more,” I insisted, but Minho reached out for my hand.

“Just go get tested, Y/N,” he said. “This will literally drive you insane.”

I whined at his words. “I don’t want to be pregnant right now, Minho. Chan and I haven’t planned for this!”

“Aren’t most pregnancies unplanned?” he grunted, swearing when I threw an empty test box at him. 

“They don’t have to be unplanned! A lot of couples talk about this with each other.”

“Wasn’t there an inherent agreement when you decided to let Chan fuck you raw?”

“You know what? Stop talking,” I said, shoving him out of the bathroom. “Go home to your girlfriend.”

“Call the doctor,” Minho retorted right before I slammed the door in his face.

The OBGYN office was way too bright. I squinted against the Halogen nightmare while fidgeting anxiously on the table, holding onto the hem of the oversized hospital gown they had loaned me to wear. A smaller cart sat next to bed offering a variety of dangerous tools that looked like they were meant for a serial killer’s house as opposed to a friendly office.

“Y/N?” an older woman greeted me, opening the door before locking it behind her. “How are you today?”

“I’m fine,” I said nervously, resisting the urge to jump out the window.

“Just relax,” the doctor said, scanning over a chart. “This is for pregnancy confirmation, then?”

“A possible pregnancy confirmation,” I said, and the doctor chuckled.

“I take it that this was unplanned?”

“Very much so.”

“Is that why the father is missing?”

I took a moment to glower at the doctor. “The father is missing because I don’t know if he’s actually a father yet. My husband works long hours at the ER. I didn’t want to bring him here if this turned out to be nothing.”

“Based on the symptoms you’ve described,” the doctor carried on as if ignoring my last rant. “And the home pregnancy test results, I don’t think you should expect negative lab work.”

I bit my lower lip, struggling to keep myself in check. In actuality, I wanted to scream at the nurse that she was definitely wrong because I did not want to be pregnant right now. “That’s why I’m here.”

The doctor nodded. “Go ahead and lean back, this shouldn’t take long.”

“Will it hurt?” I asked with a wince, slowly easing myself against the pillows.

“You shouldn’t feeling any pain,” the doctor replied, negotiating her stool to situate herself right between my open thighs. I had to force myself not to cover my exposed vagina, deciding that the doctor should spend no more than five minutes down there before I was forced to intervene. “Pull up your shirt for me,” she said, selecting one of the wands situated next to my bed.

I glanced at it suspiciously. “Is that going...inside?”

“It’s for your stomach,” she said, jerking an overhanging screen to eye-level. “I’m going to use a very small amount of what might look like jelly. It might feel cold on your skin.”

This warning still didn’t stop me from jerking in surprise when she placed the wand on my stomach, rubbing it over my skin with precision. “This is interesting.”

The doctor grinned. “After this, I’m going to need a urine sample as well.”

“Okay,” I managed, watching the screen with careful eyes, searching for any signs that there was something growing inside of me.

A few moments later she pulled back, removing her gloves with a snap. “All done.”

“Just like that?” I asked incredulously.

She offered me a smile. “That’s it.” 

“Holy shit,” I cursed, accepting the paper towels to swipe across the mess on my stomach.

“For your urine sample,” she said, offering me a sterile cup. 

I accepted it with a sigh. “How long will it take to get the results?”

“Not long,” she promised me with a wink.

I retreated into the adjoining bathroom after downing a few cups of water, waiting until I could finally accommodate her request before re-entering the room. “Here,” I said, offering her the sample.

“Great!” she chirped. “Your results will be ready shortly.”

I watched her leave before fanning a hand across my stomach. “Why did you choose now of all times?”

Silence greeted my words and I worriedly played with my wedding band while I waited impatiently for the doctor to return. In moments like this, I really missed having Chan at my side because he always knew the best ways to calm me down. Without his familiar presence, I was left succumbing to all of my nervous ticks including that nasty habit of picking at the skin around my cuticles. 

“Now I need a manicure,” I sighed, startling when the door abruptly opened to welcome my doctor back inside.

“Congratulations, Y/N,” she said, offering me a manila folder. “You’re pregnant. The scans are available for you inside that packet.”

The heavy revelation slowly settled in as my stomach churned uncomfortably.

“You’re quiet today,” Felix remarked, watching me over his bowl of popcorn. I couldn’t even remember what movie we had been watching.

“Tired,” I grumbled.

“I thought you had the afternoon off,” Felix scoffed. “Is it that hard answering phone calls?”

I glared at him. “Maybe it is.”

Felix held up his hands defensively, fingers glistening with a mixture of salt and butter. “Sorry for asking.”

In actuality, I couldn’t stop thinking about the scans sitting on top of the counter. There were a million different scenarios running around my head as I envisioned Chan’s reaction to the news. At this point, it was inevitable that I told him, no more hiding behind Minho as we experimented hopelessly with a bunch of stupid pregnancy tests. I had the confirmation in several successive scans and my heart was beating at an irregular pace against my chest.

Chan had called earlier to tell me that he was on his way home and I had immediately panicked. I had nothing prepared to say to him, except something stupid along the lines of “You see? This is what happens when you stop wearing condoms.” Then, I could shove those scans at his chest and hide away in my bedroom for the rest of the night.

But all rational thought completely failed me when I heard Chan’s key turning in the lock. “He’s home now,” Felix remarked, wiping his nasty hands on his jeans. “Maybe Chan can order us takeout.”

I slowly exhaled, watching my husband walk into the living room. “What have you guys been up to?”

I froze in place while Felix complained about the lack of suitable groceries in the refrigerator. “I ate a TV dinner for lunch, Chan,” Felix whined.

My husband rolled his eyes affectionately, glancing at me with concern. “Y/N?”

“I’m okay,” I assured him quickly, nervously wringing my hands together. “Can I show you something in the kitchen?”

“What did you break this time?” Chan joked, but his smile was gone as soon as he noticed my expression. “It’s never good when you look at me like that.”

“It’s...something,” I offered, leading a ponderous Chan into the kitchen with a nosy Felix trailing behind. I carefully picked up the scans from the table. “Chan,” I exhaled, gazing into his understanding eyes filled with adoration. But words were suddenly impossible and instead I shoved the manila folder at him. “Here.”

“What is it?” he asked with a trace of amusement, flipping open the cover to look at the first scan.

“It’s supposed to be a baby,” I replied, suddenly aware of Felix joining us in the kitchen.

“A baby?” Chan repeated, looking up at me with wide eyes. “Our baby?”

I nodded slowly. “I had a scan today.”

“We’re pregnant?” Chan asked, his smile growing wider with every subsequent confirmation. “We made a baby?”

“The sperm was good,” Felix nodded solemnly, taking the scans from an overjoyed Chan.

“Are you serious, Y/N?” he asked.

“I went to the doctor today,” I said. “The tests were all positive.”

“Why aren’t you more excited?” he asked, pulling me into his arms with careful consideration for my stomach.

I relaxed in his hold. “I’m nervous, Channie. Don’t you feel the same way?”

“Well, of course, I’m nervous,” Chan said, studying me carefully. “This is a big deal.”

I took in a deep breath. “We didn’t plan for this.”

“I know we didn’t,” Chan said, “but we should have anticipated the risks of dropping the condoms.”

“I hated those fuckers,” I complained. “Your cock feels better without them.”

Chan pulled me closer. “What did you expect, Y/N?”

“Married bliss for the rest of our lives?”

He chuckled. “Why can’t we have that with a kid?”

“Kids get in the way,” I said. “My parents had to send me to my neighbor's house just so that they could have quick sex every once in a while.”

“You’re worried that we won’t have sex anymore?” Chan asked in that ridiculous way of his that let me know I was being irrational.

“No,” I groaned, burying my face against the fabric of his t-shirt. “I’m worried that I’ll fuck everything up.”

“What do you mean?”

“Do I honestly look like I could be a mother?” I asked, stepping out of his arms. “How do you even take care of a baby?”

Chan sighed, reaching out for my hand which I tentatively allowed him to hold. “Sweetie, we’ll learn these things together. You act like you’re all alone and that’s not true at all. I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

“You’re not scared?” I asked, brushing my thumb across his hand.

“Of course I am,” he nodded. “But I’m also really excited. I think that’s how most new parents feel regardless of whether or not they planned for a baby.”

I didn’t know what to say, but I could always find solace in his eyes. At least until Felix ruined the moment. “You totally knocked her up, bro!”

Chan sighed, glancing over his shoulder. “That’s not helpful, Felix.”

“Sorry,” Felix mouthed, taking the scans into the dining room. Meanwhile, I simply allowed Chan to maintain his familiar grip on my hand because there was no better feeling in the entire world.

Nine months progressed at the slowest possible pace as if the conspiring universe was determined I should suffer from every possible pregnancy symptom imaginable. I was beginning to think I was doomed to suffer, complaining to Chan until he finally forced me to revisit my OBGYN. “The sickness is really bad,” he explained to my doctor while I just groaned on the bed.

“Let’s have a look,” my doctor suggested leading to the unanticipated revelation that I was carrying not one, but two kids inside of me.

“Twins?” Chan gasped, clapping his hands together like he had just won the jackpot lottery. Meanwhile, I suddenly lost all motivation to even move from my spot on the examination table. Apparently, pregnancy symptoms were more severe when carrying multiple children, and I had just about reached my breaking point until one glorious day when my water broke while I was beating the shit out of Felix at MarioKart.

“That’s gross, Y/N,” Felix complained until I threw my phone at him and demanded he call Chan.

By the time my husband got home, I had finished ordering Felix around, demanding he pack my bags for me until there were two suitcases instead of one. “Are you going on vacation, sweetie?” Chan asked to which I offered him my most wilting glare yet. His face immediately paled. “Right, let’s get you to the hospital.”

I was practically numb with pain by the time we were finally checked-in, leaving me groaning on a hospital bed while my idiotic doctor explained that I wasn’t dilated enough. “How the hell is that possible?” I growled.

“What about an Epidural?” he suggested.

“She doesn’t want that,” Chan insisted until I reached out to firmly crush his hand beneath mine.

“I do want that!” I snapped. “And I want it right now before I die!”

“Of course! Whatever you want, sweetie,” Chan assured me, fleeing my hospital room like he had just seen a ghost.

I tried to lean back in the bed, growing more and more irritated with the endless contractions. My doctor insisted that I wasn’t ready, but I would hate to see how much worse this could possibly get. In the meantime, Chan returned only moments later with Jisung faithfully by his side. “No,” I snarled, pointing at Jisung. “Do not let him anywhere near me with needles.”

Graciously, Chan knew better than to object to my vicious demands. 

“Oh fuck,” I sighed in relief when the pain slowly started to ease. “This is amazing.”

Chan grinned from his seat next to me. “Do you feel better now?”

“I feel like I’m in one of those Willie Wonka cartoons,” I said. “Channie, I think this is what Heaven is like.”

Chan seemed amused by my reaction. “Was it really that bad, sweetie?”

“I think the kids were trying to split me open,” I told him. “My entire body was at their mercy.”

“I don’t think it’s their fault,” Chan teased. “After all, it’s just your body’s way of preparing itself.”

“Those women in the movies are fucking liars, Chan,” I said. “Pregnancy is not fun and I don’t recommend it to anyone. 0 out of 5 stars.”

Chan couldn’t hold back his laughter, leaning forward to brush a few strands of sweat-caked hair out of my eyes. “It’ll be over soon, sweetie. Then, we can finally meet our twins.”

“I expect two Mozarts, Chan,” I said. “For all this pain and suffering, I want two child prodigies who can grow up and make us lots of money.”

“Are you telling me that you’ve been incubating our retirement fund?”

“Hell yes.”

The doctor’s arrival disrupted our moment. “Shall we try pushing now?”

“Please,” I practically begged him, more than ready to do whatever it might take to end this unnecessary suffering.

“Remember your breathing,” the doctor reminded me and I quickly sought Chan’s hand, gripping it tightly between sweaty fingers. Chan was always strong, but apparently, even he found his limits when his wife was steadily crushing his hand. “Sweetie, it hurts,” Chan said, but didn’t try to pull away when I only gripped even tighter, screaming out through clenched teeth.

And several hours later, I was completely spent, breathing hard as the room filled with the sounds of distinct crying. “Congratulations, Y/N,” the doctor said, but I was already falling asleep, too exhausted to stay awake any longer.

I was still tired, despite my two-night stay at the hospital, coming home surrounded by people who insisted they needed to be involved in some capacity. Chan helped me walk to our bedroom, hand wrapped securely around my waist. Meanwhile, someone had decided it was a good idea for Han Jisung to manage both baby carriers while Felix slowly drug my bags across the floor, complaining about their weight. “They’re so cute!” Jisung squealed, bouncing the carriers with far too much enthusiasm.

I gripped tightly to Chan’s collar. “Please save my children from Jisung.”

Chan nodded, eyes perfectly serious as he adjusted my blankets. “Give me a minute, sweetie, I’ll be right back.”

I groaned, reluctantly allowing him to leave the room. Of course, the pain was absolutely worth it because when I finally woke up, I was greeted to the sight of two adorable tiny babies looking up at me with wide, curious eyes. “I did this?” I immediately questioned which Chan found amusing.

“Good job, sweetie,” he said, pressing a tender kiss to my forehead.

“I guess you helped too,” I grumbled in return.

I was drawn out of my memory by the sudden appearance of Felix who wore a bright smile. “Jisung is offended that you don’t trust him.”

“I’m just being protective,” I said. “You have to take certain precautions when it involves Jisung.”

“Well, I think we might go out later,” Felix mused, lingering by the doorway. “Are you still out of it?”

“It’s not so bad now,” I reassured him. “I did just push two kids out of my vagina.”

“Don’t need the visual,” Felix shuddered, moving out of the way for Chan who walked into the room with both baby carriers in hand.

“Jisung had to go back to the hospital anyway,” Chan said. “I’ll put the twins down in their room.”

“Okay,” I agreed, eyes following the carriers until they disappeared from sight. 

“How can you already be whipped?” Felix asked. “I’ve never seen you this way.”

“My maternal instincts, I guess,” I offered in return, drowsiness slowly summoning a new urge to bury my face in the pillows.

Felix seemed to notice my dilemma. “Next time we play MarioKart, you can’t interrupt the game in the middle of a round.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

In the background, I could hear Felix talking to Chan before my husband was sitting next to me on the bed. “Try to get some sleep, sweetie,” he encouraged me, but I was already one step ahead of him.

Later that night, after several wonderful naps, I convinced Chan to help me walk to the twins’ room. “Just for a little while,” I pouted at him because Chan could never resist me.

“Alright,” he agreed. “But only because you asked so nicely.”

I stuck my tongue out at him while accepting his outstretched hand. “I probably won’t break.”

“It’s my job to protect you,” Chan said, ushering me close to his side as we slowly made the arduous trek to the bedroom at the end of the hallway. Eventually, when they were older, we planned to give them their own rooms. However, for the time being, I knew it would make things a lot easier if we could take care of them at the same time.

“Did Felix go out earlier?” I asked Chan as we passed by his room.

“He went out with Hyunjin and Jisung.”

“That’s a very dangerous combination,” I said.

“They know how to stay out of trouble,” Chan said, but I was already reminding my husband to call Felix later just in case Hyunjin tried to convince them to go to a strip club downtown.

“Here we go,” Chan said, nudging open the door with his foot, leading me inside as we navigated the darkened space. Chan kept a firm grip around my waist as we both looked down into their cribs. I remember when we first set up the beds when Chan kept screaming at Felix and Jisung because they couldn’t figure out the instructions. Eventually, I called over Minho and his friend Seungmin who were more adept at solving the complicated steps.

“We did it,” Chan whispered, sweet voice soothing in my ear.

I looked down at my twins and felt a burst of pride. “Yeah, we’re pretty fucking cool, right?”

“The coolest,” Chan agreed, leaning down for a kiss which I was more than willing to reciprocate.

#stray kids #stray kids fanfic #bang chan #bang chan fanfic #chan fanfic #stray kids chan #stray kids chan fanfic

[inmydrcams]

✤ + Zerith [ hercbled.]

send me ✤ + a ship and i’ll tell you… // @hercbled

who said i love you first? zack. 100% zack. we all know the world could be ending and aerith would still not say the words on her mind. she's just like that.

who laughs when the other trips? both tbh. it's a very healthy relationship

who pays the bills? 50/50. I feel like sometimes they struggle a bit but they make it work.

which one makes a bigger deal around the holidays? both. if you can go all out why be happy with only going halfway?

who’s more clumsy? they're both normal amounts of clumsy.

who checks their daily horoscope? both. I dunno, I just feel like they both could get into it although they don't really believe it.

who sings louder in the car? zack. it's a competition. cloud hates it.

who leaves the cap off the toothpaste? whoever gets distracted by something before putting the cap on.

who is more up to date in pop culture? aerith. I mean, zack was mia for a long time, he didn't have the time to be up to date on pop culture.

who insists on going to see the newest movies? aerith. DATE! NIGHT! you'd expect it to be romcoms but it's virtually everything. she probably dragged them both to godzilla vs kong opening night. which zack might have been interested in but he's not as good at checking when do movies open.

who cries when the abused animal commercials come on? neither cause they change the damn channel.

who’s the lighter sleeper? zack. but he has a sleepy girl on top of him so he better not get up.

who believes in ghosts? aerith. who also believes in leaving them alone, poor things are just confused, give them a moment and they'll be nice to you.

who does the grocery shopping? both. and both of them will sneak in weird stuff that wasn't in the grocery list.

who updates their facebook status more often? I'd say they're both pretty private with their life and not up for sharing every little detail with other people so facebook is mostly for professional stuff. aerith is big on sharing the photos her wonderful bf takes of her on instagram tho, even if she regularly "forgets" to tag him.

#hercbled​ #ch; a. gainsborough

[apollo-writes-random-shit]

omg!! please please please do gasoline with race!!

Ahhhhhh! Sorry, this took so long! I wrote this like three or four times and I’m still not 100% happy with it lol. I did some research and it turns out the song is actually about Halsey’s struggles with mental health while being in the spotlight so I used that but don’t worry! This has a happy ending!

Song requests

AO3 copy

Are you insane like me?

He was pretty sure every kid at some point had wanted to be famous and here he was. Gone from causal dancing to acting and singing, all thanks to a small show that had been secretly visited by a talent scout. Multiple doors had opened for the young teen but with the fame came extreme expectations and with those expectations came extreme stress. 

Everything seemed to be dictated by his manager, one William Snyder. As grateful as he was for the jobs Snyder had landed him, he was driving Race insane. Every single little thing was scrutinised, from the things he ate and drank, to even his hairstyle when he went out. His smile had to be perfect every time to 'keep up his image' but it got tired having to look perfect all the time. 

Don't get him wrong, he adored his fans but at the same time, he wished he could go out without being stopped every five minutes for photos and videos, being made to repeat lines constantly. 

Been in pain like me?

Every day left him exhausted, even if he had only been shopping. Everything had to be perfect to make sure he avoided any bad publicity. He was still young so why ruin his career so early? 

Sighing, Race stared at his schedule. Countless practises for both dances and an upcoming audition filled every day, leaving him with almost no time for himself. He had only a few hours after evening practice and he knew he'd spend most of that sleeping. 

He could already feel the pain that would come with everything. Today's practise had already wiped him out, body flowing with pain. After being scouted, Race had discovered muscles he didn't know existed thanks to the pain that came with the job. 

However, he could deal with the physical pain but the mental pain? Not so much. He knew the others were getting worried about him but it didn't stop him from following all of Snyder's strict rules...Even if it caused him to throw up some mornings and night before practice. 

Bought a hundred dollar bottle of champagne like me? Just to pour that motherfucker down the drain like me?

Well, he followed most of the rules but Race liked to have fun, even if that meant drinking some nights, whether it be cheap beer or expensive champagne, he'd take it, only to pour whatever remained down the drain the next morning in shame before scrubbing his teeth to get rid of any hint of the alcohol that was forbidden.

That's what he was currently doing, letting the taste of his toothpaste take over the taste of morning breath and expensive champagne. Rising the toothbrush, he chuckled softly as he licked his lips, savouring the artifical taste of bubblegum. Despite the event happening over a week ago, Race could still see Jack's face when he walked out of the bathroom carrying it. He knew he wasn't a kid but that wouldn't stop him from buying the 'kiddie' toothpaste, no matter how 'disappointed' it made his older brother. 

Would you use your water bill to dry the stain like me?

Walking out to the kitchen, he noticed the damp paper resting on the table, causing him to shake his head. He had spilt a little of his drink on the table and mopped it up with the closest thing which appeared to be the bill he opened last night. 

Not that it mattered, he could still read it which meant he'd be able to know who to pay. That and he had read it last night and despite getting drunk, his sharp mind still remembered every word. 

He would concern himself with that later, instead focusing on making his breakfast smoothie before rushing out that door, hoodie pulled over his head to hide his face in the short run down his driveway. Sure, no one was around but that didn't mean he wasn't paranoid about being spotted. He already had to deal with stalkers and so far, none of them had found his house and he'd like to keep it that way thank you very much. 

Softly singing along to the radio, he grinned to himself as set off, heading towards the dance studio. Sure, Snyder was going to be there to see his progress which meant he'd have to work harder. At least Romeo and Tommy always gave him good criticism instead of berating him when they taught him a new move. Even in Tommy Boy would jokingly kick his feet into the right position while telling him to keep up. Out of everyone he had been taught by, the two were his favourite. Tommy would teach him the dances while Romeo took care of the acting and like almost everyone, they thought Race should get rid of the man. 

Are you high enough without the Mary Jane like me?

Shaking the thought out of his head, he pulled into the car park, flipping his hood back up before speedwalking inside. 

It was only when he got inside the studio that he relaxed, something that always happened. Sure, most of the time sometimes he'd walk out and there would be a small crowd outside the building which he found awkward considering he was still all sweaty and smelly. There was only so much a towel and deodorant could do until he had access to a shower. Sure, the dance studio had showers but honestly, Race didn't like them. He also felt awkward showering in a building where his fans might find a way to sneak in. He might love his body but he didn't feel like having nudes of him spread across the internet where anyone could access it.

"Damn, look who finally showed up."

"I'm late by one minute Tommy Boy. Traffic was horrible." 

"Whatever, warm-up you dork." The Australian chuckled, scrolling through the playlist, trying to decide which routine to have his friend start with. Subtly, he clenched his jaw as another presence filled the room. He really didn't like when Snyder was in the studio but unfortunately, he had no say. He knew the man liked to see that his client was actually making progress. Sure, some of his dancers would have their manager show up occasionally but Snyder came twice a month to take notes on Race before taking the teen to the side to lecture him, almost like he was trying to undermine everything he had been taught. He really hated him in all honestly but hey. He couldn't fire him, only Race could and considering the number of gigs Snyder had landed him, he doubted he'd be let go anytime soon. 

Race shook out his limbs after stretching, pretending that he didn't sense the tension between his manager and instructor. If he ignored them, he could actually focus properly. He had learnt during the first few sessions that Snyder had sat in, that if he let the tension distract him, he'd slip up and get a long lecture about how he had to 'focus more if he wanted to nail a role'. So, he just pretended to be alone, letting the music flow through him. As cheesy as it sounded, Race liked to pretend that he was one with the sound. The noise was his dance partner, the leader of the pair. He followed its gentle coaxing willingly, allowing it to control every step.

It gave him a high that nothing could replicate, no matter how hard he had tried in the past. Dancing gave him something that he couldn't explain. Something that couldn't be described. He was addicted to it.

He allowed himself to come to a stop, his partner leaving him with a gentle caress and smile. Race grinned at himself in the mirror, slowly coming down from his high, allowing himself to relax, calmly walking over to his duffle bag, yanking his towel out before wiping his face off. As much as he loved dancing, he didn't like the sweat that came with it. 

Do you tear yourself apart to entertain like me?

Tommy's compliments were cut off by the clearing of someone's throat and the two turned to look at Snyder who was lounging in a chair in the corner. "Your turns were sloppy Higgins. You fell out of a few turns, your feet weren't pointed during one of your jumps and your arms looked strange. You need to work on those."

"With all due respect sir, I believe he did quite well."

"Clearly you weren't paying close enough attention to your student Manchester. We all know he can do better. If he nails this video, even more doors will open for him and surely you want that for him."

"I do but."

"Then you'll allow me to critique my client. I want what's best for him after all." 

Race sighed. "I'll work harder. It's okay." Sure, he knew he was overworked as it was, but he could always try harder. There was always room for improvement after all.

Tommy just shook his head, knowing what Snyder wanted was a fat paycheck. Race wanted to please everyone and that included Snyder, even if the man pushed him past the point of breaking. Once discovering that Race had an empty basement, Snyder had pushed him into turning it into a mini studio for extra practice and would often visit to watch and offer more 'corrections' when really, he spent most of the time on his phone, only sparing glances up at the mirrors, pushing the teen to almost the point of collapse before lecturing him at the way he had become so wobbly. He didn't care that the boy was tearing himself apart in hopes of earning the praise he had been craving all his life. Race lived to entertain people and so far, he had failed to fully impress Snyder. 

Do the people whisper 'bout you on the train like me?

Buttons sighed as he listened to the faint sound of music, vibrating through the wooden floor. He was there to do final adjustments to Race's costume for the video tomorrow and wasn't surprised that he'd be found in the makeshift studio. Whispers floated around not only Race's friends but some of Buttons' friends in the clothing industry. Race seemed ready to fall apart and it was a waste of talent. He was being pushed too far and from Buttons had learnt, had recently been pushed into modelling as well, taking up even more of his time, leaving him more exhausted than normal. 

Saying that you shouldn't waste your pretty face like me? And all the people say...

Shaking his head, Buttons headed down steps, rapping on the door to inform the other of his presence, watching as he stumbled slightly. Race had been sucked into the whirlwind of fame, dragged into an uncaring industry, one deadset on farming out copies and copies, ones that would give them the cash they craved. 

It destroyed every member they took in, ruining their minds and bodies until they were dumped, left to eventually fade away, replaced with a newer shiny version. As famous as someone was, it was surprisingly hard to be remembered. Making something that everyone remembered for years to come might be somewhat easy, but having your name in everyone's mind for years? That was much harder. 

Fame was a dream for a lot of people but that dream would turn into a nightmare quickly. 

You can't wake up, this is not a dream, you're part of a machine, you are not a human being.

Buttons loved seeing his work in videos but looking at the way his crafts looked on Race's skinny shaking body made him feel sick.

"Really. You need to take better care of yourself."

"Gotta look my best Buttons." Race just grinned, brushing off the concerns like normal.

"Tony seriously. Everyone's telling you the same thing. You need to eat more." The tailor shook his head, scanning the other's body to spot anything off with it. "You always look ready to collapse and you're shaking!"

"Buttons...I'm just following what's set out for me."

"Don't you think it's going a bit far?"

"Nah. It's fine. After all, it could be worse." Race just shrugged, holding his arms up when prompted. 

With your face all made up, living on a screen.

While talking to Buttons was always fun, Race was relieved to see him leave. Whenever he spoke to someone alone, they always told him to drop his manager. That he looked like he was five seconds away from being rushed to the nearest hospital. 

It didn't help that Snyder had become stricter later, criticizing his body and form more than normal, not caring that he was breaking his spirit. He was one of many, easily replaceable in the mind of the industry, something that Snyder liked to remind his client of constantly, claiming that it was 'in his best interest that he followed everything to the letter', forcing him to practise harder whenever he strayed from the harsh guidelines he set out.

Low on self-esteem, so you run on gasoline.

Requesting time off just brought another lecture. Hell, Race had to beg and fight to be allowed to take his birthday off and out of everything the man had done, that's what pissed Race's friends and family off the most. Jack had been close to demanding the man's address or phone number, only for Davey to stop him. It was no secret that Jack and Snyder had bad blood, disagreeing over what was best for the dancer/actor. Jack had known him all of his life while Snyder had only known him for roughly two years. 

Race hated the relationship between his manager and older brother but did his best to never let it trouble him. He desired to be on his A-game at all times after all and any form of tension would throw him off, only causing him to work harder than any other day. Snyder constantly likened him to every other young celebrity out there, reminding him all the time that he was replaceable, that he had to work harder if he wanted to keep up with the industry. That he was...Already stumbling behind. 

I think there's a flaw in my code.

The man acted like Race wasn't trying at all...That all the hours he put in meant nothing. That Race was acting like he 'didn't care about his job'. Like he was...Broken in some way and that strict behaviour just increased when he had handed him a slip of paper given to him by a professional. A diagnosis for depression, anxiety and bipolar disorder. He hadn't been super happy to find out that his client was mentally ill and that the paperwork even pointed out that he was overworked and just pushed him harder. 

Voices pushed at him from both sides. Drop him some said. He's working you too hard others chimed in. You need to work harder if you want to succeed in the industry kid one kept saying and for some reason, he kept listening to the single voice, despite the fact he knew he wasn't meant to. He needed to drop him and he would, after this music video and movie audition though.

Well, my heart is gold and my hands are cold.

Race sighed, shaking his head. Focus Higgins. In a month, you can find someone new. Darcy, Bill and Kath can find you a new one. He stretched, smiling at himself in a mirror. He'd be okay, he could last a month. 

He pretended Snyder's not so subtle jabs at his diagnosis. The man hadn't been pleased when he found out about Race's ADHD, clearly 'trying' to hide the way he felt about the whole thing. That he didn't think Race was 'unstable'. That he was 'broken'.

Are you deranged like me? Are you strange like me? Lighting matches just to swallow up the flame like me?

He growled in annoyance when he fell out of a turn again, glad he was alone. It wasn't his fault he was so stressed! He was being pulled at every end, each person claiming they just wanted the both for him. With his mental health 'issues' dumped on top of that, Race wanted to scream and tear his hair out. He hated this. Hated the worried looks from his friends and family. Hated the harsh tone from Snyder used when he was giving him 'constructive' criticism. 

He wasn't at fault here! He was just trying hard so why did it seem like everyone was trying to pull him to their side? Sure, what he was doing wasn't the healthiest but he had to work hard to keep up with the fast pace workforce. Sure, he could stand to gain a few pounds but he could always do that later. 

Do you call yourself a fucking hurricane like me? Pointing fingers 'cause you'll never take the blame like me?

"I'm just worried Race..."

"I know Jack. I know you hate Snyder, that he's an asshole, that you think he's ruining my life. But, without him, I wouldn't have gotten so many gigs."

"Tony, please. You need to drop him. You don't look healthy, you're never able to go out anymore, you're being worked to the bone." Jack frowned as he looked at his brother. "I get that you love your job but you need to take time for yourself as well."

"Look. I'm already planning to drop him after this audition...It's just a month Jack. Please. Give me that and I'll drop him."

"Promise? I'm sick of his bullshit Tony..."

"I promise."

And all the people say, you can't wake up, this is not a dream.

"Again." 

Race nodded, restarting the music before throwing himself into the dance again.

"You're distracted, Higgins."

"Sorry, sir. Just got a lot on my mind lately..." 

"You need to focus. If you don't you'll fall behind and fail. Restart."

You're part of a machine, you are not a human being. With your face all made up, living on a screen.

Race honestly wasn't sure if Snyder even knew what he was talking about when it came to his dancing but still, he took his words to heart, letting them crash through his weak walls again as he started the dance yet again, letting the music wrap itself around him, allowing it to bring him both a familiar rush and familiar comfort. 

The comfort that came with the music was his favourite kind of comfort. He never had to seak it out. Never had to send a text or make a call. All he had to do was press a button and it was there, ready to hug him and bring him a calm distraction from whatever was bothering him, sometimes wiping away any tears that would run down his cheeks, drawing a watery smile from him.

Low on self-esteem, so you run on gasoline.

"What the fuck do you mean you're firing me? I'm the one who got you this damn role! You would be a nobody without me Higgins and you know that!" 

Race looked at the man's angry face. "Leave my house, Snyder. We're done here. While I am thankful for the work you have done, I need to focus on what I feel is right for me and I believe what is right is us parting ways."

"You're making a big mistake Higgins. I can ruin your damn life! I got you that role and I can fucking take it away from you! You'll regret this! I'll fucking leak your damn address!" 

I think there's a flaw in my code.

"You can not ruin my life, Snyder. You even try and I'll make sure everyone knows what you've been doing. I'll let everyone know how hard you've pushed me. How you've forced me to dance right after throwing up. Believe me, Snyder. I can and will let them know. I've dealt with this for too long."

These voices won't leave me alone.

"You've let those people poison you! They know nothing!"

"Romeo and Tommy have been working in this industry for years. Longer than you have and I trust their judgement."

"I'll get their places shut down!"

"Keep talking Snyder...You're just digging yourself a bigger hole."

"The fuck are you talking about?"

Race smirked, holding up his phone. "I've looked up the laws. We have a one-party consent law here meaning I can record this conversation without your permission and that's what I have done. I recommend you leave now."

Snyder scoffed, storming out. "You'll regret this!"

"And you'll regret being so strict! Goodbye William~" 

Well, my heart is gold and my hands are cold.

#apollo's shitty writing #newsies #buttons newsies #buttons davenport #Snyder #Snyder the spider #Jack Kelly #Race Higgins #Racetrack Higgins #Tommy Boy #Romeo newsies #song fic #racetrackhigg

[reflectxons]

✤ + ( h x a !! )

based on this !

who said i love you first?

lol we know that this one was hughes. unfortunately it caused amelia to leave because she was scared about her feelings and everything that ever happened with her past relationships. but she does love him, she really does !

who laughs when the other trips? 

amelia for sure. hughes is always the one to make sure that she is already and he’s super soft about it. however, when hughes trips, amelia always will laugh about it. 

who pays the bills? 

both ? i think that they almost split them. like amelia could pay them all and probably has offered to do so but hughes of course wouldn’t let her. however, i still feel like more often than not, he is paying for things even if she is insisting on it. 

which one makes a bigger deal around the holidays?

amelia !! she loves everything about the holidays. her family has always gone crazy for them and she’s the same way. even if she isn’t living with him, she still probably decorates his place.  also she definitely makes him take her on those cheesy holiday time dates during them cause she lives for the holidays. 

who’s more clumsy?

amelia. she is the more reckless one out of the two so she is definitely flinging her body everywhere and doesn’t necessarily care what happens. if she were to ever get hurt due to her clumsiness, hughes would be there to patch her up !! 

who checks their daily horoscope?

honestly..i am going to go with both. amelia is very big into the horoscopes so she reads them every day and definitely did when they were just friends the first time around. but over time, hughes started reading them to impress her and so they had something else to talk about. after that it just kinda stuck. 

who sings louder in the car?

again this is both of them. what again started as amelia, turned into him singing with her. sometimes, she will put on the songs from high school musical and make him be troy so she can be his gabriella. they truly go all out during these songs. even she was away in cali, there was some songs she couldn’t listen to because they reminded her of their times spent singing in the car. 

who leaves the cap off the toothpaste?

amelia..while she tries her hardest to remember to put the cap back, her mind is a million other places and she forgets. also hughes is definitely more organized and put together than her. so when they finally move in together, it’s finding that balance. 

who is more up to date in pop culture?

again i’m going to have to say amelia. hughes is more of a classics guy whereas amelia likes the newer things. she always keeps him up to date on the latest though, even if he doesn’t want to hear it. she will always be like ‘did you hear about this ?’ knowing damn well he hasn’t heard about it just so she can explain it to him.

who insists on going to see the newest movie?

they have such different movie tastes that it would depend on the movie. i think that in all reality, they would rather just stay home and watch something there if they are going to watch a movie. however, if they are really hyped about a movie, the other will definitely go along with them to see it because they like to do things in support of the other. 

who cries when the abused animal commercials come on?

shockingly amelia. she might be a wilder side but she cares about animals immensely.  there’s probably been a drunken night or two when hughes was taking care of her and the commercial came on and she started crying. he was so concerned and wanted to know what was wrong and all she could do was point at the tv and be like the puppies….

who’s the lighter sleeper?

hughes ! once amelia passes out, she kind of hard to wake up although hughes has the special touch and she will wake up for him easily. anyone else ? game over. he definitely sleeps lighter than her and makes sure to be quiet if he wakes up before he. 

who believes in ghosts?

amelia !! she is all for ghost stories and paranormal activity. she has forced hughes to watch a bunch of documentaries on them, along with all the horror movies. though, she doesn’t have any experiences with ghosts, she knows they are out there !

who does the grocery shopping?

hughes ! let’s be honest, he does most of the cooking and amelia loves his cooking so she would want to make sure that he’s getting what he needs to continue to cook for her which is why he does the shopping. though, most of the times they go to together and she just pushes the cart while he’s grabbing the supplies for the meals he makes that week. meanwhile amelia is putting things they don’t ‘need’ in the cart but she claims they are a big need. 

who updates their facebook status more often?

facebook, we don’t know her. but all other socials, i think amelia. except for that time when she went to cali without telling anyone and then came back a month later. other than that, she is always posting something on her instagram story. i think that she always has like a ‘secret’ twitter where she just shit posts her thoughts all the time. hughes loves to read that. 

#ncwkings #『 𝚒𝚌 » 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚜 ↣ come home to my heart 』 #yeah...they need to kiss and make up now <3

[petitepistol]

headcanon;

About once a season Elena will shop for clothes, buy a capsule wardrobe, and then hide the tags as she cycles through them over the period of a week or so. After these trial runs, the pieces she decides aren’t really as good as she thought they'd be when she bought them get returned. But the ones that she actually likes? Then she’ll go back to the shop and purchase in triplicate. Because in her line of work garments can get ruined at an alarming rate and she hates when something gets destroyed and she can’t find a replacement for sale again afterward.

For straightforward field work that doesn’t involve a manufactured identity she sticks to the “standard issue” suit because if it gets absolutely trashed she knows there are another thirty identical copies available in the supply closet. When it comes to office work, recruiting junkets, and public facing escort/bodyguard assignments, she favors prêt-à-porter business wear. For the former categories she's comfortable donning a skirt and pumps, so as long as it it isn’t considered a dangerous assignment. Even during low-risk tasks she usually winds up ruining pantyhose, therefor she tries to acquire that in bulk.

Speaking of shoes, when she isn’t in heels, footwear is one of the few parts of her wardrobe that isn’t off the rack. The black leather ankle boots are obviously high quality, but it isn’t any particular aesthetic design that makes them special. Rather, it’s the comfortable fit and the fact they have an interior steel toe to both protect and reinforce, that makes them special. Other than that, the toe is a rounded point and the Cuban (Costan?) heel is just an inch or so taller than normal. Gotta try and get a little extra height, and her cobbler complies.

The carry over for both work wear and off hours outfits is lingerie. All of her bras and panties are matched sets, ranging from a “pretty, but fits seamlessly under clothing” to “ornamental, verging on downright obscene.” Reno tried to give her shit about wearing t-backs once, but she just griped at him about pantylines and threatened to take off a testicle for having made an inquiry into the topic in the first place.

She’s pretty sparing on jewelry, favoring understated metallic pieces and maybe pearls here and there. Not much of a gemstone person, it’s too rich for her blood and she always worries of running the risk of looking excessively gaudy. The exception would be her Minerva Band which she is never without, but Elena doesn’t really consider that jewelry. Although her communications earpiece has an attractively modern design, it’s usually hidden by her hair. Her regular earrings are magnetic, not because she doesn’t have pierced ears but because she’d rather not have any piercings torn out in a fight.

When it comes to cosmetics Elena favors a clean, natural look. Unless she’s involved in something formal in which case she’ll break out the iridescent highlighter and accouterments. On a normal day it’s a straightforward process of concealer for the under-eyes, an SPF BB cream, powder, eyebrow gel, eyeliner, and mascara. She prefers lip stain for the lasting color and while she starts out with a gloss coat over it, she’ll just apply regular balm after that throughout the day. At the moment she uses a very normal facewash, but from time to time she thinks she might try something crazy like those seven step routines that involve Blugu blubber and stem cells (she never follows through on that though). For soaps and scents she leans towards a fresh unisex scent profile à la Chanel Cristalle and likes wintergreen toothpaste.

Her tastes in casual clothing is almost shockingly feminine. Not overly cutesy, but lots of soft colors and romantic details. It’s a fairly stark contrast to the more masculine style and angular cuts of her selections in business wear. Elena actually likes casual dresses, lovely little a-line numbers in pastel tones with lace detailing. Not the sort of thing you’d expect given her profession, but she’s got a very slim frame and it’s visually cohesive. The aesthetic fits better than it has a right to.

There have been points when the boys have been left to decide on her wardrobe for undercover work with mixed results. Rude is the best at it, Reno always puts together something flashy, Tseng never fails to add something pink into the mix, and there have even been a few times when Rufus got into the action because if she was going to be his escort he was damn sure going to micromanage her look. None of them ever remember that if she has to wear a low cut or backless gown she is going to need fashion tape, which is probably the one quirk that actually leaves her chagrined.

#ooc #headcanon #excuse me while i self indulgently make elena into my own personal dress up doll #this got weirdly long im sorry #also this sat in my drafts for months #but since the materials ultimania book contains a bunch of style and grooming details #now felt like a good time to push this shit onto the dash

[etherealwaifgoddess]

What He Wants (Pt. 17)

Main Characters: Bucky Barnes x Enhanced Reader

Summary:  On going series of Bucky getting his shit together and falling in love with you.

Warnings/ Content: none, the fluff continues!

Word Count: 1507

Author’s Note: Hello lovelies! So this part was just a bit of fun for me. I was plotting out the logistics of what it would be like for Bucky to really settle down and one of things that I couldn’t get out of my head (or stop laughing at) was the idea of Bucky having to do every day things, like go to Target. So please enjoy another fluffy installment (with a bit of super sweetness thrown in at one point) with our boy getting better at asking for things and taking a trip to Target. 

If you missed the first few parts, you can read them here: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16

XOXO -Ash

What He Wants, Pt. 17

You are brushing your teeth when Bucky comes up behind you in the bathroom. You raise an eyebrow at him in the mirror, your mouth full of minty foam.

“Hey mouse,” he says placing his hands on your hips, “I need to ask for something else.”

You spit your toothpaste out and wipe your mouth, “What?”

“Toothbrush.” He smiles staring at the one in your hand.

You roll your eyes, “You’re lucky I’m not a germaphobe. Here, take mine and we’ll go into town later to get you one of your own. But only if your leg is holding up.”

Eyes sparkling he pops your brush in your mouth, “Still tastes like you.” he says with a cheeky grin, “Thanks, mouse.”

You swat him with a hand towel, trying not to laugh at his antics, and head out to the kitchen to wash the dishes.

You feel him approach you before you hear him. Damn super soldier spy could sneak like no other. He is wrapping his arms around your waist before you can even register he is there. You squeak in surprise and feel his chest vibrate against your back as he chuckles. 

“So, I think we need to get some supplies if I’m gonna stay here.” he says against your neck, refusing to let you go. 

“We can go into town now if you want.” you offer, leaning back into his warmth. It’s funny how quickly you had both had gone from reigning in your desire for affection to barely keeping apart.

“Your thing first. Let’s go see some lambs.” 

Whether Bucky is willing to admit it to himself or not, he really is just a big old softy at heart. The pair of you sit in the pasture where the herd is grazing, watching the lambs play and giving them lots of attention when they come over to you. They are well socialized thanks to Martha and Chris so the eight lambs come over frequently for petting and treats. Bucky seems so relaxed on the farm and it’s good to see him smiling and laughing a little. His face is adorable when he smiles and it’s almost impossible to think that he usually spends most of his time with a permanent scowl. Eventually the herd is ready to move on and you take that as your cue to head out.

 Bucky eyes your old beat up Subaru Forester with a look of suspicion and you glare at him. “This is the best car ever made so wipe that look off your face, Barnes.” you warn him.

Reluctantly he holds his hands up in defeat, “Okay, mouse, whatever you say. As long as it won’t get us killed to and from the store I’m good.”

You roll your eyes and head out towards town.

Bucky is amusing to watch as you wind through the woods to the closest main town. He is extremely attentive and you have a feeling it isn’t just his ingrained training, it is genuine curiosity too. You start pointing out places as you go to help him familiarize himself with your world and you can all but hear him taking mental notes. By the time you travel through town and out to the Target, Bucky is starting to tense up. His eyes have little crinkles along the sides, lips pursed in an annoyed frown. His stress is evident and you aren’t sure you can do anything to alleviate it.

“Do you not want to go in? You don’t have to, just let me know what you need and I’ll grab it.” You say trying to help.

Bucky shakes his head, “No, I’ll go in. Gimme a sec, mouse.” He pulls a hair tie out of his pocket and binds his hair into a bun at the nape of his neck, the hat he’s been holding in his lap gets secured on his head, and a leather glove is slipped over his metal hand. It’s still too warm for the long sleeves he’s wearing but you understand his need for discretion and appreciate it for your sake as well. 

Seeing the James Buchanan Barnes in a Target is like seeing a unicorn on a jet ski. Your brain takes a moment to take in the sight and you have to suppress your amusement. You lead him through to the toiletries assuming that’s what he had meant, he hasn’t specified what things he needs and he hasn’t uttered a word since entering the brightly lit store. Bucky stands in the isle looking from side to side at all of the options and you realize it’s unlikely he’s been in store like this before. You feel badly for your out of place soldier for a moment, he has probably had hundreds of moments like this over the past decade and you think it has to be frustrating. “What are you looking for, babe?” the endearment slips out before you realize it and Bucky’s head snaps up to look at you with wide eyes and an even wider smile. 

His cheeks tinge pink for a moment before he clears his throat to respond. “Just shampoo, something normal with conditioner too maybe. But, uh, should I get the little travel size or the bigger bottle?” He looks at you and you realize he’s asking about more than shampoo. 

“Oh.” you say, understanding what he’s asking. “Well, that’s up to you. But I wouldn’t mind if you got the bigger bottle.” Your heart is pounding, he wants to know if he can stay with you for a while. Long enough to warrant several months worth of shampoo. 

A ghost of an expression crosses Bucky’s face, caught between relief and reverence, “Okay, mouse. I’ll get the bigger bottle.” The moment is heavy, it’s like the world has collapsed around the two of you. You should have expected this intensity from him, he is the type of man who does nothing lightly. It’s amazing to you though, how he can zoom the world in to just the two of you, even standing in the middle of Target. You shake yourself out of it, “If you want, I have a  really nice conditioner at home. It’s not overly scented or anything so we could share.” you offer.

Bucky shakes his head, “Don’t go wasting your good stuff on me. I’m fine with the same generic crap I’ve been using forever.”  

“It’s not wasting it. Especially if I get to enjoy running my hands through your hair afterwards.”

“Ah, that’s why you want me to use it. You like this, mouse?” he gives his little bun a tug. You give him a quick grin and nod. “Good.” he smiles back and tosses a bottle of shampoo in the cart. He scrubs at his beard thoughtfully, “Now, I’m gonna need something to tame this if I’m gonna be around for a while.” He slips his gloved hand into yours and you lead him along, pushing the cart one handed but managing because you don’t want to lose the connection to him. 

It takes longer than you expect, moving through the store. Bucky gets all the basics he needs plus an armful of clothes. You can’t imagine him buying clothes there but he finds things that suit him and loads them in. Part of you wonders why he doesn’t just have someone send him things from the Avengers compound but you don’t push it. At the registers you go to pull out your card to pay but he puts his hand over yours, “I got this, mouse.” You shoot him a questioning look but he pulls a thin wallet out of his back pocket and produces a matte black credit card which he inserts into the credit card machine. “Pepper will probably wonder if the card was stolen.” he jokes. You didn’t think he would have his own card since he was so opposed to being paid for missions but it makes sense he would have something to pay for whatever might come up. 

“How’s the leg holding up?” you ask him on the way back to the car. He’s moving better than he had since before he was shot but you can’t be sure he’s not hurting.

“I’m good, probably won’t need the crutch by tomorrow. Did you want to make another stop?”

“Only if you’re sure. I just thought it would be easier to stop and get groceries since we’re right next door and it shouldn’t be too busy right now.”

“Perfect, I can get what I need to make you dinner tomorrow. Lead the way, mouse.” 

You are surprised he’s so determined to cook you dinner the second he’s back on both feet but it’s endearing and you don’t complain. The grocery shopping goes faster than Target, neither one of you are picky eaters and are willing to try anything the other suggests. Bucky insists on paying the bill there as well, much to your frustration. You just hope he doesn’t get in trouble for all the spending he’s done. 

Tag List Lovelies: @my-current-fandom-is @blacklightguidesnic @amazonianbeauty @ladyemofhousestark@abswritesfandoms@rupestria

#bucky barnes #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x reader #marvel #marvel fanfic #marvel fandom #marvel fangirl #marvel avengers #what he wants #winter soldier #post endgame #post avengers endgame #series

[artificialqueens]

Impolite 'Thank yous': Chapter one and two (Branjie) - BlackHighHeels

AN: I finally decided to get an account on here, because I was inspired to write this story because of a request I found here by chance while battling with another Branjie idea. This is for Akarana, who made the request. I hope I’ll do the idea justice.

This is inspired by Call me by your name (the book more than the movie)

(Read on AO3)

Chapter 1

When I saw him for the first time, it was also the first time I became aware that a ‘Thank you’ can sound fucking rude. I mean, not the intentional aggressive or ironic 'Thank you’ you say when you’re damn angry or want to be rude. But the kind of 'Thank you’ that just shows that the person saying it, doesn’t mean it one bit.

He stepped out of the taxi, let the driver dump all of his bags and suitcases onto our front lawn without helping him and then just said 'Thank you’ with his stupid Canadian accent.

I walked over to him, and was surprised by how much taller he was than me. I’m not exactly tall, but him… Jesus, Mary and Joseph. Blonde curls, blue-green eyes, bushy eyebrows, white, milky skin…different from me in every way. He was a pretty white boy.

Maybe that’s when I fell for him?

I helped him carry his stuff inside anyway, because otherwise Alexis would surely whoop my ass. Blondie was his guest after all, the prodigy drag daughter of one of Alexis’ pageant friends from Canada. He would stay with us for six weeks to get an idea about the pageant system in the US and then he would leave again. And I was asked to be on my best behaviour and help my 'drag sister’ out. I even had to move out of my room and into the drag room, so he had a bed and the bigger room.

“Jose,” I held out my hand once we stood inside the house, surrounded by his luggage.

“Brock.” We quickly shook hands and I was surprised how cold his hands were, here in the Florida heat.

“Alexis! El muneco de nieve esta aqui!” I watched his face for a reaction to the stupid nickname, but there was none. Looked like he didn’t speak Spanish. His face showed no emotion at all. He was intimidating.

“Brooke, so nice to meet you,” Alexis came out of his office with a large smile and followed by his husband Jeffrey.

“Nice to meet you, too.” While the introductions were made and smalltalk about the travel exchanged, I let my eyes wander over him again. He wore grey sweatpants and white trainers. A large, red T-shirt that had a hole just above the seam on his back. Beside his obvious lack of fashion sense he seemed very confident, but kind of aloof as he spoke to my drag parents.

“Jose will show you your room,” Alexis said and brought the attention back to me.

“You mean my room,” I couldn’t help but grumble.

“Take his bags with you, por favor,” Alexis ignored my remark.

“Who am I? The bag boy?” I turned to the guest and pointed to one of his huge ass suitcases. “You can carry that yourself, you hear me, white boy?” Then I grabbed the smallest of the other bags and led the way to what was usually my room. “This is yours now, usually it’s mine. Keep your fingers off my stuff on the left side of the closet. Right side is yours. I’m in the room over there and we share the bathroom. You better not be a messy ho, put the toilet seat down and don’t leave toothpaste in the sink.” With the warning I left the room and went over to my temporary home. Jeffrey had put a small bed into Alexis’ drag room, but it would do for the time being. I had a bed, a tv and my video games and make up.

***

When Alexis called for dinner I knocked on his door and waited until he finally came out so I could take him downstairs with me. He was still wearing the same stupid outfit, even though I had heard him taking a shower earlier. To celebrate his arrival nearly every member of the house of Mateo was present.

“Jose, gambas?” Victoria asked me and already handed the plate over, knowing that I wouldn’t eat much of the rest of what was served. Meanwhile Brock didn’t seem to have that problem and stacked his plate with a little bit of everything and uttered his stupid “thank you” after each plate that was handed to him.

“You’re only eating shrimp and rice?” he addressed me at some point, after the discussion about his long travel and the placements in pageants of my drag sisters had come to an end.

“Yeah, I’m a pescatarian.”

“Really?” he smiled. I felt that he made fun of me and wanted to punch the stupid grin of his face.

“Really. Got a problem with that?”

“Not at all. Just surprised, because everyone else seems to be enjoying their meat.”

“Don’t want any animals to be killed for my dinner. And I prefer a different kind of meat or sausage. Just need a gay club and some juicy trade for that, though, if you get my drift.” He nearly chocked on his beans and started coughing and finally the smile was wiped off his face. I just raised an eyebrow and exchanged a look with Jelitza. What kind of drag queen was he? Surprised by a comment about sex? This could be fun after all. Maybe the six weeks of him staying wouldn’t be as horrible as I had first thought and I could like fucking with him at least. Instead I grew to hate him over the next couple of days.

***

Maybe it happened when he came along to walking the dogs, my own dog Riley and Alexis’ dog, the next morning and I showed him the neighbourhood. A black cap backwards on his head, his feet stuck in black espadrilles while the rest of him wore the same outfit again. One curl snuck out from underneath the hat and fell into his face a couple of times. Each time he stroked it back and huffed in annoyance. He held the leash of Alexis’ dog more loosely than I ever did and still, the dog pulled less than it did with me. We walked quietly side by side, except for the moments when I pointed out a shop, the house where two of my drag sisters lived or the dog sitter.

It might have also been wile we worked on the new pageant costumes out on the patio. He glued rhinestone after rhinestone to the fabric with incredible accuracy, while I got distracted every couple of minutes by the chatter around me, a bird that few by, Riley who wanted my attention and by him, by his concentration and total lack of attention to what was going on around him. Whenever he glued on the last stone in a row his tongue peeked out between his teeth and wet his lips. The wetness it left behind glistened in the sunshine until it dried a couple of seconds later and was gone.

Possibly it was when we went grocery shopping together. Or during the first joined dance practice when he twirled around the room on his tiptoes. Or maybe when I woke up during his second night at the house, because his loud snores could be heard through the wall between our rooms.

“You want me to show you the pool?” It was Sunday afternoon and only the two of us were home. I could use some time in the sun and the water before I had to go back to work the next day. It was also the perfect offer in this heat and everyone always came over to cool down in the water.

“I think I’ll go to the mall instead. But thank you.” There it was again that polite impolite way of keeping people at arm’s length. Me being one of them. It hurt. And it busted the dream bubble I had of the both of us in swim shorts, all wet and delicious.

“Suit yourself, mami.” I shrugged and turned around to go to my room and get changed anyway.

“Can you drive me?” He stopped me. He’d only ben with us for three days and didn’t know the way to the mall yet.

After deciding that the clothes he wanted to buy would be better bought at the outlet center, I drove him there instead. The drive was silent until he made me stop the car and took the key from me. I was banished to the passenger’s seat in my own car, because of my 'erratic, irresponsible, crazy and dangerous driving that will kill us’- his words, not mine. I took revenge by letting him buy some more ugly ass shirts and shorts, because he only had brought clothes that were too warm. How damn stupid could you be? Bringing sweaters and long jeans to Florida?

“Alexis said you have to go back to work tomorrow. What do you do?”

“Drag.”

“Beside drag. Or is it your day job as well?”

“I work at MAC. I’m a make-up artist. And you?”

“Drag.”

“Beside drag? Or is it your day job as well?” I repeated his words, mocking him.

“Yes.” I snorted. Of course it was. A guy that looked like this and could dance like that could totally make a living simply by doing drag. “I used to be a ballet dancer though.” He smiled. I smiled back. He looked younger when he smiled, not that he looked old otherwise. Just his aloof behaviour and the stick up his ass was kind of getting old. “Ever did some ballet?”

“No. I was just always on the dance team at school. We rocked out ghetto style, grinding and shaking out booties.”

“I can see that.” No laughter, not even a smile. I couldn’t place the look he gave me. It gave me hot flashes.

“It’s getting fucking hot. Wanna hang out by the pool now or go to the beach? I got shorts and towels in the car.” I offered, seeing as he wiped the sweat off his forehead again, as we were sitting outside, sipping cold drinks in the shade.

“You go ahead. I still have to get some stuff. And I have to get a rental anyway, so I’ll drive back on my own. ” With another 'thank you’ he got off his chair and left, vanished into the Nike outlet store.

I felt stupid for even offering spending more time with him and getting rejected again. If he wanted to keep sweating and shopping then that’s what he was gonna get. I grabbed my wallet and keys and drove my erratic, irresponsible, crazy and dangerous ass to the beach and hung out with my cholas. Fuck him, thank you very much!

***

Most likely I fell for him without really realising it. I always noticed what outfits he was wearing.

When he finally showed up at the pool for the first time on his fourth day and shook the water out of his curls, making it fly everywhere, I wanted to run my fingers through his hair, then down over the slight stubble on his cheeks, tangle them in his chest hair. I yearned to see if his white skin would turn red, if I sucked on his neck and wondered if his skin would taste like the pool water, sun lotion or just him.

Five days into his stay I showed our new dance routine to the other dancers. They had problems with the slight jump before the death drop and were afraid they would hurt themselves. I showed them how to do it, then went on to show them the rest. Half way through the routine I felt his eyes on me. I kept dancing, concentrated on the music and the beat. I added a little jaunt to my steps, turned up the energy, straightened my shoulders. Still,  I was aware of his wandering gaze, the keen smile and the warmth in his gaze that melted the ice which usually surrounded his whole being. It made my heart beat even faster and the flush on my face had nothing to do with the dancing.

When the music stopped I looked at him, our eyes met, but instead of the admiration I had hoped to find, I was met with disapproval and something similar to hatred. It nearly knocked my over and I stumbled backwards. What had I done to deserve this? My dancing surely wasn’t that bad. Honestly, my ability to dance was the only thing I had ever really been confident in. It shook me to the core and suddenly I didn’t want to dance in front of him anymore. Or be in his presence in any other way, if he disliked me that much.

I stayed away from him for the next two days, which wasn’t hard. Usually when I came back from work he was already gone. “Out clubbing” Alexis let me know and wiggled his eyebrows. We didn’t even talk to each other when we accidentally ran into each other in the bathroom or anywhere else around the house.

***

When the weekend came and another 'family dinner’ came up before we’d all go out to do drag together at the club, I felt his eyes on me all through dinner. I ignored him and kept talking to Victoria in Spanish, knowing he didn’t understand it.

“You want one?” he asked me, holding out a cigarette, when we were waiting for Jeffrey to bring the van around, our costumes already loaded into the car.

“I don’t smoke,” I told him.

“You’re smarter than me, papi.” He smirked and blew the smoke out into the night.

“I know.” I mirrored his smile and laughed when he bumped his shoulder playfully into mine. Just like that we were talking again.

Chapter 2

Even now, years later, there are many things that remind me of his first week with us. The scent of the sunblock he used back then, feeling the hot wind of an even hotter summer’s day against my skin or hearing one of the songs that played the night he first came to the club with us and saw me in drag the first time. Also anything that is hot and cold at the same time, like deep fried ice-cream; hot and cold, hot and cold, hot and cold like him during those first weeks. His mood changed so quickly I couldn’t keep up and got burned each time. Freezer burn or burned by the heat, it didn’t matter; the pain was still the same.

He stayed close while we got ready in the small changing room backstage. Alexis and Jeffrey were next door, but me and my drag sisters always got ready together and then the parents would join us and fix what we missed: Make up not blended correctly, a loose curl here or a missed button somewhere.

Brock wouldn’t go on stage with us that night, he was just there. He watched us carefully, watched me carefully, but didn’t offer help, not even when my zipper got stuck. Once Nivana had fixed it I turned  and said 'Thank you’ in the same detached way he always did. Niv’ got the joke and we both cracked up. He didn’t laugh with us. Instead a meaningless small smile showed on his face and stayed there until we were in full drag.

I knew he was somewhere in the crowd when I hit the stage and did my first number of the night, could feel his gaze again. I crouched down, slowly went back up and shook my ass as much as I could. Did he want a piece of that? Did he want to touch me, not with looks but with his hands, his lips, his tongue, as much as I wanted to touch him? Did he like me better in or out of drag? Yet, I questioned if he liked me at all. His face was not giving anything away.

I should just stay away from him.

I de-dragged after my second number and wiped the make-up off the best I could, before I went out to the club.

“You drink Tequila?” he asked me when I had barely stepped out from behind the curtain and shoved a shot glass in my hand. I’d had three already on stage, but who was I to say no? I simply tapped my glass against his and we both downed the shot.

“Trade looks good tonight. Anyone you like?” I wanted to find out what he was into and smirked. Twinks? Bears? Muscle guys? Latinos? Fuck, I didn’t even know if he was a top or bottom.

“Maybe.” He didn’t smile, didn’t blink. Just looked over to he bar and ordered us two more shots.

“I’m gonna dance, white boy. You good here?” I didn’t want an answer to the question, I just wanted to get away from him. His mood was killing my mood and that wasn’t acceptable on a Friday night. This was the time for drag, drinks, drugs and sex. Screw him if he wanted to sulk in silence.

He surprised me by following me to the dance-floor. “I love that song.”

“It’s Ri-Ri, of course you love that song, bitch!” I exclaimed and started dancing. So did he and watched me at the same time once again.

“How do you do that?"

"What?”

“That move? How do you move your hips that way?” Heat shot through me, when I realised which part of my body his eyes were focussed on, his full attention on me.

“Ever tried belly dancing?” I gave him a smug smile and showed him the belly roll move, holding my shirt up with my chin so he could see it better.

“That’s not the move I’m talking about.” He was finally smiling, showing off his cute dimples. I did the same movement, but reversed the belly wave. He started laughing.

“Not the move either. And you know it.” His eyes sparkled, his mouth was still laughing and I realised we were flirting with each other.

“Oh, you mean this move?” I moved my hips from side to side, as sensually as I could. Aware of his eyes on me I felt my dick getting hard. Wrong time for that, absolutely. He tried to mimic my movements, but failed.

“How’d you do it? What’s the secret?” His tone was a mixture of frustration and amusement.

“Get on your tippy-toes, mami, and follow my fingers with your hips.” I touched his right hip bone through his jeans, careful not to brush against any skin. Then his left lower back. Right lower back. Left front. Left back. Once he got the hang of it and loosened up, I stepped back, stopped touching him, ended the sweet torture and got my dick back under control before he would notice.

“I think I got it.” He looked so damn proud of himself and his smile lit up the whole dance-floor.

“Keep going in figures of eight and you a belly dance ho now.”

“Where did you learn that?”

“My dance teacher at school was half Egyptian and showed us. Just with different music.” It switched back to hip hop, Ri-Ri long gone. I went back to dancing along to this beat, but Brock stopped.

“Thank you,” he told me and it sounded as fake as always. He turned around and left me dancing on my own, while he went to the bar and chatted up some guy there. I was back to hating him, stupid asshole, and gave myself over to the music and the cute guy who came over a couple of minutes later, grinding against my body and feeling me up right there. I didn’t give a fuck if Brock was watching us. He could say 'Thank you’ for the show later.

***

It was the next day, I was lying in my room, catching Pokemon, when he knocked and walked in before I even said something. He must have realised me giving him the cold shoulder after the night before. I hadn’t really slept, because I kept wondering how much he had seen. Just the dancing and grinding? The kissing? The hand down my pants? The hand job in a dark corner of the club? Anything? Nothing? Did he even care? I had finally fallen asleep in the early morning hours when I made myself giggle by imagining him hooking up and then saying his fucking stupid 'Thank you’ during or after.

“Wanna come swimming with me?”

“Pool or beach?”

“Pool.  Vic and Niv’ called, they’re already there. Alexis told me.” I nodded, switched my video game off and got up.

“I’m gonna change. Five minutes.” When I made it downstairs he had a whole backpack with stuff. Later I found out it was sunscreen, food, a small ball and a book. We walked the short distance to the neighbourhood pool in silence. I didn’t know what to say, without sounding stupid or getting a fucking 'Thank you’ back. We took two chairs which were standing side by side and I took off my shirt, spread the towel out, lay down and closed my eyes. Imagining him shirtless was better than really seeing him shirtless, because he couldn’t see my thoughts and dreams, but he could see where my eyes linger on his white, creamy skin, his nipples, his belly button.

I smelled the scent of his sunblock and could hear him squishing the tube and the way his hand glided over his own skin. I wanted him to ask me to rub the lotion on his back so badly. I dreaded him asking me to rub the lotion on his back even worse. He didn’t ask me though, fucking bitch.

“Jose! Ven acá!” Vic yelled from the water and I opened my eyes. He even splashed some in my direction.

“Later,” I replied and turned on my stomach, closed my eyes again, ignoring the chaos around me. Brock left, jumped into the water, joked around with my sisters and friends and finally came back out, towelled himself dry and sat down on his chair. I didn’t see any of it, but I could hear it. Even when my eyes were closed all of my attention was on him, where he was and what he was doing.

“You’re turning red,” he said after I had felt him watching me for a while.

“I don’t get sunburned. It’ll be tan tomorrow,” I muttered without opening my eyes.

I felt the luke-warm lotion first, before his cold hands touched my hot skin. Him touching me, running his hand over my lower back and rubbing the lotion in, nearly gave me a heart-attack. It felt like my brain short-circuited, I was rock hard in seconds and jumped in my chair when his thumb dipped into the dimple on my lower back, just above the seam of my swim-trunks.

“You ok?” he asked when I suddenly bolted up. It wasn’t a conscious decision on my part, but more a reaction of my body to the sensual overload. I was mere seconds away from jumping him, sticking my tongue down his throat and humping his leg. This was all too much in public. What the fuck did he think he was doing? The look on his face was weird, eyes wide and serious, cheeks tinted with a light blush. I couldn’t place it. I didn’t want him to stop, wanted his hands back on my skin, all over my body. But at the same time I didn’t, not here, surrounded by kids and their parents who were wary of the gay drag queens in their neighbourhood anyway.

“Bitch, your hands are ice cold and you ruining my tan with your fucking sunblock,” I barked, got up and jumped into the pool to cool down. Hiding my hard on was also a lot easier under water than sitting next to him. Out of the corner of my eyes I looked at him and thought I saw panic or hurt on his face, just for a second, before it became the emotionless friendly mask again.

“Vic, tell him he needs sunscreen or he’ll look like a lobster tomorrow. Skin cancer is not sexy,” he told me sister, who quickly agreed with him. I splashed some water in her face to shut her up. He lay down on his chair, apparently not worried about burning his back and started reading his book, ignoring me and my wet body in the pool completely.

***

That was also the night I saw him in drag for the first time. Back then I thought his drag persona Brooke Lynn wasn't  a lot different from his real life persona. Except, a lot sluttier in a more obvious way.  I wasn’t sure how far he had gone with the guy from the other night or what he had done while he had been clubbing alone before. I simply suspected, he was out and about fucking around. The way he spread his legs, rolled around the stage, used the pole  and flirted with the trade in the audience when he was on stage, cemented that idea in my head. Brooke Lynn was a slut, as was her creator, I was sure of it.

Sunday he missed dinner without an explanation. No one knew where he was, just that he was 'out’ somewhere.

“Found himself a boyfriend already,” Alexis wondered and laughed.

“I betcha he’s saying his fucking rude 'Thank you’ during fucking him.” I laughed, even though I felt like crying.

“You think he’s rude?” Jeffrey joined the conversation.

“Bitch, don’t tell me you haven’t noticed that it never means shit when he says it. It fucking empty.  He could say 'Fuck you’ and it’d be the same shit.”

“I think he’s just shy.” Alexis was usually really good at reading people, but I though he was way off this time. “And I think you’ll like him once you get to know him better.”

“What if I’ll hate him once I get to know him better?” I huffed and puffed a bit more about the idea of liking him and him being shy and him being a good guy. I didn’t know back then just how spot on Alexis was that night.

***

I was working the early shift the next week and because we were also booked solid with gigs and rehearsals for Alexis’ and Jen’s next pageant, I had to get up extra early to go to the gym and walk Riley. As much as I was a creature of the night and liked sleeping in, there was something about seeing the sun rise over the ocean while driving by on the way to the gym. Traffic was quieter, a lot less people around and even the gym seemed less hectic and gave me time to wake up.

I was wide  awake with a start when my eyes met familiar blue-green ones through the window of the tumbling room. It was too late, I couldn’t just pretend that I hadn’t seen him and had to say hi at least.

“Bitch, what are you doing up already? Shouldn’t you be asleep instead of on your tippy toes? What are you doing here?” I teased him even though he wasn’t dancing or wearing ballet shoes. I couldn’t help it.

“I need to stretch and train every day or I’ll lose the flexibility or the muscle memory of some stunts.” He took a sip of water and wiped the sweat off his forehead with a towel. I realised he was wearing the ugly T-shirt with the hole again. It made me grin.

“So, twinkle toes, show me what you got.” He looked uncomfortable for a second, then jumped into a backwards handspring.

“Shit, mami, how did you do that?” I jumped forward, eyes wide. I was barely able to do a decent cartwheel and he could perform these kind of stunts?

“Want me to teach you?” he offered and looked more comfortable and relaxed than I had seen him this far. That was also the only reason why I agreed. He explained what he wanted me to do and then guided me through the movements. We laughed and joked while he taught me, focussed on the tension in my body, the right way to jump and the correct way to land. It took me a while, but then I was able to do it on my own. It wasn’t as graceful as his, but I didn’t break my neck and landed on my feet.

“Thanks, boo. You rock as a teacher, but I have to go.” I realised I had to hurry if I didn’t want to be late for work. The lack of time also helped with the question of how to say bye and putting it on the back of my mind that while teaching he had touched me again. Nothing sexy, nothing sensual, just his hands to stabilise me in the air so I wouldn’t fall. They had been gone again before my feet touched the ground.

***

Hours later I was still thinking about his smile and the way his shoulders slumped for once while he helped me with the tumbling. The tension that made him stand ramrod straight had been gone during these moments.

“Hey.” At first I thought the voice was part of my daydream. Then he spoke again and I realised that the blonde object of my jumbled thoughts and emotions was standing in front of me in the MAC store.

“What are you doing here?"

"I think I heard that one before today.” We both laughed. It was true. And it broke the ice and blockage in my brain.

“How can I help you Sir?” I asked politely and glanced over a my boss, who was watching me. She was a friend of mine, but he didn’t need to know that.

“I need new foundation because I got a bit of a tan. And probably new lipstick."

"You could have just texted me and I would have brought all the stuff home with me,” I told him once he paid for four different lipsticks, a new highlighter, new foundation and a couple of different lashes. I gave him my discount, of course, even though he insisted it wasn’t necessary.

“Don’t have your phone number. And I needed some other stuff anyway.” He didn’t carry any other bags, so whatever he had bought so far must be small enough to fit onto the pocket of his shorts. I handed him the bag with his purchase, then picked up his phone, told him to unlock it and added my number. For emergencies, I told him.

“Hey, you know what you really need?” I asked him when he was half-way out the store. He turned around and raised one eyebrow. “New shirts. This one has a hole in it under your left arm.” He checked, blushed, rolled his eyes and then raised the bag I had given him.

“Thank you,” he said in his usual tone. That’s when I realised that Alexis was right.

TBC

#rpdr fanfiction #branjie #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #smut #impolite thank yous #blackhighheels #m/m au