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jilliannotfound · 3 years

Note

prepare for a long ask (i’m sorry)

my brain is very full so hear me out-

dream smp casino/mafia au-

now i was at first thinking Kinoko kingdom (karlnapity) are the owners of the casino cause yk Las Nevadas Quackity but then i remembered “Syndicate” (by Derivakat) which has a jazzy vibe and was like, what if the Syndicate was a mafia ‘family’ that ran a casino and reader is their star performer who starts off every night with a performance of “Syndicate”. reader’s performance is used to kinda establish the Syndicate’s power over the casino and to remind the patrons anything they do will be under the scrutiny of a mafia with literally two of the most renowned mafiosos’ (Philza whose reputation of traveling all over and taking down many a mafia family precedes him and Technoblade who has taken down mafia families singlehandedly) in the city, maybe even the entire country.

the Eggpire is like a rival mafia that is trying to take control over the city so it isn’t uncommon for them to try and infiltrate the Syndicate casino. so i was thinking, what if the people who are Pro-Omlette (but not in the Syndicate so Puffy, Foolish (since it’s not confirmed he’s part of the Syndicate), Awesamdude and Eret) are staff at the casino. they were each like a lone agent after their mafia family split up/they left and decided to join forces with the Syndicate to make sure the Eggpire didn’t gain total control of the city. Maybe Sam is a bodyguard stationed either outside the casino or manning security cameras switching with Puffy, Eret can be like a stage manager/backstage to aid the performers and make sure no one sneaks into the dressing rooms or the light control area backstage and Foolish is like a bartender keeping an eye out on the main floor of the casino for any activity.

Dream was the former head of the well-renowned Dream Team mafia family until the family split. he’s notorious for breaking apart mafia families before disappearing into the night and traveling to a new city. occasionally he’ll hire some aid but they never last long.

Ponk used to be an on-sight medic for the casino in cause of bar fights or performers getting injured on stage but after many rumors (later confirmed to be true) of him being a member of the Eggpire he was fired and not allowed to enter the premise of the casino again.

Kinoko Kingdom was a rival casino/mafia family to the Syndicate’s but they’ve decided to have a truce to make sure Dream and/or the Eggppire don’t take over their city. Their casinos have different vibes with the Syndicate’s being more of a hub for mafia and business activity with jazzy music on the constant and famous for civilized and tame yet very entertaining entertainment whilst Kinoko’s casino is like more of a rowdy type casino, famous for high stake bets, drinks with high alcohol content and lively music and entertainment that can be seen as a bit too glitzy and tacky. Like you go to Syndicate casino for a night of business deals and building yourself up to the top, the type of casino you would bring your boss to, whilst the Kinoko casino is the type of casino you go to let loss and risk it all with cheap entertainment and even cheaper booze. their truce works out because their casinos are so different that competition wouldn’t be worth the cash (and the Syndicate knows they can easily take on the Kinoko mafia in a fight but shhhh)

there’s multiple places a reader character could fight but as a primarily Technoblade simp at heart i had to put reader as a performer in the Syndicate casino-

~🦫Anon (if this title isn’t already taken-)

𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕊𝕪𝕟𝕕𝕚𝕔𝕒𝕥𝕖

DSMP x Reader (in-game)

Summary: Request

Warnings: None?

A/N: Okay… I have a few important things to say. First of all, this story is not completed. This request is so genuinely good and I have been trying to work on it for far too long and have had very little success. With that being said I still want to publish the small bit of this story that I’m proud of.

Second of all, I would like any other dsmp writers on this platform to feel free to take this request and perhaps do with it what I wasn’t able to. If you write this story, please tag me because I’d love to see what you do with it. You can also use this bit I have written and am sharing to start off your own version of the story (just give proper credit)!

With all of that out of the way, please enjoy!

—

The Syndicate. One of the highest-end casinos in the country, and certainly the most powerful, being run by two of the best-known mafiosos.

Philza was best known for his travel, being able to track down anyone anywhere and take care of them.

Technoblade was easily the scariest man you could meet. He’d single-handedly taken down more mafia families at the age of 21 than most senior-aged mafiosos could even dream of.

It was rare to see either of the men in the casino, let alone to see them together, so when the pair came through the doors with power in their steps everyone knew something serious was in order.

They took their seats at the bar as Foolish prepared their drinks and Eret directed the casino's attention to the stage.

This performance was a nightly occurrence, the same jazzy tune came from the band's instruments as Y/N emerged from the curtain.

Hey, I'll tell you a little secret of mine

If you promise not to tell, if you have the time

Everyone has gotten you, always on the run

But if you join the Syndicate

Life could get a little more fun

It was the song of the casino, used to remind everyone just how much power it holds.

When all of the horses and all of the men

Won't learn from history, it's all the same in the end

I've told you once and I'll tell you again

The Syndicate is looking for a couple new friends

It reminds the patrons of the casino that no matter what they do, the Syndicate is always watching, studying each of them in hopes of finding some new friends.

Fight for freedom, fight to end the pain

Hey, this is serious, it's not just some little game

'Cause the anarchy's part of me, tyranny bothers me

End it all properly once and for all

They call us the villains 'cause they know we'll take the fall

The members of the Syndicate were a force to be reckoned with, composed of strong fighters and quick thinkers constantly working to take down anyone that dare stand in their way.

The Eggpire was their current concern. Run by a man named BadBoyHalo, the Eggpire was a whole other breed of mafiosos.

They preached about the Egg, whatever the hell that was supposed to be, and always wore a signature red color that made them easy to spot. Sometimes you could even swear there was a red glint in their eyes when talking about it.

After the incident with Ponk, their old medic that got caught up in the red whirlwind, the Syndicate became extra wary of the Eggpire, willing to do just about anything to take them down.

This is exactly why the two most powerful men were sitting together at the Syndicate’s bar with their eyes locked on the stage.

Fight for freedom, fight to end the pain

Hey, this is serious, it's not just some little game

'Cause the anarchy's part of me, tyranny bothers me

End it all properly once and for all

They call us the villains 'cause they know we'll take the fall

When all of the horses and all of the men

Won't learn from history, it's all the same in the end

I've told you once and I'll tell you again

The Syndicate is looking for a couple new friends

Oh, a couple new friends

Oh, oh, oh, oh

Oh no, no

You'll gain a couple new friends

As the jazzy instrumentals faded out, Eret poked his head out of the curtain on the side of the stage, gesturing for the resident singer to come backstage.

Y/N smiled at the audience and walked through the velvet barrier to be greeted by the deep-voiced brunette.

“Did you see who’s out there tonight?” They asked him.

“That's why I called you, they wanna see you.”

Y/N took a deep breath and headed out onto the main floor.

They’d been part of the Syndicate for most of their life and knew they weren’t in any danger near Techno and Phil, but the anxiety still pounded in their head as they approached the men.

Y/N sat on the stool next to Technoblade and the two turned their stools to face them.

“Lovely performance!” Phil praised

They shot him a kind smile and braced themself for the inevitable harsh news that would follow the attempted small talk.

“We need you to do something.” Techno said bluntly. “You know Las Nevadas?”

“Yeah, of course.”

It was another casino ran by Kinoko Kingdom, another mafia family. They used to be considered one of the biggest threats to the Syndicate because they had quite literally appeared overnight and nobody knew anything. Once the Eggpire popped up though, it was safest to become fast friends with the three men that ran Las Nevadas in hopes of strengthening their forces against the red abomination infecting families all over.

“We had a meeting with Quackity and he’s got a bad feeling about some guests that have been stopping by their area. It’s a shitty casino, we all know that, but he thinks it’s more than just some random troublemakers.”

…

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argylemikewheeler · 3 years

Text

July 1st, 1985

what the first ep of (my) s3 would look like if the main concept was: both Steve and Will are gay in 1985’s Summer of Love and the town’s enemy is a little more human; loving friendships, very confused adults, and Will Byers Actually Getting Help

“Harrington!”

“Yes, sir.” Steve looked up from his desk. He dropped his crossword and looked to be at attention; the police station’s phone wasn’t ringing, though, so there wasn’t really anything he should have been doing. Hopper stepped out of his office, angling himself toward the door rather than Steve’s desk island.

“Do you think you’ll be able to-- Harrington, what are you doing?” Hopper caught sight of the pocket thesaurus sitting on his desk (the last name written on the inside cover not belonging to Steve, of course). Hopper fixed his sunglasses on the edge of his nose, looking over them and down at Steve.

“I’m just, uh, working on my vocabulary.” Steve said. Hopper blinked twice, waiting. Steve wasn’t going to say the truth: he was dating-- well seeing someone-- way smarter than him. This wasn’t for joy or boredom. He was studying to impress. “It’s college prep, sir.”

“The crossword?” The chief evened his stare. “This your old man’s suggestion?” Of all the things Steve’s father was telling him to do with himself, he wished some of it was simply pecking at a crossword over a twelve hour shift. Fucking off and being a better piece of shit son just wasn’t feasible to accomplish in one summer.

“He swears by it.”

“Okay, well. Uh, moving on from that,” Hopper grabbed his hat from the coat rack. The topic of Steve’s father always made Hopper stiffen up; it was definitely the main reason Hopper gave Steve his job at the station, but it still created more questions. Steve knew Hopper and his father went to high school together, but he never asked his father about those years-- beyond his baseball glory stories. “I’ve got plans tonight and I need to head out early. Can you handle things on your own for a while. At least until the night shift comes in?”

“I’ll be fine.” Steve made sure not to acknowledge the crossword on his desk as he nodded. He was really good at his job, he was. He was also just, unfortunately, still a pretty shitty boyfriend and needed all the vocab help he could get. “What’s the pressing story?”

“I have dinner.” Hopper was already trying to walk out the door. “So don’t call me. For the love of God.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Chief. I--” Steve was sure it was the cool July wind that slammed the door on the last half of his sentence. Not Hopper. “won’t... Have a good time, I guess.”

The police station was empty: it was another boring and wonderfully quiet Monday in Hawkins. There’d been some calls to break up disturbances at city hall in the past few days, but somehow everyone just seemed to agree that Mondays-- the longest shift of Steve's whole week-- was the day everyone went about their quietest day.

There were a few officers milling in and out of the back lounge and front door, casting a quick glance to Steve as he muttered and threatened fourteen down and six across. Nancy had been helping close the gaps of his post-high school education-- without knowing just what for-- but had been picking up most hours at the Post to try and elbow her way into their good graces; it put his tutoring on hold. So here he was, groaning at some clues about classical artists he’d never heard of.

There were other reasons Steve was sure the other officers thought he was odd-- things he was sure his father had passed along in spitting rants-- but Steve didn’t mind. No one said anything to his face.

“Hey Flo! Is, uh, is Steve here?” The question was asked with the answer already in mind.

Steve sat up in his chair, twisting around to see down the hall to the back entrance to the station. There weren’t many parking spots to fill, but he knew a certain someone who preferred it to street parking.

“Jonathan?”

“Oh, I hear him. Thanks-- hey!” Jonathan hurried out from the hall, his camera bumping against his stomach and bag slapping against his leg in the same rhythm. He’d gotten a new haircut recently: semi-wonky bangs and a closer cut in the back. All thanks to Steve’s peer pressure and Mrs. Byers’s kitchen shears.

“What are you doing here?”

“Sorry to stop by your work like this--” he lowered his voice as he stopped at the corner of Steve’s desk. “I know we said we wouldn’t do that, but we got an extra muffin in the lunch order and I know you’re always starving after a Monday shift so.” Jonathan produced a folded brown paper bag from his satchel. “Here.”

“Oh, thanks.” Steve wanted to say so much more, but had to settle. No more. None of what they’d decided they wouldn’t say. Not until the summer had ended. They wanted to see if they lasted longer than the convenience of loose summer schedules.

“Won’t I see you, uh, later, though?” At eight, when Steve got sent home he always drove straight to Jonathan’s. Jonathan started late on Tuesdays and Steve had off; they had the time to waste. “Or is this your way of telling me to stay home?”

“No! No we’re still... hanging out.” Jonathan had gotten really good at cooking and treated Steve to weekly dinner. It was a nice gesture at first, but Steve started growing fond of the company. They both did around mid-June. “But, I think Mike’s going to be over so. Be cool , alright? Keep it cool.”

“Cool, got it.” Steve leaned back in his chair. He moved his papers to leave a corner of his desk for Jonathan to sit on. No one was in the main office; it was a harmless invitation.

“I have to get going...” It sounded like an excuse, a dive for safety. “And I’m sure you have, um, puzzles to do?” Jonathan pretended not to be endeared. He tried, he really did. He failed , but Steve pretended he didn’t notice.

“Don’t want to sit and help me figure out the title of Mozart’s last opera?” He patted the desk, daring to be more direct.

“I really have to go.” Jonathan was genuine, looking at his watch. “The Post only let me out early today because I have to go pick up Will from his doctor’s appointment.”

“Wait.” Steve put the cap back on his pen. “Isn’t Will’s therapy on Wednesday?”

“Yeah, but with Mom’s schedule and the store being all weird-- we had to move it to today. And you know we typically have a family night after-- so he feels okay, you know-- but we can’t . So, that’s why Mike’s coming over. Hopefully they’ll be idiots and tire Will out and he’ll sleep okay.” Tension rose in Jonathan’s voice quickly, explaining his day as if going over a laundry list; never rehearsing it but having it memorized.

“I can stay home if you need time, Jonathan.”

“No, really. I want you to come over.” Jonathan sighed and placed his hand on the emptied spot on Steve’s desk. “Besides, you can’t break tradition after a little over one month , then it was just a weird habit.”

Steve Harrington did not consider his summer fling a w eird habit . If anything, it was the most sensical thing he’d done in a very long time. Even after getting rejected from all his colleges, and never hearing the end of his father’s lectures, 1985 had been very kind to him. And that was mostly due to Jonathan’s inherent nature to be the same.

“I’ll see you after eight.” Steve smiled and reached for his hand-- but averted to grab a piece of memo paper by the phone.

“I’m sorry to leave in a rush.” Jonathan hitched his bag up, checking his watch again. “I just, I really need to get going.”

“Don’t worry. The muffin is more than enough.” Steve said. “And seeing you wasn’t too bad either.”

“Slow day, huh?” Jonathan said. The corner of his mouth quirked with a flattered, embarrassed smile. Steve tried to act nonchalant, like he wasn’t so goddamn relieved to see a familiar and happy face. Especially his familiar and happy face. “Well, good thing I have another surprise for you.”

“You can barely fit your camera in that bag, what could you possibly-- hey!” Steve missed grabbing Jonathan’s arm as he walked away, heading for the front door. “Where are you going?” Jonathan kept walking, checking his watch the whole way. “Hello?”

“Delivered right on time.” Jonathan pushed the front door open to the station-- but was nearly knocked over as a green dash barreled through it.

"Steve! Steve! Steve!” The dash was suddenly grabbing him by the shoulders. “You got the job!”

“Henderson! Oh my god! You’re back!” In an unlikely impulse, Steve grabbed Dustin in a hug, taking advantage of the change of height. “Holy shit, I nearly forgot! First of the month!”

“See you, Steve.” Jonathan walked across the room to the back entrance again. His hand braced the back of Steve’s chair, brushing across his shoulders.

“O-Okay! Yeah, see you!” Steve sputtered, losing his reminded cool in an instant. “Bye.”

Dustin pulled away slowly. “What was that?” It looked like everyone was too smart for Steve.

“Nothing. He brought me a surprise lunch-- which was an obvious decoy to the main event! You! How are you, buddy? How was camp?”

“Oh, it was fantastic. Steve, I have to show you all my inventions! Camp was the best four weeks of my life .” Dustin hopped up onto the corner of his desk. His heels tapped against the empty metal drawers. He was jittery, nearly uncontainable, but still so composed-- if only to be focused all on Steve.

Steve held his hands out, letting him start. “Lay it on me, Henderson! I want to hear everything. I missed you like crazy.”

“Well, first, obviously. I have to tell you about my girlfriend--”

“Whoa! Whoa! Girlfriend ? That fast?” Steve hadn’t been expecting any of his dating advice to work. It had been coming from such a poor and confused part of himself, Steve figured it was destined to fail. Apparently, it was just Steve that was-- when flirting with women at least. “Damn, there’s something in you after all!”

“She’s super smart, Steve. I’ve never met any girl like her. She’s a genius and she’s so pretty. God, I miss her already-- and I just saw her.”

Steve looked over his shoulder. He knew the feeling. “That’s great, man. I mean, I’m super happy for you. Like, that’s crazy . That’s freaking awesome.”

“So what about you? How are the ladies? I mean, you work for the Chief now. All the ladies you could need and more, am I right?”

Steve used to be really good at this part of the lie, but with Dustin it felt cheap. He didn’t need to lie to him, but that was the deal; no matter how much that person was Steve’s best and most beloved friend, their secret was a dead-bolt, vaulted secret.

“Eh, not too great. Only girl my own age I see-- besides Nancy, really-- is the night-shift girl, Robin. But she’s not really-- we’re just friends. She’s alright. Leaves me weird drawings in the memo pad.”

“Ooo, she sounds cool.” Dustin raised his eyebrows. “Do you know her from school?”

“Yeah, we didn’t really run in the same crowds but-- it’s not like that, man. It’s really not.” Steve started unwrapping his lunch. “It’s so not like that with Robin.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I’m not... looking at the moment.”

Steve had originally decided to not go looking for trouble. After he and Nancy split in the beginning of his senior year, he didn’t start looking for an immediate replacement. The illusion of thinking he was in love with Nancy-- capable of being in love with Nancy-- was a hard thing to have come crumbling down. Steve needed time to get his own bearings, to put his feet firmly on the ground, and have them lifted off when his father grabbed him by the lapels and--

Steve hadn’t gone looking for trouble. Hadn’t gone looking for love either. But somehow, both seemed to find him.

Jonathan was late. He usually wasn’t but Will was trying not to be worried. It was a different day than usual and he knew how awful Jonathan’s boss and co-workers were. Will tried not to be worried-- he wasn't. It was just that he had spent an hour talking about the night his father left their family; standing outside the doctor’s office was a bit nerve-wracking. It felt too familiar, even with all the talking and note-scribbling.

Finally, Jonathan’s car pulled into the lot. He was speeding, as much as his car could speed: he knew he was late, which made Will feel a little bit better. No one had forgotten him. It was just traffic or his bosses or maybe just hitting all the red lights. As Jonathan stopped in front of the curb and waved Will in, Will could see he was jittery-- he was upset that he was late. Will felt bad for counting the minutes.

Not that he did it out of impatience or anything. Will just formed the habit after getting his new watch. It matched Mike’s. Completely on accident, of course.

“Hey, buddy! Sorry I’m late. I was-- I had to run an errand really fast. How long were you waiting.” He moved his bag and threw it onto the backseat. Will would’ve held it on his lap.

“I wasn’t keeping track.” Will said, climbing into the passenger seat. Will wanted to ask if his bag had Jonathan’s camera in it. If everything was okay. He didn’t. It seemed like Jonathan had been in his therapy with Will, just as shaken up. “It’s okay. Thanks for getting me.”

Jonathan waited until Will put on his seat belt. “Of course. We’re always here to pick you up. Therapy is important; you have to go.”

Will laughed before he could stop himself. “You sound like Mom.” Why?

“Because she’s right.” Therapy was still kind of weird to Will-- since no one else in his grade had to do it-- but he humored his family. It was helping, if he had to admit it. But it was still embarrassing sometimes.

His therapist, Dr. Bright-- Rose Marie, as she insisted on being called-- was a send-out from the Lab, but disguised within a private practice just outside of town. She was able to listen to Will talk about what he saw and felt during his time with the Mind Flayer without trying to commit him. Almost nothing was off limits. Almost nothing.

Will checked his watch again.

“Are you excited to see Mike tonight?” The question was pointed, but Will wasn’t sure why it made him nervous. “I mean, I feel like I haven’t seen him in a bit.”

“Oh, yeah. He’s always with El.”

Will was sure they weren’t dating. El was just on a year-long stint of self-discovery and, besides Max, Mike was the person she trusted the most to help make as many helpful mistakes as possible. He bought her books to read and new music to try. It was really sweet, seeing Mike take such big strides toward helping their friend. But there was also a part of Will that felt dejected: his sort of help had to be prescribed and couldn’t be replaced with a warm laugh from one Mike Wheeler.

Will was sick while his friends were growing.

“Is there something wrong?” Jonathan used to ask the question like Will was one trembling lip away from crying-- but this time, he asked it like Will had his hand on the door, seconds from jumping out. “Will, are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Will nodded. “I’m fine. Just-- I talked a lot today and I’m tired.”

“Do you want to cancel with Mike--”

“No.” Will had been looking forward to having time with Mike-- just Mike-- for a whole week. He wanted to sit on his floor with his best friend and be a kid again. Just for the night-- maybe draw some of Mike’s old campaigns or sketch out an idea for his own. He just wanted to remember something good about the past four years. After his hour with Dr. Bright, it all felt painful. Like his childhood naivety had been broken and every conversation he overheard in his house dripped with venom and disdain.

Will didn’t like picturing his house that way. It was a place that loved and raised him, a place he felt safe. He didn’t like thinking the conversations he heard being screamed through the walls were trapped in the drywall.

His arms felt heavy and his chest felt like it was made of metal-- he kept tasting it in his mouth. Will leaned back against the seat and reached for the radio. Jonathan turned it down before Will had even changed the station.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I just want to see Mike.” Will said, his mouth too honest and his mind shrouded in guilt. “I just want to see my friend.”

“Okay. Okay.” Jonathan nodded somewhat somberly. “I understand. Let’s go pick him up. He’s at his house right? Not El’s-- o-or The Sinclair’s or anything?”

“No. He’s at his.” Will crossed his arms and tried to find the loose string-- the thing that could uncoil Jonathan’s still-tightening anxiety. “Are you still dating Nancy?”

Jonathan turned to look at Will, nearly crashing the car. That was the wrong string. “What?”

“Nancy? Are you still dating her?”

“I was never dating Nancy.” Jonathan laughed, shaking his head. “I’m not dating Mike’s sister, don’t worry.” The clarification was strange and felt off-topic. Like Jonathan was trying to talk about something else.

“I thought you were. You guys hung out a lot during school.” Will heard her voice through the walls too. Always gentle, never yelling. Except when she was losing at playing cards. Then she shouted.

“She was helping me pass chemistry. That’s all.” Jonathan turned the radio up a little. Will checked his watch. “And then she helped me apply to the Post internship-- she’s great at writing papers, did you know that? A real wordsmith. Is Mike a writer too?”

He was, he really was. Grammatically, Will ran out of red pens trying to help, but creatively? Will envied Mike’s ability. “I don’t know. We don’t really talk about that kind of stuff like you two do… Since you two are dating.”

“We’re not .” Jonathan laughed. Will took advantage of an upcoming stop sign to lean forward and look at his brother’s crimson face. “We’re not, Will, okay? We’re really not. I’d tell you.”

“You’d tell me?”

“Of course! I’d tell you if I… I had a girlfriend. Which I don’t!” He stayed at the stop sign for a bit too long. “Do you?”

There was an option to play dumb, to make Jonathan ask more directly: do you have a girlfriend, Will ? but it sounded far more painful than being honest, than being as lonely as he was.

“No. I don’t.”

“And you’d tell me. If you were dating someone?” Jonathan looked at Will, hopeful but scarcely so. “You’ll tell me if anything big happens in your life?”

“Yeah.” There wouldn’t be anything happening at all that summer, that was for damn sure . “Absolutely.”

Steve had about seventy percent of his puzzle done-- fifty of which was because Dustin was an unstoppable genius with no tolerance for Steve’s careful pace. It was just about quarter past seven, and Steve’s back was getting sore from sitting in his chair all day. He only liked sitting when it was in his car, on his way to the Byers's House, careful, of course, to obey all traffic laws.

Steve was packing his crosswords and pens up in the top drawer of his desk when something clattered the back door open. Steve grabbed a pen and whipped around in his seat, as if to wield it like a weapon.

“Hello? Who’s there?”

“Hey dingus.” Luckily, Steve couldn’t even see Robin yet-- or rather, she couldn’t see him or his emphasized eye roll. She could hear him groan though. “Hey, shut up and quit whining. I’m sending you home early.”

Her head popped out from the hallway. Robin’s ponytail was high on her head, the hair flopping over and getting caught in her stringy bangs. She flung her backpack out from behind her and tossed it toward Steve. She wasn’t in her uniform yet, only wearing the buttoned up shirt-- unbuttoned and showing her torn and dyed shirt underneath. She was wearing jogging shorts, her knees torn up and covered with Band-Aids. They reminded Steve of the ones taped to his face after getting a plate smashed into his forehead. Deceivingly cheerful.

“What are you doing here early?” Steve stood and followed her, holding her backpack awkwardly in his hands. “You’re never early.” Eight on the dot. Every time.

“I figure you want to get out of here tonight.” She didn’t even stop to look at Steve as they walked into the back room. “Probably want to see your boyfriend.”

Her words weren’t sharp, but Steve still recoiled. He let his arms, and her bag, hang by his sides.

“Who? Jonathan?” The only way Jonathan and Robin had ever met was in the hallways of Hawkins High. She definitely never saw them interact at the station-- or on any of their nights together: they were always indoors. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

“First off, I didn't even say a name." Shit. "Second, he came in the other day looking for you.” Robin started buttoning her shirt up, fixing the collar as she finally turned to see Steve. “He was really upset-- didn’t even know what time it was to know you weren’t working.”

“Upset?” Technically, it wasn’t Steve’s problem. It was the deal; they didn’t have to care about each other’s lives. It was just summer. It was just like any other summer.

“Yeah. Crying, sniffling, snot-- the whole nine, man.” Robin sounded extremely sympathetic despite beginning to change her pants. Steve whipped around, covering his face. “You should go see him. Make sure he’s okay. Be a good boyfriend... shithead.”

“He’s not--”

“Steve, I’m the last person you should be arguing with.” Robin laughed-- and it was only momentarily threatening. Until, of course, Steve realized what she meant.

Like all good secrets kept at Hawkins PD, Steve kept his mouth shut and nodded even if she wasn’t looking.

“Yes, sir--ma'am-- Robin.”

“So, are you going to go or what, dingus?” She tapped him on the shoulder. “Get out of here-- and tell me all about it Wednesday.”

Steve blinked at her, holding out her bag. As if it was enough thanks to give her back her own property. “Are we… friends, or something?”

“No, of course not.” She winked, slapping his arm. “Just looking out for one of my own.”

After picking Mike up from his house, they drove home in uncharacteristic chatter. Jonathan was the only one speaking, humming along to the radio. Will was exhausted beyond performative small talk; the type that had to be done between two best friends when a third party was present. Mike was great at just sitting with Will in silence, but Jonathan didn’t know that. Instead, the three of them passed around quiet jokes and laughter, answering questions about their friends for Jonathan’s upkeep of information.

Once they got in the house, Jonathan let them wander off into Will’s room as he started pulling pots out of the kitchen cabinets. He wouldn’t bother or pester them about any summer work, either. They would be left alone in their own coupled silence.

Mike was sitting cross-legged on Will’s floor, twisting one of Will's crayons between his fingers. Will needed new ones but he felt funny asking for them as a near-freshman in high school. He liked the glide of wax on paper compared to the scrape of colored pencils. Well, that and the fact he ruined half of his crayons the year prior making a full map of Hawkins in a fugue state and only had two crayons able to be used normally.

“You had doctor stuff today, right?”

Will was digging under his bed for his emptier sketch book. “Yeah. Therapy. Doctor doctor stuff was two weeks ago.”

“How was it?” Mike let his hand still and rest in his lap. “Like, what do you do in therapy? Just start talking?”

“Yeah, but it’s more than that. You have to think about stuff too. Doctors ask you questions, sometimes.” Will pulled back and drug his old drawing supplies along the carpet. He sat back on his heels and was able to see Mike over the top of the bed. He didn’t know Will was looking. “You have to have answers.”

“What do they ask about?” Mike kept looking at his hands, unaware of Will. “Upside down stuff?”

“Sometimes.” Will shuffled back around to Mike's side of the bed. He could feel the tiniest bit of rug burn starting. “She asked me about my dad today.”

Mike looked up, almost immediately. “Can she do that?”

“Why can’t she?” Will popped the lid on the retired Tupperware, now his art bin. “I talked about it.”

“I thought you didn’t like to.” Will had never said those words which meant Mike had gathered it from just observing him. “Did you… like talking about it?”

“Not really.” Will laughed. He found a few extra crayons, but of all the wrong colors. “She had this big speech afterward about learned helplessness that I… really didn’t like.” Will tried to keep laughing.

Mike put the crayon back in the bin. “Are you okay, Will?”

“Yeah. It’s just… the same old stuff.” Will shrugged. “Sometimes it just bothers me more than other days.”

Mike bit the inside of his cheek, picking at his words carefully. “You never talk about your dad, Will.”

“Why would I?”

“Because it bothers you. You can talk about anything you want-- I… I would listen.”

“You don’t have to listen to it just because it happened to me, you know. My therapist says you don’t have to experience things with me for them to be real.”

“But I want to know.” Mike looked insulted, almost crushed and collapsed as he sat back on his hands. “That’s your dad,” he said. “And you’re my friend.”

They sat in silence for a while. Mike went back to studying a new crayon, picking at the wrapper. Will felt something forming in his throat. A bubble that was hot, thick and sticky. Not vomit, but not impending tears either.

“I don’t get why he left.” Will said. “I don’t know what happened to our family.”

“Nothing happened. Maybe he just… wasn’t good at being your dad anymore.”

“But then why? What did I do?” Will didn’t want to ask Mike, make him feel responsible for answering, but Will was desperate to ask the universe again.

“Nothing.” Mike said. “I just think he…”

“He what? My dad got tired of me? Didn’t want to raise me?”

“Maybe he actually learned how to take a hint and knew he wasn’t good enough for you and Jonathan-- or your mom.” Mike wanted to be hopeful, to be positive, so badly. He ached, his smile tight and weak. He didn't have the answers, and who was Will to put him in the position to come up with them.

“So he gave up.” Will said.

“That’s not what I meant--”

“I know. I know… That’s just how it feels.” Will shrugged. He smiled at Mike, accepting his help and his warmth. It hurt knowing that Mike was wrong, but still. Will could always pretend a little longer. Anything for Mike.

“Hey! You monsters hungry?” Steve clapped his hands together before gently tapping the door. “Jonathan’s got dinner on the table.”

The door was open. Steve didn’t have to knock. He wanted to, just to prove he wasn’t too comfortable, but he also knew Mike was over. And knocking would announce his entrance rather than letting it just be something that just was . Rather than being cool .

Awkwardly and with a lot of weird, throat-clearing fanfare, Steve opened the Byers’s front door and poked his head inside. Jonathan called him in from the kitchen without even needing to say hello, or being surprised by his walking in: In here, Steve! Dinner’s almost done .

Steve walked through the living room carefully, as if he’d disturb it. There was a tape playing softly-- some band Steve’s never heard of, but didn’t hate. He’d grown to like the way that every song played in the Byers house was always moody and melancholy. The music was always the opposite of how he felt stepping into the kitchen.

Jonathan was at the stove, stirring a pot of something that smelled delicious. He had what looked to be tomato sauce stains on the front of his shirt-- where he wrapped his hand up to open the sauce jar. Steve was able to hide his smile as he shouldered off his uniform jacket and toed off his shoes, claiming a chair at the kitchen table.

“How was work?” Jonathan didn’t stop stirring. He moved like the stove was turned all the way up and he was afraid of burning the food. He spoke that way too.

“It was fine. Not a whole lot.” Steve didn’t want to have anything seem bigger than whatever upset Jonathan-- and seemed to still be upsetting him now. “How was your day?”

“Fine. Will and Mike are in the other room.” He was checking things off his list. Steve stepped up to Jonathan and stood even with him at the stove. He was making one-pot pasta. It really did smell fantastic. Steve was so hungry, even after his lunch.

“How was… the other things in your day? Develop any good pictures?” Steve covered how stupid he sounded by placing his hand on Jonathan’s lower back.

Jonathan stopped stirring and looked at him. Steve tried to keep cool, tried not to show his motives-- his attempt to calm something he couldn’t believe he’d missed spinning out of control, even if he didn’t know what it was. “Nancy walked into the dark room today-- she’s actually the one who gave me the muffin-- and she exposed the photos to light too early. So no, actually.”

Steve really was a bad boyfriend. Even when he wasn’t one yet-- or at all.

“Okay… how was. Everything else?”

“You don’t have to ask about my day, Steve. It’s okay.” Jonathan sighed and spoke evenly. “I’m just a little tired. Really. We don’t have to do the whole… thing .”

The whole thing where Steve was explicit about how much he really cared about Jonathan and admitted he was sincerely and terrifyingly in love with Jonathan.

“I was asking because I was curious. Not out of obligation.” Steve clarified. His hand slid to rest on Jonathan’s hip. He moved closer, lips aiming to place a commitment-less kiss on his cheek.

“Steve! I said to keep it cool .” Jonathan ducked back, placing a hand on Steve’s chest. “I don’t want Will to see us.”

“Your brother?” Steve was surprised; of all people Jonathan explicitly wanted to hide from Will seemed kind and forgiving-- not that there was anything to forgive, but it was something Steve often checked for. Steve was sure that one of Dustin’s friends would be… like Steve. Or like Jonathan-- maybe. All of them seemed prepared to deal with any of their friends suddenly being different. Far more prepared than Steve ever was.

“Yes. My brother.” Jonathan snapped, banging the spoon against the edge of the pot. “I don’t want him to learn I’m not dating Nancy but instead seeing her ex-boyfriend in the same day.” he whispered.

“Wait, what? He thinks you’re with Nancy?” Steve wasn’t sure where they went wrong. They were trying to obscure the truth, not lead everyone to a different reality. “D-Do you think Mike does too?”

“I don’t know! I didn’t want to ask and seem weird.” Jonathan sighed again. He sounded tense again. “I told Will I’d tell him if I was seeing anyone… And he promised me the same.”

Steve knew not to press the obvious question-- well are you seeing someone, Jonathan? -- but also didn’t want to touch the obvious implication that Will needed to share a secret with Jonathan. Instead, he placed his hands into his pockets and turned to lean against the counter.

“Dinner smells really good, Byers.” There was another name that began with “B” that Steve wasn’t allowed to use, but always wanted to. Byers Byers Byers. Baby baby baby. “Thank you, again, for cooking for me-- for us.”

“You think I’m going to let you starve?” His stirring slowed; the stove cooled down. He nudged Steve’s arm with the spoon. “You coming home late and trying to cook? You mean half-drinking a beer and falling asleep face down on your bed in your uniform, half unbuttoned.”

“You picture that often, Byers?” Steve lifted an eyebrow. “Hm?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” Jonathan’s lips quirked into a smile again. “But, if you’d like a beer, I think there’s one in the fridge. No one in the house is going to touch it.”

“I can go ask Will if he wants it.”

“Shut up-- do you want it or not?”

“No.” Steve didn’t like drinking when they were together. He’d never really heard the full story about where Mr. Byers went, but he had a father of his own to make those blank spaces fill pretty fast. “But thanks. Don’t want the habit of needing a beer to forget how boring my job is.”

“I thought you liked your job?” Jonathan took a piece of pasta out of the pot and held it out for Steve to test.

He chewed and answered. “I do! It’s nice to have normal hours-- and I’m happy to help have replacements as Flo gets ready to retire but… I don’t know. Sometimes it feels boring .”

“Would you rather be chasing down a four-legged monster without a face?” Jonathan let out a bubble of genuine laughter, playfully glaring at Steve.

“Frankly, yes! At least we’d all have something to do. I feel like I don’t see everyone anymore.”

“Then throw a party. Don’t wish for anything bad to happen.” Jonathan said firmly. “Let the record show my brother is a very strange magnet for all this… weird shit.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry.” Steve said solemnly. He put his hand on Jonathan’s forearm. “I wish we were all safely doing something exciting. It felt nice to be needed, even if no one knew it was us.”

Jonathan put the spoon down on the counter and pivoted to be looking only at Steve. There was something resting just on the tip of his tongue, just under the surface of their conversation. It would’ve been a digression-- Steve could tell by Jonathan’s tense and furrowed brow-- but he would’ve listened.

“Jonathan?” Steve squeezed his arm, lifting his eyebrows. “What is it?”

“I--” He clenched his jaw, trying to swallow his words. “I think--” Steve knew there was no end to Jonathan’s sentence; merely starting it meant there was trust between them. A careful admission through omission. Steve knew Jonathan was looking at his shoes and wouldn’t be seen as he took in the secret flinches of Jonathan’s face. The crinkle by his left eye, the twitch of his mouth, double blinking--

They both jumped apart as the phone started ringing, practically shaking on the wall. Jonathan stepped away from Steve and left everything unsaid. Again.

Jonathan tucked the phone between his ear and shoulder as he turned to lean against the wall.

“Hello? This is--” His face changed sharply, his eyebrows furrowing. “I told you to stop bothering us. You’re lucky she’s not here to pick up the phone-- I don’t care !” Jonathan cleared his throat and looked at Steve in a flash of uncertainty and anxiety. “I have the police here right now and if you don’t stop calling me I will send them to your house-- it’s not a threat if you’re the one bothering us. Stop. Calling.” He slammed the phone down and braced his weight against the wall with his other hand.

“Am I considered ‘the police’ now?” Steve said lightly. It was his way of letting Jonathan know he was listening, but not asking direct questions. “I’m not even allowed to have a badge.”

“It counts.” Jonathan said, letting his arms fall down by his sides. Steve stepped over and kept stirring dinner.

“Who was that?”

“No one. Can you go get the boys in the other room? Dinner’s ready.” Jonathan pushed Steve aside to hunch over the stove again.

“Sure.” Steve nodded, knowing he wasn’t seen. “Hey! You monsters hungry? Jonathan’s got dinner on the table.”

Dinner felt weird.

Will couldn’t help but feel like he and Mike had gotten into a fight. Talking about his dad made anything feel sticky, feel like it was violent or volatile. A second from snapping or tearing off, bouncing around the walls and echoing in Will's body. A small conversation between friends-- actually a little understanding between best friends-- felt like it had been a screaming match, all because it was cut off. There was no apology from Will. He didn't have the chance to tie it all up with an I’m sorry, I’m really sorry, forget I said anything.

His plea sat heavy on his tongue as he talked to Steve-- who had arrived without notice-- and let Mike make him laugh so hard he nearly shot water out his nose. Will let it all happen under the tremor, the ache, of an apology. And maybe, if he was the best brother and friend he should’ve been, no problems or therapy, it would be enough of an apology.

He wasn't hungry and only ate half his serving of pasta, even though it was usually his favorite of Jonathan's recipes. He did apologize for that though, and it felt right to say aloud. Even if it was misdirected and no one heard it.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm so so sorry. Please come back--

Mike wasn’t tired, Will knew, but he still wanted to go to bed right after their horror movie ended. It was clear Mike hadn't been paying attention to the movie; the entire plot was that dreams were a new horror-scape for monsters to get teenagers. It wasn't too scary to Will; it just felt familiar. The villain looked different, more human, but Will knew what it felt like to dream while wide awake. To watch and be unable to do anything but scratch at the surface--

Convincing Will to get ready for bed, Mike said they’d have all day in the morning. He said that maybe he could convince his mom to let him stay over again if they don’t get all their fun in. Will knew Mike's mom probably would, if only because she felt bad for Will. But he would take the pity. A sleepover wasn't the worst thing to get from pity.

Will could still hear Mike fidgeting in his sleeping bag. He was rubbing his feet together like a cricket and twisting his wristwatch. The plastic scratched the sheer material of his sleeping bag rhythmically: back and forth. back and forth. backandforthbackandforth. It was like Mike was counting the ticks of his silent digital watch. Will began to play with his own watch, keeping it on in bed only because he'd noticed Mike hadn't removed it when they were brushing their teeth that night; apparently the watch was too good to part with.

Time though, was something Will wished he could separate himself from. He could hear the seconds scraping by now. Every moment he kept his friend awake and bored because Will was too weak or (rather and) too everything to stay up late again.

Therapy hadn’t even been that bad. Not really. Maybe it could be exhausting but it didn’t count because Will sat in the same spot for an hour. It wasn’t real work. It shouldn’t have counted. Will should’ve been able to hang out with his friend until sunrise, getting in trouble with his mom for being up so late. He should’ve still been a stupid, carefree kid, not a by-gone troubled teenager.

Maybe his dad had seen that from the beginning. Will's dad was always gambling, betting on baseball games he had these incredible "feelings" on. Sometimes he was wrong, but when he was right it was an amazing prediction; having the foresight no one else had. And maybe that was what it was, leaving them when he did. Maybe he saw Will wouldn’t be the second son he wanted after all. Maybe he knew of all the damage that would be done to him, the damage he would cause. Probably saw it from miles-- years-- away. And he left without a single warning to any of it.

What if his father had known? Could've known where he was when he came back into town two years ago? Not gone forever just in the lights. Just out of reach, just through the wall, Dad. What if he had known, been able to see, able to know, but wanted to leave Will Down there being possessed and enveloped and consumed and--

Will felt a chill scurry down his back. The feeling almost had legs. Too many. He felt ice cold, his body going blank-- not numb, but blank -- for a second. He couldn’t feel his fingers, but could still feel every inch of his body, suddenly pulsing and seizing.

"Will?" Mike asked, sitting up. He gripped the end of the bed and pulled his face closer to Will's. He squinted in the darkness, feeling for Will’s hand. Will couldn’t answer, his jaw tense and breath rattling out of him. "Will, what’s wrong?"

After a (thankfully) non-awkward dinner, Steve and Jonathan washed all the dishes and let the boys watch whatever movie they wanted. Steve didn’t pay attention to what tape he put in the VRC. He was too busy thinking about the hands hidden in the warm soapy water in the kitchen sink. Neither Mike nor Will seemed too bothered by the disgusting amount of blood or the scary blade man on the TV. He felt no regret letting them go to bed right after the credits rolled. Jonathan had looked exhausted after putting the last dish away, and dozed off during the climax of the movie-- even slept through the high-pitched screaming.

They waited for the sound of Will’s door closing over before they got into bed.

Jonathan flopped onto his back, a pillow resting between his chest and crossed arms. Steve laid on his side, bracing his weight on his elbow. He poked at Jonathan's furrowed eyebrow lightly.

"What's the problem, Byers?"

"Nothing."

"You are not a really great liar, you do know that right?" That and Steve could still hear Robin's blasé recounting of Jonathan's distress. Yeah. Crying, sniffling, snot-- the whole nine, man.

Jonathan sighed and turned to look at Steve. He hated being called out. "It's about Will."

"What's wrong with Will? He seemed alright at dinner."

"Yeah, but," Another sigh. "Steve, I think my brother’s gay."

Steve's first response was swallowed and he nodded. "Okay. Okay. And, um, what's the issue with that?" He adjusted himself on the bed, hoping there was more subtlety in that.

"I can't talk to him about it. I mean," Jonathan smiled and reached to touch his face. "This is a very different thing than being fourteen and confused."

"Who says he's confused?"

"I don't mean with himself-- the rest of the world is so confusing, Steve. You see the news... I can't talk to him. I didn't grow up like that. And being with you is... Different. We dated girls before. Will... I don't know. I think he knows already."

"You think he's got feelings for--"

"Oh absolutely." Jonathan nodded, closing his eyes. "Oh, I'm so glad it's not just me who sees it."

"Hopefully Wheeler does too."

"Hey, keep your voice down, he's only a few rooms over ."

"Sorry. Sorry. Me and my big mouth " Steve rested his head on Jonathan's shoulder. "Shut me up, maybe."

"Not until my mom gets back." Jonathan said, rolling up onto his side too. "If I catch her when she comes in the door, she won't come into my room to say good night. I can't have you distracting me until then."

"Your mom is on a date. She's an adult and so are you." Steve kissed Jonathan's shoulder. "You are a working man who just finished a long day at work-- I think you can cuddle up with your boyf--" Steve choked on his own stupidity, feeling his face go red and charisma die on impact. "With me."

"I will. Once my mom is back." Jonathan kissed Steve, as if a parting promise. Only to backtrack on his words immediately. He tucked Steve’s hair back behind his ear, his hands trying not to hold his face. “No-- no . Steve, not until my mom gets back.”

“I can keep an ear out--” As Steve spoke, the power in his bedside lamp dimmed. The power hummed quietly before flickering back up. Jonathan tensed and pushed himself up in bed.

“Did you see that?”

“Yeah, it was just the light, Byers. It’s windy out tonight, maybe a tree brushed a powerline.” Steve pushed Jonathan back down to his pillow-- and back into his own skin again. “It’s nothing . What if I turn out the light? Your mom won’t even see us in here.”

“No. No, I have to wait for her.”

“What if she doesn’t come back?”

“What!” Jonathan jerked upright again.

“I meant what if she’s at Hopper’s or something?” Steve shrugged. “She’s an adult.”

“Steve, that’s my mom .” Jonathan hissed, swatting at the hand resting on his shoulder.

“I meant because she drove there on her own. If she had some wine, maybe she stayed somewhere and is being a smart, responsible parent.” Steve soothed. “Something you don’t have to be right now. You’re not Will’s parent and you aren’t your own. Lay down, will you?”

Jonathan was reluctant, but let Steve ease him back down again. He pulled the pillow tighter to his chest and sighed, his crossed arms sinking deeper. Steve laid down beside him, nose gently touching the end of his shoulder. As he breathed, his short exhales tickled Jonathan’s skin and got him giggling. It was Steve’s secret trick; something that always worked because Jonathan didn’t know it was a pattern-- didn’t know he was ticklish.

“Sorry I was weird today.” Jonathan said suddenly. He wasn’t even grinning.

“What?” They didn’t apologize. There was no need. “You’re worried about stuff-- it’s okay.”

“No, I like our dinners. And I was so uptight. I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“Okay.” Steve didn’t know what to do with the sentiment. “Apology accepted?”

Jonathan sighed again, blowing it out slowly between his pressed lips. “Lonnie called today.”

“L- your dad ? Is that who was on the phone?” Steve wasn’t sure what came over him-- or his body-- as he placed an arm over Jonathan’s waist and pulled them together. There was something unspokenly intimate talking about abusive fathers while being nearly sutured together in bed, but Steve pretended he was just having problems hearing Jonathan correctly.

“Yeah.” Jonathan turned, his nose brushing Steve’s. “Said he wants custody of Will. He doesn’t trust Mom, he said.”

“How is he-- He can’t do that.”

“He’s going to try. I don't know where it came from. He still thinks he can win a case because the news says Will just disappeared into the woods . Like he ran away from us or something.”

“Everyone knows that’s not true.”

“A court might not.” Jonathan sighed, ducking his head down. Steve resisted lifting his chin to hook it over Jonathan’s head, nestling him into his neck. He laid still, listening to his breathing and the gentle creaking of the house--

Jonathan's door was thrown open, both men sitting up quickly, ready to defend themselves and their actions. It was Mike, in his pajamas with his hair sticking out in wild curls. Will stood just behind him in the hallway looking far more awake. Stilted and untousled.

"Mike?"

"Jonathan, quick!"

"What is it?" Jonathan swung his legs around and motioned both boys to come in. "Will?" Mike pushed him into the center of the door frame, although he remained in the hallway, in the light. Will’s hand grabbed at the back of his neck. His face was blank and his eyes were distant.

"Something's wrong." Will said slowly, blinking to focus. "I feel him."

"Feel who?" Jonathan kneeled in front of Will, holding his shoulders. "Feel who, Will?"

"Dad."

#stonathan #jonathan byers x steve harrington #byeler #will byers x mike wheeler #byler #finally reposting in a way that isn't a random post with a link alksdja #prompts #my fics

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alicemitch09writes · 3 years

Text

lame

07.

look, i know i’m an asshole but at least i’m trying

“Look at that, isn’t he amazing?” the blond boy yells, pointing at the TV on display, showing one of those heroes in work.

“Uwah, All Might’s so cool!”

(E/c) eyes followed the boys’ gazes, watching a big hulking figure power through villains.

She could only nod, half-heartedly, keeping her eyes on the screen, listening to the two boys go on about how amazing he was.

Booming laughter sounded off from the screen, the two boys anticipating as the hero turned to the camera. “I am here!”

And then, the boys went wild – gesticulating wildly, words of admiration leaving their lips, eyes twinkling with amazement. Honestly, it was easy to like someone as big and prominent as All Might.

But in a world ruled by quirks, and your perception of them tainted at an early age, it was difficult to really set yourself on where you stood.

“Isn’t he the coolest, (Nickname?)” green eyes turned to the (h/c) girl.

“Uh, yeah…” came the girl’s reply, rather dull and lacking in the same energy as the two boys.

“That was a weak reply, (Name)!” the blond boy turned to her, a bit offended. “You should be crying out like me and Deku! All Might’s the coolest!”

Chancing a look at the said hero on screen, she shrugged, unsure how to reply to that. “I mean, I guess he is.”

Both boys froze at their friend’s lack of admiration for their favorite hero.

“Sorry I’m not like you guys.”

“T-That’s okay, (Nickname).” The green-haired boy says, voice shaky and his eyes sheen with tears he’s fighting off, smiling warmly at her.

“Hey, that doesn’t mean I don’t like him, though. He’s just not my favorite hero.”

The blond boy’s carmine eyes widen at that, the three kids began to walk home together once the show was over.

“Then, who is your favorite?”

“Hm…I guess I prefer the quiet heroes, I guess?” she nods, mind thinking of policemen, teachers, cooks, train staff, and fishermen. “Ones that don’t really stand out but are cooler in other ways.”

“Ah, there’s this one hero I heard about from Kyoto!” Izuku tells her. “He has a healing quirk, but he’s also really good at martial arts and carries a cool staff with him.”

“That’s Merlin!” the girl gushes excitedly, her walking having a bit of a jump. “The Wandering Hero: Merlin! He’s so cool! I think my grandpa mentioned him before, having trained in our dojo when he was still in training. Ma says he was the prettiest looking man next to Pa. And Pa says his quirk’s extra cool if you get to see it in person!”

(E/c) eyes sparkled the more she gushed about this hero of hers, one he’s never heard of because of his rather elusive nature as a hero.

“That sounds amazing, (Nickname)! I wish my family could have known All Might as well!” the green-haired boy’s tiny fists shook with excitement, sharing her enthusiasm.

“Tch, All Might’s still better. Just wait ‘til I become a hero, (Name)…” muttered the blond, hands in his pockets. “Then you’ll see that I’m definitely the best outta the rest.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, looking at her friend in disbelief. Then mischief.

Getting behind him, she kicks the backs of his knees, causing him to topple to the ground face first.

“Ah, Kacchan!”

“What the hell was that for, (Name)!?”

“That was so lame of you, Katsuki!” laughed the girl, sticking her tongue out as she grabbed the green-haired boy’s hand and proceeded to run ahead of him.

Angered the boy rushes to his knees, cheeks definitely not flushed, and gives the two a chase. “HAH!? WHO’RE YOU CALLING LAME!?”

Three little kids ran down the streets, laughing in their wake.

Traditions in Japan were rather a thing that made the country quite known to the outside world, as many adhered to certain types of customs.

And as per family tradition, certain family never fails to hand over ochugen gifts to the people in your lives.

A (h/c) girl was headed off to the Bakugou’s first, a box full of fresh harvest from her grandpa’s garden. Coincidentally, it also happened to be Izuku’s birthday and she got him special tickets to that superhero exhibit. To commemorate, she had even worn an All Might shirt!

Reaching the Bakugou’s, she put down the Midoriya’s box, before reaching for the doorbell. Someone yelled inside, followed by explosive remarks, which was something she’s rather used to.

Patiently waiting, she felt a buzz, taking her phone out of her shorts pocket, smiling when she saw a text from the birthday boy, feeling the excitement through his text.

The door clicked open, her smile still in place as she furiously texted Izuku back. As she pressed reply, she then pocketed her phone and readily met a pair of carmine eyes.

Except, the owner of said eyes came from the last person she cared for, smile flattening.

For a second there was surprise in his features, softening slightly as his usual scowl set in. His eyes took in her form, the box, then at the ridiculous shirt she had on. “What the fuck are you wear-“

Behind him, a voice called out. “(Name)-chan!”

It was Auntie Mitsuki.

Smile finding its way back, a rather polite one at that, the teen greeted her back. “Hiya, Auntie!”

Shouldering her son aside, receiving a snarky reply she didn’t bother with, the Bakugou matriarch’s eyes shined at the sight of the young teen. “Look at you, growing up so fast to be this cute!” unable to help herself, she reached over to pinch the younger girl’s cheeks before swallowing her into her arms for a hug. Releasing the girl, her carmine eyes then focused and shined at the items in her hand. “Ah, Shihan really has the neatest harvest every summer, thanks for these!”

“We most graciously bestow our gratitude to you, oh great Bakugou Mitsuki!” the teen implored, rather dramatically, earning a laugh between the two, like a running gag.

Bakugou could only watch, quite amazed at their relationship.

“Oi brat, get this will ya?” snapped his mother over her shoulder.

“Don’t tell me what to do, hag!” screamed the blond back, carefully taking the box from her hands.

Their eyes met briefly before she easily slid them away to focus on his mom, an instantaneous reaction.

“You seem dolled up, (Name)-chan. Got a date?”

Humming, she tilted her head to the side. “You could say that,” at that, Bakugou nearly stumbled in his step but she didn’t notice. “it’s Izuku’s birthday today and I’m just having a birthday date with him in a while!”

At the mentioned of Deku, Bakugou froze in his step, looking over his shoulder to take in her attire once more – a gaudy All Might shirt tucked into some simple denim shorts, then some sneakers.

“Aw, ain’t that cute. Oi, Katsuki, why aren’t you with them!?”

Caught, he burst out a reply. “HAH? Why the hell would I spend time with those extras?” his words got the best of him before he could control himself, her brows knitting together, pain flashing through (e/c) eyes for a quick second. He instantly regretted opening his stupid mouth.

“Anyways," he couldn't help notice the slight strain in her voice, feeling his heart drop "I just came to drop by our ochugen gifts. Thank you again for all your help, Auntie.” Grabbing the Midoriya’s gift box from the ground, the teen worked on a smile. “Please tell Uncle Masaru I said hi!” And with that, she was gone.

Both blonds watch the young girl walk away before the door closed. Without a word, Mitsuki walked back in, giving a quick smack to her son’s head before disappearing into the kitchen.

Her hit was rather soft, reprimanding.

Something unpleasant filled his gut as he dropped the gift box on the dining room table and headed off to his room, pained (e/c) eyes haunting him.

You always hurt the ones you love.

Does it feel weird to feel close to someone you haven’t spoken to in years? That there’s always been this sort of connection between the two of you that instantly links you together even after days, months, years of zero contact?

Well, that’s how Bakugou Katsuki feels towards Yuroichi (Name).

Ever since they were kids and he was introduced to (Name), she was all he cared about. Well, there was Deku, but he was second on his list.

(Name) had always been special for him.

But then, things changed.

Since being paired up with Deku for his practical exam, he was unsettled. Well, he’s been unsettled for a lot of things for lots of reasons. But basically, what he’s been unsettled about with Deku was (Name).

While he remembered wimpy Deku trailing behind him, there was always (Name) ready to drag him away or be beside him. Where there was Deku, (Name) was sure to follow. They were like a combo; one was never without the other. He hated it.

Deku had no fucking quirk, was weak, small, a shitty nerd, yet he had the fucking gall to stand up and try to be a hero. With that, (Name) shifted her attention and adoration to him and him alone.

Honestly, he didn’t mind that they were quirkless – they honestly just got in the way.

Still, it fucking hurts that (Name) wouldn’t bother looking his way or even saying a word to him. Fuck, even Deku would acknowledge him even if it were outta fear!

Bullying probably made sense to keep her distance, especially since he loved targeting weak quirkless like Deku and her. But to be on the receiving end of those angry eyes, it made him weak. It may have enforced and asserted his dominance in middle school, but to her, it was a disgusting power play.

He may not be close with her compared to when they were younger, but he’s always kept an eye out for her (and Deku, shut up). He knows that she’s an expert martial artist, bagging and winning several competitions and tournaments, was the pride of the school and her family dojo, sleeps a lot during classes, and sometimes, the older kids would pick on her because they knew she was tough.

(However, after that one time in middle school, she stopped with the fighting and worked on a clean slate.)

She never befriended anyone without a quirk lightly, the majority of her friends either were quirkless or had a really minor, insignificant quirk. She didn’t seem to care nor mind. However, Deku remained her closest companion.

He’d see her a lot – in hallways, in class, on the way home, but he never got to be with her.

Nonchalant, lax, yet kind and sweet to others, but to him, she was forcibly polite and civil.

Those adoring, reassuring, warm (e/c) eyes were reserved for that one shitty nerd.

He hated to admit it, but he craved for her attention, yearned for her approval, and desperately lingered on the fact that they were childhood friends, so he’s obliged to keep a relationship, even when now they’re barely acquaintances.

On his middle school graduation, while he was surrounded by his so-called friends and his parents, his eyes easily caught on two people laughing amongst themselves.

Just seeing them, laughing together with cherry blossoms fluttering to paint an idyllic image, suddenly made him feel extremely lonely. His hold on his diploma slackened, fingers and foot twitching, eyes taking his childhood acquaintances in.

Graduating top of his class, with a bright future set for UA High School. He should be excited, right? Ecstatic even at what he’s gained? Yet why does it feel so lacking?

Carmine eyes began to soften, especially at the smaller of the two. Realization dawned unto him, the occasion was rather bittersweet for (Name), as it was nearing a year since she lost her parents and she couldn’t share the joyous occasion with them. Thankfully, she had her grandfather with her, then Auntie Inko, and Deku.

But not him.

Irked, he left before his mom could find them, no doubt, to use the opportunity to snag a photo of the three.

Nothing hurts more than to realize that the one person – he swore to protect, to keep by his side, had completely shunned him.

At first, they were inseparable. But as the years passed, they drifted apart.

The day (Name) punched him was a literal awakening, a prologue really. It got him worked up. Then the Sludge Incident happened. Her parents died. The light in those (e/c) eyes weren’t as bright as before, even when she got a part-time job.

He knew he was wrong; he won’t deny that (but he won’t say it out loud either), but he won’t ever hide from it either.

After getting into UA, he felt her punch even more at the introduction of his classmates with quirks, as she aptly put it “better and flashier” compared to his.

That stung, hurting his ego.

Damn, the top was a challenge.

But he wasn’t backing down, damn it.

So, what is he was a proud asshole? He had every reason to be! He had compensated with his talents, smarts, and versatility.

Still, to be called out on having a shitty personality boosted only by the fact that he had a strong quirk could do a number to him.

When it came to matters of the heart, he sucked in that aspect.

(h/c) locks, framing a pretty face with (e/c) eyes, they always, always, always manage to catch him off-guard.

Unbeknownst to the green-haired nerd, whenever he opened his big mouth to his friends in 1-A, he’d hope there was something about (Name), no matter how small or insignificant. They even texted.

Pride would always win over him whenever Deku would openly talk about (Name) – Bakugou would pretend to be uninterested, looking out the window while he was actually taking in the nerd’s words like a starved man, he was the only source of news he had because for the first time in their life, (Name) was not there with them. It sucked. (She was very clear on steering away from heroics or people who had a quirk, despite having one herself)

The days were lonelier and duller without her. Deku’s ramblings were something – slightly comforting, but don’t tell him that, but it just missed that one figure next to him.

For all his bravado, just the mere mention of Yoruichi (Name) made him weak. Wait, scratch that, (Name) was a strong person by herself, he did not make him weak, shut up. Hesitate, yeah, that’s the word, she made him falter, hesitate. Whatever.

Thankfully, none of his idiotic ragtag of friends keyed in on that. Save for Deku.

Deku, who’d always known. Deku, that sharp fucking nerd who always tried to be the goody-two-shoes and goaded him to talk to her.

Like fuck he’d talk to him about (Name), fucking no way. He’d rather have his nails done with half-and-half bastard than to have a heart-to-heart talk with fucking Deku.

Still, there was just one thing he was sure of about Deku, one thing he’ll never admit to anyone – or even him, out loud: compared between the two, Deku was always the bigger person. He was kinder, gentler, better.

A part of him would forever be jealous of the fact that Deku had been there for her when he couldn’t. Deku had access to parts of (Name) he was barred from. Deku was protective of her. Deku had (Name).

And as for him? Well, he was probably good as a dead fuck to her.

The punch still stung.

Nothing hurts more than to realize that you never had a chance, to begin with.

From: (Name) Yuroichi

To: Bakugou Katsuki

I’m glad you’re safe.

A day after Kamino…

For once, the Bakugou household was at peace, a day after his kidnapping. The day before, there was screaming, yelling, crying from both parentals that probably had dried off for today. At least for the first few minutes of the day.

The doorbell rang, Katsuki called out to get it, desperate for a bit of distraction from the silence around him.

He opened the door then froze, breath hitching. Two breaths, actually.

Carmine met (e/c).

For once, indifference was not the expression set on her face that he was looking at, but a softened expression. So incredibly soft.

An image of a younger her suddenly came to mind, back to when they first met each other.

“Katsu- “stopping, her lips pinched together, a small frown setting in, not ready to say his name just yet.

Hurt flashed in his eyes, desperately taking her in.

When he was kidnapped, first of all, he was annoyed as fuck, but most of all, he was scared. The League of Villains had him by the neck, literally, immobilized him, just to lure out All Might. And the thing that kept him grounded was her, (Name). The memory of her soft expression after they’d washed the dishes, comforting silence between them, that burnt mark on her neck, her telling him to have fun at summer camp. Her text message.

Remembering her presence at his doorstep, his eyes caught hold of the item in her hand – ochugen gifts, he uncharacteristically gestured at it.

“U-Uh…”

“Y-Yeah…ochugen.”

“My mom’s not home, so…” his words came out lamely, weakly. So, unlike him.

But she was so lost in her head that she could only nod.

Gently, he reached for the box, their fingers brushing against each other lightly.

Something fluttered in his chest, wildly and tightly. Summer seemed to have come quickly as he was beginning to sweat, the smell of burnt sugar bleeding through.

“T-Then…”

“Hn,”

Head still hung low, he took it as her parting, something in his chest twisting painfully, and he slowly turned on his back.

(Before he headed back in, instincts – maybe, or her heart forced her to, she grabbed hold on the back of his shirt, stopping him, and pressed her head between his shoulder blades, taking in his scent.)

Bakugou didn’t move, feeling her shaking hands balling into fists, as though to ground herself.

“I…I know I said this already, but still, I want you to know,” her voice was shaky, but she continued to speak, taking a deep breath. “I’m so glad you’re safe.” The thing in his chest continued to flutter wildly, threatening to come out. “And I’m so sorry this happened to you.”

Silence followed, likening to a pregnant pause, there was more she wanted to say, but the fear of having your feelings get the best of you seemed off-setting in the given situation, so she settled for that.

Before another word was said, she hurriedly grabbed the Midoriya’s box and clumsily left, completely red in the face.

He watched her leave over his shoulder, she almost ran into the gate, fumbling with the box as she headed to the Midoriya’s.

Suddenly, he felt lighter. The punch no longer hurt, leaving a bruise in its wake. This was the beginning of progress with her, it was something. Proud as he is, Bakugou’s never one to admit his mistakes, but for her, he’ll try.

If anything, she was right about everything she thought about him. Especially the part that he was lame.

masterlist • eight

#lame #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki fic #bakugou katsuki angst #bakugou katsuki angst fic #bnha #bnha fic #bnha angst #bnha angst fic #bnha x reader #mha #mha x reader #mha fic #mha angst #mha angst fic

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ceilingfan5 · 3 years

Note

do we request those? Uhh number 42, “I’m only here to establish an alibi.”, and bonus challenge you want to like add a leetol spreenkol of somting extra to it somehow involve a lochaber axe and/or crouching under a counter at 7-11 leetol spreenkol not necessary have fun

Anonymous asked:

42+43 from that prompt list for some taakitz sounds like it could be fun if you're interested :v

Anonymous asked:

42. “I’m only here to establish an alibi.”

Listen, everybody has to work a shitty job once in a while. Or maybe a lot, all the time, until it feels like your inside goop is threatening to become outside goop on a minute-by-minute basis, and you can barely hold on anymore, but you gotta keep holding on, because a few hours smiling and getting fucked with by customers is all that’s keeping you from the literal and financial brink, and you don’t have time to analyze the mental one you’re headed for.

It happens. It’s normal. It doesn’t mean you failed at your one dream in life and can never aspire to anything worth doing ever again, or anything.

So Kravitz is working at a fucking 7-11. He, for the most part, is working there pretty much by himself, and works the night shift pretty frequently. It makes him feel like a vampire in the least sexy way possible, but hey, he can have a slurpee whenever he wants. You’ve never lived life until you’ve had red sugar poison on tap. It’s not a pretty job. Dealing with truckers and teenagers, that sucks. Cleaning the bathroom? That sucks. Running the cash register? Believe it or not, also sucks. He was born to be a conductor. How often do conductors get guns flashed in their faces?

Kravitz has a pretty good poker face, and also doesn’t give a single fuck how much money the good ol’ negative four retains. His life may be worth peanuts, but it isn’t worth the fuckin sweaty sticky dollars that 40% likely have been in someone’s bra.

That? That he can deal with. But when a man--a beautiful man, The Most Beautiful Man, listen, Kravitz has fucking eyes--when a man in a shiny jumpsuit vaults over the counter, Kravitz doesn’t know how to react.

“Get down!” TMBM hisses, and, Kravitz, stupid, gets down. He puts his hands up, though, just in case.

It was kind of impressive that he just vaulted the counter like that, though.

“Is this-” Wait, you’re not supposed to say it. “What’s going on?”

“I’m only here to establish an alibi, get your hands down. I don’t want your nasty paper money.” TMBM scoffs and rolls his eyes, like the idea of money being made of paper and also touched by millions of people who do people-things with their time and bodies is both insane and also completely outdated.

“Rad,” Kravitz says, which is also stupid. “What, what are you running from?” Is he going to get shot by someone else? He would like the minimum amount of holes in his person, please. No no, keep the change.

“The Time Intervention Taskforce.”

TIT, Kravitz thinks, and does not say with his delicate mortal mouth.

“Right, cool, uh, are you drunk?” Kravitz backs away a little, just in case, but he, listen, he works at a gas station, he knows how people that are drunk enough to invent time police smell, and TMBM actually smells kind of nice, plus a weird layer of almost...ozone.

“Nah,” TMBM says. “Just in trouble. Sorry for getting you involved.” He peers over the counter, and then turns to Kravitz. “Name’s Taako.” He holds up his elbow and waits, like this is a reasonable and normal request for a reasonable and normal interaction. Kravitz cautiously bumps his own elbow to Taako’s.

“Kravitz,” he says, pointing at his nametag.

Taako laughs.

“You look like you’ve never done that before. What year is it, even?” He prairie dogs up again, catches sight of the cigarettes and tobacco on the wall, and gasps. “Holy shit. I went way too far.”

“Uh, yeah, it’s 2021?” So clearly he’s having some kind of episode. Kravitz certainly doesn’t want to call anyone about it, but Taako really can’t be behind the counter, either. “Do you have a vehicle you can go back to, or did you walk here?”

“No, I climbed through a rift in the parking lot.” Taako adjusts a stray lock of light blue hair from his bun. “So I’m a little bit fucked. But at least I’m in 2021 and nowhere near the explosion.”

“Explosion?”

The world slices open in the chips and pretzel aisle, and three people in silvery suits like Taako’s with shiny opaque helmets raise what look like fucking laser guns at the two of them behind the counter.

“CITIZEN 16,934,207,773, DO NOT RESIST ARREST,” the three figures seem to say in unison, in a horrible, hauntingly scratchy metallic voice. “RELEASE YOUR HOSTAGE AND RETURN WITH US TO THE PRESENT.”

“He’s not my hostage!” Taako calls over the counter. “HE HAS SEEN TOO MUCH AND WILL RETURN WITH US FOR PROCESSING.”

“Taako,” Kravitz says, as calmly as he can manage. “I don’t think you know how alibis work.”

“Maybe so,” Taako drawls gravely. “Hey, are you busy tonight? Cause I was thinkin’ we could get out of here.”

“I’m at work,” Kravitz explains slowly. He points to the nearest camera. “My boss can watch what happened and he’ll know I left-”

One of the three figures shoots and completely evaporates every camera in sight.

“You know, on second thought, let’s definitely get out of here.”

“Cool,” Taako grins, and seems to unzip a hole where nothing used to be. “Let’s see if we can shake ‘em, and then I’ll buy you a milkshake. Those still exist, yeah?”

“What happens to milkshakes in the future?” Kravitz has to wonder, and Taako shoves him bodily through the hole, and wraps his arms tightly around him, and they fall through space and time and worlds connected by strands and pipelines and dreams and wishes and data and long forgotten memories, and Kravitz only doesn’t lose his lunch because he’s busy using his mouth to scream.

He hopes he still gets paid for tonight.

#taakitz #taakitz fic #taz #tazb #taz balance #the adventure zone #the adventure zone balance #fan5fics #this is silly

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bleh-bleh-blehs · 3 years

Text

Paps and Cafes [T.H x Reader]

A/N- so hey I am back with my shitty fics. This is low-key based on my friend’s life and thanks to her for letting me write it down (only she knows what is the truth and what’s not). Anyways feel free to ignore:)

Summary- Is there any difference between being stressed at home than being stress at a cafe? Yes there is. You can put a show for others but in your case a certain someone came in for your aid.

Warning- None

Word Count- 1.6k

Life was not easy. Not as easy as you thought it would be. No one prepared you for the taxes, rent and bills. And literally no one told you how hard doing a job can be. Your salary was nothing compared to the hard work you did; the stress you took.

You had no fun at all. Either you were too tired to go out and have a night out with your friends or you did extra office work for a bonus. Just like now. You are sitting in an outdoor cafe doing your office’s work when you could have been enjoying this weekend by relaxing.

Why were you here?

Because you thought that it would be a good idea. You thought that it would refresh your mind, better than stupid small aparment. But guess what it wasn’t.

You were still stressed. The people around were either on a date or were with their friends or family. Practically radiating good vibes. You tried not to stare at them but the task in our hand almost made you cry.

Reaching out for the file beside the plate of donut; accidentally knocking the plate over. But you were too overwhelmed to care. Tightly clutching the file, tears of frustration evident in your eyes. It was getting too much now.

“Come on Tess. We don't eat food off the floor. I am really sorry for your donut. Do you want me to buy you a new one?” the person asked.

Looking up you saw a man wearing sunglasses and a baseball cap with hoodie on. You simply nodded your head in a no, wiping some tears away. “It’s okay. I don’t mind at all.” you gave a weak smile. Honestly you have lost your appetite. You just eat because it is necessary.

“Can I ask if it was a chocolate donut? The man asked.

“No, it was a plain one.” the man took the seat in front of you, taking off his glasses. “I know that this is none of my business but are you okay?”

“Would you believe me if i said that I am.”

“No. I just know that you are stressed because look at your table. All this stuff is giving me a headache so…. I think you should just wrap it up to clear your mind. And I don't wanna hear any excuse. okay? ” he didn’t press the matter further. He definitely doesn’t know what is going on in your life. All he knows is that he isn’t gonna leave you like this.

You wanted to argue but it is not like anyone is this friendly to you on a daily basis. And a little walk wouldn’t harm.

“You know what you should quit that job. I mean you don’t deserve being treated like that” tom said as he took the last bite of his ice cream. You still couldn’t believe that Tom Holland,the famous and successful actor, the heartthrob of almost all of the girls was talking to you.

He listened to you rant about your almost pathetic life and even bought you your favourite ice cream.

You were of course shocked when you realised who he was despite him telling that he is a normal person like everyone else. He also squeezed your hand to reassure you that this is not a dream; that he is actually here.

Both of you talked about your lives, likes and dislikes, hobbies. Only the basic stuff. You told him about your low salary job, your evil boss and your not so friendly coworkers. Your love life which was near to extinction. And about your parents who desperately wanted you to get settled.

“It’s not that easy Tom. I am looking for another job but I don’t know when I will find one. At least this job pays enough for food and shelter.” you told him or more like convinced yourself.

Silence fell between you both until Tessa whimpered. She was obviously tired from the long walk and it was getting cold and windy as the sun started to set. “I guess this is where we part.” you said softly. Praying that this moment never ends. But of course that was not gonna happen.

“Yeah.” he gave you a soft smile. And you were sure that you were giving the heart eyes. Making a fool of yourself as usual.

“Oww!”

“What? What happened?”

“I got something in my eye.” you were hopelessly trying to get whatever the hell was in your eye out. “Wait a moment. Let me see.” Tom’s large hands cup your face while you get a hold on his arms out of instinct.

“Ow! Ow! Ow!” it felt weird as his finger touched your eyeball. “Stop moving. You are making this harder than it already is!” you stopped fidgeting instantly.

“There you go.” Tom backed away from you as you tried to blink away the uneasy feeling. “Let’s walk you home shall we?” Tom said as he picked very tired Tessa from the ground and carried her as if she was a toddler.

“You don’t have to.” he just smiled. “I want to.” never in million years you thought that a top notch actor will walk you to your apartment.

“I am sorry if I am intruding but I can’t believe you are not dating somebody and you just gave up on your friends. Is your job really worth it?” he asked with genuine curiosity.

“I am single by my choice not because of my job. My last relationship didn’t end well. She cheated on me and my “friends” took her side except my coworker Andy. I have got trust issues since then.” you explained him.

“I am so sorry” he felt guilty to make you remember your relationship again.

“Don’t be. I did go on a date once; the guy gave me a judgy look as soon as I told him that I am a bisexual. I mean do nice people just stop existing or what?” you huffed in annoyance.

Meanwhile Tom was trying to process everything in his brain. He was actually starting to like you and was worried that you won’t feel the same way for him since you were into girls. But he heard word ‘bisexual’ his worries vanished. There is nothing stopping him from taking you on a date.

Tom was smiling to himself until he heard the shutter of the camera went off. That could be only one thing.

Paparazzi

Tom spotted two people not so far from them. Tessa tried to wiggle out of Tom’s arms but he didn’t let her. “Y/N hold my arm and keep up with my pace. The paps are here.” you immediately started to look up for them.

“No Y/N don’t look for them!” Tom whisper yelled.

The two of you walked as fast as you could. Taking the subway to go to your house. You and Tom stood close to each other, completely aware that someone recognised Tom and snuck some pictures of you both.

Tessa whimpered again and again; the poor baby was too uncomfortable. You scratched her head to soothe her as she laid her head on Tom’s shoulder. While Tom was giving you heart eyes.

You sighed in relief as you reached your apartment. The whole day has been a roller coaster ride for you. Tom and Tessa followed you behind you. Tessa quickly jumped on your couch, closing her eyes, trying to get some rest.

“Do you want something to eat or drink?” you asked Tom. “No I am fine.” Tom said as he took a seat beside Tessa.

“I didn’t really get to enjoy that cafe though.” Tom wondered out loud. “Don’t worry, there many more cafes in the neighbourhood. You can visit them sometime.” You were walking around your apartment, trying to clean it as much as you could. It’s not like you are visited by a celebrity daily.

“I don’t know, maybe you can show me around sometime?” you freezed at your spot. Was Tom Holland asking you on a date. You were freaking out. You are just imagining things right?

“Do you agree with me, darling?” he smirked. How dare him to say that! “It’s alright if you don’t. I mean I totally understand if you don’t want to. I am so sorry because of the paps. I didn’t know that they would find us. I am so sorry Y/N.” he started to ramble. Becoming that adorable sweet bean instantly.

“Oh my god Tom it’s alright. Not the Paparazzi part but I am grateful that Tessa ate my donut and that relieved my stress. I really needed someone like you. I don’t know what we can do about paps, they will just give more stress. But I felt better when you were with me.” Tom gave you that million dollar smile that everybody dies on.

“I wanna kiss you so bad right now.” he confessed.

“What’s stopping you then.”

“No, not before I take you on an actual date.” he grinded. “Which cafe do you want to show me first, Donut?”

“Donut?” you asked him while trying to control your laugh. “Yes donut. What’s so wrong with donut. It’s my nickname for you.” your smile became more wide than before.

“Then what do you want me to call you? Ice cream?”

“Yes?” he gave you a puzzled look. Not sure if he wanted to be called ‘ice cream’. And a thought came to your mind. “You don’t have any problem with me being bisexual?” you asked him. “Why would I? I mean it's not my place to judge or have a problem with it, now is it?” you smiled at his answer, already falling hard for this man.

page divider by @fancyxparker

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#tom holland x reader #tom holland #tom holland fluff #tom holland imagine #peter parker x reader #peter parker

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gureishi · 3 years

Text

day 12: you are mine to keep warm

Here’s day 12 of the Human Again prompts. For the master list of all the ficlets, click here.

SaeyoungXReader, T, words: 1847.

・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・

There’s something wrong with you.

Saeyoung notices it right away when he wakes up in the morning (afternoon, really). You’ve already gotten out of bed, which makes sense—he was awake till very late working on a new robot design and you were asleep by the time he came to bed. When he comes into the living room, you’re dressed for work, staring at your phone with a blank expression on your face. When he kisses you on the forehead, you mumble a halfhearted greeting.

You leave for work late even though you’ve been dressed and ready to go for hours, and your kiss goodbye is cursory; you look almost annoyed to be kissing him at all.

He watches you pull out of the garage on the security cameras and wonders if he’s done something to make you sad.

He continues to dwell on it throughout the day. He goes back to his new design (it’s a little robot hippo that reminds you to drink water; Yoosung suggested he market it as the “hydration hippo,” which is one of the reasons he loves Yoosung). He’s unfocused, though; he keeps making silly mistakes and eventually he lays the hippo prototype aside.

Saeyoung thinks back to the night before, tries to remember if he did or said anything that could have hurt you. You had cooked dinner together; he’s sure he annoyed you while trying to help, but that’s not out of the ordinary, and you’d reassured him that his “help” was adorable if not actually useful. Then you’d gone out to the garden together; it’s early fall now, and snow-white buckwheat flowers are blooming all over, glittering among the darker pinks and purples of the other blossoms. You’d laid in his lap and read a book and he’d stroked your hair. Later you’d taken a bath and come to his office to kiss his goodnight.

Of course, there were little things—did it bother you that he stayed up so late working? He thought you didn’t mind it so much now that he was doing work he really loved (and that wasn’t likely to get him killed). Were you upset that you hadn’t gone anywhere or done anything particularly exciting that day? No, that wasn’t like you—you liked going out more than he did, but you liked to stay in, too—and you’d been going out so much more than before over the last few months. Was it the way he said goodnight—was there something in his voice that had made you anxious?

Saeran drifts into the office at one point, dirt on his face and gardening tools in his hand.

“Why are you staring into space? You look kind of dumb,” Saeran says.

Saeyoung smiles because, coming from Saeran, this is a term of endearment.

“Do you think she’s mad at me?” he asks, spinning around in his chair to face his brother. Saeran, of course, doesn’t have to ask who “she” is.

He shrugs. “I don’t know. Ask her.”

“Did she seem sad to you this morning?”

Saeran leans against the door frame. “She seemed a little down, I guess. She made her coffee really slowly.”

“Ugghhhh!” Saeyoung groans, spinning himself all the way around in his chair. “I can’t remember what I did to make her upset!”

Saeran chuckles. “Did it ever occur to you that she could just be having a bad day and it might have nothing to do with you?”

Saeyoung has, in fact, never thought of this.

“Really?” Suddenly, he feels a little bit better. Right. The whole world doesn’t revolve around you, Choi Saeyoung.

“Sometimes people just don’t feel good,” Saeran says slowly, as if speaking to a child. “There doesn’t have to be a reason.”

“Right!!” Saeyoung jumps out of his chair. Okay. This is something he can fix.

“Where are you going?” asks Saeran, sighing as Saeyoung sprints past him.

“I have an idea!” Saeyoung yells over his shoulder, running to the garage.

。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。

When you get home from work several hours later, he is waiting for you there.

You roll down the window of your car as you park it in its designated spot. “Saeyoung? What...are you doing?”

Saeyoung, perched on the hood of your favorite of his cars, beams at you. The inside of the car is lit up, glowing rainbow with fairy lights that he seems to have strung up on every available service.

“Babe, why is your car rainbow?” You put your own car in park and jump out, your bag over your shoulder. You still have that empty, weary look on your face that he noticed in the morning.

“You told me your dream car would look like a unicorn threw up in it. Hop in.”

You walk over a little apprehensively.

“Are we going somewhere...? I’m honestly just hungry and thirsty and I kind of want to lay under a blanket...”

“Done, done, and done.” He throws open the passenger door for you, and he’s relieved to hear you giggle when you see the inside. Not only is the car literally pulsing with every possible color of light, he’s also draped every seat and even the floor with fuzzy blankets. There are thermoses in the cup holder and an array of different kinds of snacks stacked up on the passenger seat.

“Did I miss something?” you ask hesitantly, eyeing the inside of the car (even Saeyoung admits that it looks a little insane). “Is it a holiday of some kind?”

“Nope!” Saeyoung chirps elusively. He waits for you to get in, but you just look at him. For a moment, he wonders if he’s gotten it all wrong. What if you do just want to be left alone? He swiftly decides that he knows you better than that.

He sweeps the pile of snacks onto the floor, takes one of the three blankets that are stacked on the seat, and gently drapes it over your shoulders. “Get in, princess.”

Still with some trepidation—but with a softer look in your eyes, too—you clamber into the extra-cushy seat. Saeyoung skips around to the other side and gets in; as he starts the engine, soft music filters out of the car’s (extremely good, if he does say so himself) speakers.

“This is...”

“It is a playlist I made today based on the music you’ve listened to the most in the past month, and no, I didn’t have to hack your phone to do it!”

He pulls out of the garage and feels your eyes on him.

“Is this car even legal?”

“Babe, is my existence even legal?” He winks at you and you roll your eyes—but he also sees your shoulders relax just a little bit. “It’s fine. There’s not going to be anybody out on the roads we’re taking.”

He’s relieved to see you tuck your legs up under you on the seat; he knows that the more comfortable you’re feeling in a situation, the more weirdly you’ll sit.

He passes the turnoff for the highway and pulls onto a dirt road. You sit quietly, but you do tear open one of the bags of chips he’s set out for you.

“Why are we doing this?” you ask again. He rolls down the windows a little and you perk up; he knows you love the feeling of cool night air on your face.

Saeyoung isn’t sure how to explain this part. Because I want to make you happy every minute of every day? Because I can’t bear seeing you sad?

“You seemed down this morning,” he says finally. “It’s okay if you don’t wanna tell me why. I just thought maybe I could help.”

You exhale loudly. “You noticed that?”

“Of course.” He notices everything about you.

“...sorry,” you say, after a moment. “I feel like I was kind of shitty to you this morning. There wasn’t a good reason for it.”

“You weren’t shitty,” he says quietly.

“No, I kinda was! Listen, it’s not like—there’s nothing wrong. I just. Do you ever wake up in the morning and feel like you want to curl up in a hole for the rest of your life?”

Saeyoung hums. “Yeah.”

“I can’t explain it. I just woke up today feeling like a slug.”

So Saeran was right after all. He usually is.

“You are the most beautiful slug in the universe,” he says. You crack a little smile at that.

“I’m a slug in a super weird car, that’s for sure.”

Saeyoung makes a turn onto a long, winding path, leading into the woods that surround the bunker (he picked it, originally, for this very reason.)

“Check the glove compartment,” he says, and you open it up and then burst out laughing for the first time that day.

“You put a bottle of wine in the glove compartment?”

“For you.” He winks. “There is also tea in these thermoses and I think there’s some juice boxes under the seat.

You’re still giggling. “This is so silly,” you say, through your laughter. “This is the lightest I’ve felt all day.”

Saeyoung turns the car onto an unmarked road and then pulls over.

“Hang on, princess.” He runs to the other side and opens the door for you. Between the two of you, you gather up an armful of snacks and drinks, and he drapes a few more blankets over his shoulder.

“I don’t know why I’m even asking, but where are we?” You curiously peer around at what seems to be a dark, deserted road.

“We’re here!” he says, pointlessly. He leads the way through the trees and it’s only a few minutes before you arrive at a little clearing. The trees are thinner here, and you can see the stars.

“Wow,” you gasp. Saeyoung lays out one of the blankets and unceremoniously deposits a pile of snacks on it.

“Sit,” he says. You do, and he wraps another of the blankets around your shoulders.

“This is so beautiful,” you say. “How did I never know this was here?”

Saeyoung stretches, marveling at the way the starlight catches your hair and eyes. He always thinks your eyes are beautiful, but right now they are positively glowing.

“I found this place one time when I was testing out some of the cars’...features,” he admits to you. “I was waiting to bring you here till the right moment.”

You lay down on the blanket and he lays down beside you; you readjust so your head is on his chest, tucked under his chin.

“Thanks,” you murmur. Your hair tickles his face, but he doesn’t mind. “You made my crappy day into a really good night.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” he says. You look at the stars and he watches the rising and falling of your chest as you breathe. “I would quite literally go to the ends of the universe for you. This is just some snacks and a field on the side of the road.”

You wriggle against him, getting more comfortable. “It’s everything I want,” you say.

65 notes · View notes

renaerys · 3 years

Text

PPG One-Shot: Mall Santa (Boomer/Mike and Brick/Blossom)

Summary: To earn a little extra cash over the holidays, Brick, Mike, and Boomer agree to help out their buddy Todd at a Mall Santa gig. Shenanigans ensue.

This one is for @snailbutters, @genovah, and @hanaokm. Merry Christmas and happy holidays! Enjoy some Boomike, Blossick, and Capri Sus on me.

[Cross-posted to AO3]

xxx

There were a lot of things Todd needed: a haircut, for one. His black hair was getting too long for gel and it was really pushing the boundary between greaser sexy and sad trash hobo. Money, for another. But like any other 21-year-old townie with a high school education and two restaurant jobs, he always needed money.

A new best friend, for yet another.

“I’m not your best friend,” Brick snapped as he tied a black tie around his neck. He needed to leave in ten minutes if he was going to be early for his dinner meeting with Oliver Morbucks.

Todd put a hand over his heart like it might fall out of the wound Brick’s words had stabbed there. “Dude, of course you are. I’m totally sorry if I ever gave you the wrong idea.”

Brick grimaced so hard he was sure he’d end up constipated. “No, you idiot. I know you think I’m your best friend. You’ve never shut up about it, even after we graduated high school. I’m pretty sure the whole fucking Peninsula knows it the way you go around shouting it when you’re blasted.”

Todd looked like he’d just received news that his favorite nana wasn’t dying of cancer after all. “Oh, cool. For a second there I thought I really hurt your feelings. You know you’re kinda sensitive, right?”

Oh god.

“What do you want, Todd? I have a really important meeting and I’m not missing it for your bullshit.”

Brick checked his reflection in the bathroom mirror in his one-bedroom apartment in downtown Townsville. It was a shitty hole-in-the-wall kind of place, but Brick was used to squalor. His break was coming, he could feel it. If tonight’s meeting went over well, he’d have a more steady revenue stream and, more importantly, the connections and clout the Morbucks name brought to open doors. All the long days at Red’s Auto Shop saving and scraping by would finally pay off, and just in time for Blossom to graduate from college. It was perfectly planned, meticulously manipulated, all down to this last pivotal dinner.

“Cool, no big deal! I just need to know if you’re free this weekend.”

“Free to do what?” Brick indulged him, because Todd was one of the few people on this planet who wasn’t 100% intimidated by his very presence.

“To help me with this Mall Santa gig I got. Harry Pitt was supposed to be my number two elf, but he ate some bad prawns and they had to, like, airlift him to Citiesville General.”

Brick stopped everything he was doing and glared at his second-to-best friend, which was a key fact because second was not the same as first. “What the fuck did you just say to me?”

“I know, right?” Todd knew his way around Brick’s embarrassingly small bathroom, opened up the hair wax, and fixed Brick’s styling job. “Dude always had a weak stomach, you remember. But you don’t fuck with bad prawns. I mean, obviously.”

Brick swatted Todd’s hands away and checked his reflection. It was definitely an improvement. “Not that; the Mall Santa thing, obviously!”

“Oh, yeah. So you’ll help me out?”

“Fuck no.”

“Aw, Briiiiiiick,” Todd whined.

Brick grabbed his dinner jacket from the closet barely big enough to fit a small, starving child. Todd, who had latched onto Brick in the seventh grade like a goddamned barnacle and never let go no matter how hard Brick tried to push him away, followed. “Not if you paid me.”

“You’ll get paid! It’s $20 an hour!”

Brick hesitated over the threshold. “That’s higher than minimum wage.” It was higher than his hourly rate at the garage too.

“Seasonal gigs, man. That’s how you win.”

“It’s seriously fucking not.”

Todd, one of three people in the universe who actually cared about Brick on a personal level even though he wasn’t obligated by blood, made his blue eyes big and wide in a way that reminded Brick of Puss-n-Boots from Shrek, Todd’s favorite movie. “C’mon, bruh. Do your bestie a solid? Just this once? I really need the money and they won’t let me keep the gig without two elves to fill in. So please? Pleeeeeeease?”

And Brick, former scourge of Townsville, a Super with the power to literally raze the planet if it so much as tickled his fancy, and the dictionary definition of the boy every father dreads his perfect, pretty little girl falling for against her better judgment, cracked like an egg.

“For fuck’s sake,” he groused. “Just text me the time and place and get out of my face already.”

Todd punched the air with both fists. “Yes!! Oh, hell yes! I love you so much, dude.”

“Blow me.” Brick checked his watch. Shit, now he was merely on time.

“I’d consider it an honor,” Todd said, probably literally serious.

xxx

Boomer rolled glitter on his cheeks and around the edges of his dark blue eyes with the help of a compact as he huddled behind the North Pole set on the first floor of the Townsville Mall. When he was satisfied that he sparkled like the tinsel-festooned Christmas trees in Santa’s twelve-by-fifteen-foot “forest” themselves, he discreetly re-emerged just as the latest child slid off Santa’s lap.

“Merry Christmas, Dan!” bellowed a red and white-clad Todd behind an enormous, curly beard. “Remember to brush your teeth!”

The little boy ran back to his parents, who were having a word with the photographer about purchasing a picture of their son on Santa’s lap. Before Boomer could follow them, Brick was quick to cut him off.

“Where the hell were you?” he demanded. Sour as an un-sugared plum in his festive, candy-striped elf costume, Brick may have absolutely intimidated the seven-year-olds waiting in line with their parents for a turn on Santa’s lap, but Boomer only allowed him a bemused smile.

“Why, I was making toys for the good little boys and girls who came to visit us here at the North Pole,” Boomer said in a raised voice. He looped his arm through his brother’s and let his power surge with enough force to turn Brick around and face the crowd that was definitely within hearing range. “Isn’t that right, Elf Mursten?”

Brick pushed back with inhuman force, but Boomer held his ground with a smile as bright as the glitter on his cheeks as a little girl in overalls trotted forward.

She giggled. “I like your hat.”

“Thank you!” Boomer gushed, and he tipped his pom-pom-topped cap. “And what’s your name?”

The little girl giggled again. “My name’s Alynn.”

“Well, Alynn, why don’t you step right up and take a seat on Santa’s lap? I’m sure he has a great present for a cool girl like you. Right, Elf Mursten?”

Brick glared medieval torture at him, and he managed a smile that showed too many teeth to be anything other than life-threatening. “Of course, Elf Buller.”

Boomer’s smile tightened.

“Ho ho ho! Come on over, Santa doesn’t bite,” Todd said.

“What a psychotic reassurance,” Brick said soft enough for only the Super brothers to hear.

“Hey, Brick?” Boomer said, just as softly. “Cheer the fuck up.” He gave his brother a bone-crushing squeeze around the arm and broke from him. Brick could be a sourpuss when he wanted to be (all the time), but he wouldn’t mess up Todd’s Mall Santa gig when he’d bothered to show up and actually put in the effort at all. Complain as he might about Todd’s exuberance, Brick had always come through for his best friend since the seventh grade.

Boomer, on the other hand, had been very happy to accept Todd’s offer to work the two weeks leading up to Christmas. The hours were reasonable, the pay was good, and Boomer loved children. It was easy money in between local shows he and his garage band had booked over the holidays.

Plus, the photographer had a nice rack.

“Okay, Santa, Alynn. Look over here and say ‘jingle bells’!” A flash went off, and Mike Believe stood to his full height behind the tripod he’d set up for the day’s pictures. Even in reindeer antlers and a bright, red-painted nose, Mike filled out every fold of his brown Rudolph outfit almost to the point of popping a button. His broad chest puffed out when he put his strong hands on his hips and grinned brightly like he wouldn’t pick anywhere else to be right now.

Their eyes met, and Boomer flushed and smiled like a fool.

When Mike winked back at him coyly, his heart leaped into his throat. Mike had gotten home from college just two days ago, but the three weeks he had off for Winter Break would surely fly by like they did every year, and Boomer was determined to spend every moment together.

A tug on Boomer’s green tunic drew his attention. “Can I take a picture with you? Please?” the little girl asked.

Boomer beamed and scooped her up onto his hip. “Of course you can. Hey, Mike? Can you take one of us, please?”

“You bet! Get in close, now.” Mike readied his camera.

“Oh, wait a sec. Why don’t you take this too?” Boomer removed his festive hat and put it on Alynn’s head. It was big on her, but she laughed happily.

They posed for the picture, and Boomer hugged her cheek to cheek.

“Thanks!” The little girl tried to give him his hat back, but he pressed it to her chest.

“You keep it. Merry Christmas. Remember to be good, okay?”

Alynn’s father was waiting with a hand for her to take when she ran back to him, yammering about how she’d met Santa and his super cool elf friend, and Boomer watched them go.

“You know you’ll have to pay for that hat,” Brick said.

Boomer sighed and ran a hand through his cornflower hair. “You know I look better without it.”

Brick frowned deeply. “Uh-huh.”

“If you keep frowning, your face will stick like that.”

“Moron.”

He always had to have the last word. Brick went to stack the empty boxes wrapped in bright, shiny paper, which was probably more productive than blowing up the entire display. Boomer left him to it. It was time for their mid-morning break, anyway.

Todd got up to stretch. “Man, who knew sitting could be so tiring, huh? Whack.” His phone buzzed, and he grinned when he saw the caller ID.

Boomer, however, had eyes only for Mike as the latter turned off his camera and put a sheet over the tripod to protect it. “Working hard, I see.”

When Mike smiled, his dark eyes crinkled in the corners. He had a face made for smiling. “Oh, you know. Just helping out some friends.”

Like Brick, Todd had asked Mike to help out behind the camera for this gig. Mike didn’t exactly need the extra cash given his lacrosse scholarship that covered his college expenses, but the three of them had been as thick as thieves all through high school no matter what Brick said when he was annoyed. No way was Mike going to bail on the chance to help out a bro.

“This is cute,” Mike said, running a thumb over Boomer’s sparkly cheek.

“If only I could convince Brick to wear some,” Boomer said, lacing his fingers in Mike’s as they shuffled to the side of the exhibit behind a blinking Christmas tree for a bit of privacy.

Mike chuckled. “That’ll take a Christmas miracle. But anyway, I don’t want to talk about Brick right now.”

Their kiss was soft and mostly chaste, considering the venue, but Boomer didn’t mind at all. He rose up on his toes to lean into his boyfriend’s superior height and smiled into their kiss. Even in the middle of the Townsville Mall with shoppers mere yards away, for a few seconds Boomer got lost in the fantasy of the forest and the snow drifts, bright lights and magic that came around only once a year and had always touched his heart in a way nothing else quite could.

“Babe! You got here quick!” Todd’s excitement and a small commotion around Santa’s throne drew the lovers’ attention, and Boomer reluctantly broke the kiss. His Super hearing quickly picked up on what was going on.

“What is it?” Mike asked.

Boomer smiled wryly. “That Christmas miracle you wished for. Come on.” He took Mike’s larger hand in his and pulled him back toward the front of the display, where Todd had scooped up a very small, very fashionable Asian woman in his arms.

“Oh my god, don’t do shits in front of the innocent children, Toddy.” Hana patted her high bun and smoothed out her oversized black jacket once Todd released her.

“Hey, I just missed you is all,” Todd said with a genuine smile like he had really, truly missed his girlfriend since this morning when they had last seen each other.

“You guys are too cute,” said Bubbles with a giggle. As usual, she was adorable in blonde twin tails and a holiday-appropriate sweater dress. Shopping bags hung from both her arms, also as usual.

“Right?” Hana said, her deadpan façade melting completely as she beamed at her closest friend.

“No contest.” Bubbles set down her small nation of shopping bags. “Oh! Hi, Boomer!” She dashed to hug him in a flash of blue, and he caught her easily. “Oh my gosh, I love your glitter. You look like a supermodel!”

Boomer laughed and hugged her back. “Thanks for letting me borrow it. I really owe you.”

“Don’t worry about it. Oh, but you definitely need some touching up. Here, let me just…”

Mike had wandered over to Todd and Hana. “Hey, Hana. Are you staying for the holiday?”

Hana shrugged. “Yeah, my art show isn’t until after New Year’s. You know, I’m always looking for more models.” She raised her eyebrows suggestively.

Mike laughed. “I’m honored, but I’m really nothing special, honestly. You might try Butch.”

Todd guffawed. “Oh man, Butch is, like, one of her top models! She painted him for what, six weeks last summer, babe?”

“Seven,” Hana said, dead serious.

Mike smiled nervously. “That’s a lot of inspiration.”

“He is very inspiring,” Hana said, deader and more serious.

“That dude is goals,” Todd said, totally unironically.

“I guess I can’t argue with that,” Mike said.

“Aaaaand done.” Bubbles stepped back to admire her handiwork. “Honestly? You’re the most beautiful elf the North Pole ever employed.”

Boomer snickered. “Don’t tell Brick that.”

“Don’t tell me what, now?” Brick emerged from his useless empty box stacking task, glitter-less and severely lacking in Christmas cheer.

Bubbles gasped, right on cue. “Brick! Where is your glitter? Get over here.”

Brick made a weird face. “What are you talk—hey!”

Bubbles all but accosted him with the glitter pen. Hana cheered and applauded, and Todd joined in because he liked to cheer and applaud in general.

“What are you—get off!” Brick shoved Bubbles hard, but a flash of pink caught her before she could crash into anything.

Blossom peered around her totally unfazed sister, a tray of lattes in one hand and her perfectly sculpted eyebrow raised. “Brick,” she said.

Brick swallowed. “Blossom.”

She looked nice in leggings and a sweater dress that matched Bubbles’ style, except where Bubbles’ was white, Blossom’s was a scarlet that rivaled the shade of Brick’s eyes.

“I brought you guys coffee,” Blossom said, her eyes trained on Brick even as she held out the tray.

Mike took the tray before it could become collateral damage in whatever was going on between the two of them.

“Here you go.” Mike offered one to Boomer, who gratefully accepted it.

“Thanks!”

“I thought you weren’t getting home until tomorrow,” Brick said, as if he and Blossom were the only two people there.

“Change of plans,” Blossom said. “Problem?”

Brick seemed to remember what he was wearing and snatched his elf hat from his head. He bunched it up between his hands like that would hide his imagined shame. “It’s fine.”

It wasn’t fine, clearly. But it wasn’t Boomer’s place to intrude. He would have been extremely happy for it to end there, but sadly Blossom, like his brother, had a flair for the dramatic and an affinity for the center of attention.

She sauntered up to him and smeared the bit of glitter Bubbles had managed to draw on his cheek before he’d shoved her off. “Good,” she said, half an invitation and half a challenge.

Brick didn’t bend easily. Boomer knew his brother as well as he knew himself, and he knew Brick didn’t relent, never gave in unless he was well and truly beaten, which was rare. But he slackened now, lips parting and eyes falling. Even though his arms stayed stubbornly at his sides and he didn’t do something as scandalous as hold his girlfriend’s hand in public, he melted under her touch and attention.

“All right! Bloss, you’re back early! This is massive, like, supernova massive,” Todd said. “Hey, I know! Let’s throw a party at mine tonight! Brick said you weren’t coming back for another couple of days, so this is like a cool early Christmas present to all of us.”

Bubbles gasped. “Oh my gosh, yes! Let’s all go to Todd’s tonight, just like we used to. I’m calling Robin right now.”

“We can make it a real Christmas party,” Blossom said. Somehow, she’d gotten ahold of Bubbles’ glitter pen and now smeared a generous amount on Brick’s cheeks until he gleamed without suffering a nuclear meltdown. A Christmas miracle, indeed.

“You’ll wear the Santa suit,” Hana said. Demanded.

“Ho ho ho! You got it, babe.”

“That thing’s a rental,” Brick said. “And it’s, like, 75 degrees outside.”

“If he gets too hot, I’ll hose him down,” Hana said.

Brick smartly decided not to press her on that one.

“I like your elf costume, Brick,” Blossom teased. Maybe.

“I’m burning it as soon as I get paid,” Brick said.

“I thought it was a rental like Todd’s?”

He hesitated, trapped by his own logic, and she laughed softly and kissed the side of his mouth. Brick froze and played it off like it didn’t affect him, but his eyes were drawn to Blossom’s lips for the next six whole minutes. Boomer really didn’t get why he had to make everything so damn complicated.

“Hey, hombres, our break is up and I see a super cute kid waiting to sit on the softest lap in Townsville,” Todd said, sinking back onto his candy cane throne and patting his lap.

Brick visibly cringed.

“It could be worse,” Mike whispered to Brick. “At least this time we get to keep our shirts on.”

Boomer smiled at the memory of Todd’s last seasonal gig he’d roped Brick and Mike into over the summer. The shirtless carwash had admittedly been one of his more rewarding part-time jobs, and Boomer had the photo evidence to cherish the memory extremely fondly.

Blossom and Hana retreated behind Mike while Bubbles finished up her phone call with Robin and Brick admitted the next child on set.

“Welcome to the North Pole,” he said with all the cheer of an old tire. Nonetheless, his cheeks dazzled. “What’s your name, kid?”

She looked up at him but didn’t say anything. Boomer noticed her shyness and decided he better intervene.

“Hey there,” he said, taking a knee so he could be on her eye-level. “Merry Christmas.”

That alarmed her even more, and she hugged Brick’s leg.

“What the—” Brick put his hands up like he didn’t know what to do with them. “Great.”

The girl’s parents were busy talking to Mike about the picture packages and didn’t seem to notice what was going on.

“Uh,” Boomer said, ready to flag them down before the little girl got scared or started to cry. They’d been lucky this morning with only one child throwing a temper tantrum out of the tens they’d seen.

“All right, kid. I hope you have a good grip.” Brick floated off the ground with the little girl clinging to his leg and flew over to Todd’s throne.

Boomer was so flabbergasted by his brother’s gross disregard for this child’s safety in front of her parents that he was momentarily stunned where he kneeled. It was over in about two and a half seconds, with her parents none the wiser and the little girl still in one piece, miraculously. Brick peeled her off him and dropped her on Todd’s lap.

“Name,” Brick demanded. And then, reluctantly: “…To check you off the Nice List.”

The little girl looked up at him with wide-eyed wonderment, or maybe fear. “Morana.”

“Morana. Super. Tell Todd—I mean, Santa—what you want. And smile for the camera.”

Todd didn’t miss a beat and wrapped his arms loosely around her to hold her safely in place. “Morana, that’s a pretty name. Wanna tell me what you want for Christmas?”

Morana pointed at Brick. “That one.”

Brick turned as red as his messy man bun. Todd wheezed.

“Oh, yeah? Well, that one’s taken, but I bet I can get you a picture together. How ‘bout it?” Todd asked.

Boomer was up and moving in a blue flash. “That can be arranged.” He shoved his brother with a healthy burst of Super strength, and Brick all but fell on his knee next to Todd’s throne. Boomer waved back at Mike for the picture.

“Big smile now!” Mike said cheerfully, and snapped the picture.

“What the hell is up with these kids?” Brick asked when Morana skipped back to her parents and started chattering at them in a language Boomer didn’t recognize but assumed must be all good things from the way she grinned from ear to ear. “They get bolder every year.”

“Or you’re just getting softer,” Boomer teased.

“Yeah, right.”

Blossom laughed at something Hana said on a nearby bench, drawing both their eyes.

“Whatever you say, man,” Boomer said.

xxx

Todd’s party was a nostalgic and long-overdue affair later that evening. Unlike Boomer, who had to make do in a small studio apartment on the outskirts of Citiesville where the rent was more manageable and his commute didn’t matter when flying anywhere took only minutes, Todd lived in a big house he took care of for his often absent, globe-trotting parents. Blossom, Bubbles, and Robin had taken the initiative and strung up Christmas lights, while Boomer created and managed the playlist for the night. They had a good crowd with old friends from high school and new ones from work and college gathered for no excuse other than to have a good time.

Butch, Buttercup, Mike, and Todd had set up beer pong in the basement, where most of the festivities were taking place. As usual, the shit talking and macho bravado had soared to ludicrous heights.

“Come on, BC,” Todd goaded. “Money shot, right here.” He fluffed his Santa beard, the ends of which were damp with beer. Buttercup had one cup left to hit.

“I’m about to straight-up tea bag you with this ping pong ball, Todd, I swear to god.” Buttercup tried to focus on her aim after too many beers and the distraction of Todd’s stupid Santa beard.

“Do it, fucking do it,” Butch said, bobbing on the balls of his feet and slightly manic with the competition and holiday cheer, probably.

“I’m gonna fucking do it!”

“I don’t think you can fucking do it,” Mike said.

“Ohhhhh!” Butch hollered when Buttercup lost her temper and threw the ball too hard. It bounced off Todd’s beard and fell on the floor, leaving the last cup untouched.

“Mike, you cheater!” Buttercup shouted.

Mike burst out laughing.

“All riiiiight, the Toddster’s final shot. You filming, babe?” Todd asked.

Hana, across the table from Boomer, had her phone out and poised. “Kick their asses, Toddy.”

“Yeah, bring it on, Toddy,” Butch jeered.

“Oh, it’s about to be brought.”

“Oh god, please, you peaked in high school,” Buttercup said.

“Hey, he plateaued,” Mike said. “There’s a difference.”

“Just take the damn shot!”

Todd shot, hit the rim of the solo cup, and missed. Buttercup and Butch threw up their hands and whooped. They were still in the game, and the stakes were even higher now.

Boomer squeezed Mike’s arm in a silent excuse and went to change the music…only to find Brick and Blossom making out in the hallway like it was their last night on Earth.

The music was fine, he decided. No need to interrupt Brick and Blossom trying to fuse with the wall and face his brother’s cock blocked wrath. Discreetly, Boomer snapped a picture on his phone and texted it to Bubbles.

[Boomer: Shooketh]

Bubbles’ reply was lightning fast.

[Bubbles: More like shattered!!]

[Bubbles: Better get out of there before they catch you lol 💀]

After another hour (and Brick and Blossom’s reemergence from the wall in one piece with not a hair out of place because god forbid), Boomer and Mike decided to head out early. They went back to Boomer’s apartment, where a very excited Pomeranian welcomed them home.

“Hi, Pumpkin!” Mike brightened like the sun and scooped up his favorite girl, left in Boomer’s care while he was away at college. “Who’s ready for a walk?”

They walked Pumpkin and let her tire herself out running around the suburban neighborhood where it was too late at night for any cars to be out. A half hour later, they were curled up on the loveseat with Pumpkin snoozing in her fuzzy bed at their feet and an old black-and-white Christmas movie playing on low volume on the television.

“Hey,” Boomer said, lifting his head from Mike’s chest to look at him properly.

Mike set aside the hot chocolate he’d been drinking and pulled Boomer up by his waist. “Hey, you. What is it?”

Boomer smiled. It was silly, really. “It’s nothing.”

“Oh?” Mike returned his smile and leaned closer. He smelled like soap, a hint of chocolate, and something else that made Boomer want to bury his face in his neck.

“Just happy,” Boomer said.

“Really? I can’t tell.”

Boomer sat up a little higher. The neck of Mike’s old lacrosse jersey he wore dipped down his shoulder, too big on him and softer than a cloud. He pressed a chaste kiss to the underside of Mike’s jaw. “How about now?”

“Hm, nope, I don’t think I quite got that.”

Boomer threaded his fingers though Mike’s short, dark hair at the nape of his neck. Feeling coquettish, he gave his ear a nip. “How about now?”

Mike shifted on the couch and pulled Boomer’s bent legs onto his lap. His voice was as warm as the hot chocolate he’d been drinking. “I think I’m starting to get a vague understanding.”

Boomer laughed and painted a trail of kisses along Mike’s jaw, up his chin. He pressed a strong hand to his chest and put a little power behind it. Centimeters apart, he could taste the lingering heat of the hot chocolate on Mike’s breath. “And now?”

Mike’s eyes drooped and darkened. His hands slipped around Boomer’s waist, under the jersey, a silent entreaty. “I think you can do a little better than that, Angel.”

The secret nickname broke Boomer’s resolve, and he kissed his boyfriend full on the mouth with all the confidence and shamelessness he couldn’t give him that morning at the mall surrounded by children and their parents. Mike’s shirt soon found its way to the floor along with Boomer’s borrowed jersey. The loveseat was too short to accommodate Mike’s height comfortably, and after a few moments Boomer held him close and flew them to the bed in a flash.

“I’ll never get over how hot that is,” Mike said, breathless.

Boomer blushed, unable to help it. He was careful with his strength around Mike, but sometimes the X bonded to his bones pushed him to the raw, carnal boundaries of humanity. Mike’s hand on his cheek drew him out of those spiraling thoughts.

“I mean it,” Mike said. “I love that part of you. And I trust you completely.”

Words did not come easily, nor did they seem appropriate in that moment. Boomer bent to kiss Mike again and pull him as close as he could get. Wrapped up in the warm sheets and each other, Boomer’s silly little thought that he had never been happier grew and swelled to heights he never could have imagined before Mike. They lay there together, lazy and sleepy, as the credits of their forgotten holiday movie played on the television.

“One more semester,” Mike said, “and then I graduate.”

“I can’t believe you’re almost a college graduate,” Boomer said. “It feels like you left ages ago.”

“Four years is a long time, but it’s not forever. And you should get ready.”

Boomer looked up at him. “Ready for what?”

“To move, of course.”

“Move?”

“Hey, I love how cozy your apartment is, but I’m pretty sure Pumpkin would appreciate her own room once we’re living together full time.”

Boomer sat up properly. “You… You want to move in together? With me?”

“Of course! The only question is, where do you want to go?”

Boomer covered his mouth. Of course he had thought about getting a place with Mike, but that always seemed like the distant future. What if they didn’t stay together? What if the long distance was too hard? What if Mike met someone else at college? Brick didn’t talk about it much, but after a few too many drinks one night the year Blossom and Mike both left for college, he’d confessed how afraid he was that he would lose her forever. How can the old be exciting and fun compared to the amazing, new adventures she would be having?

But from the way Boomer had caught them all but absorbing each other at Todd’s tonight, Blossom seemed perfectly happy to keep him. And Mike…

“You’re serious,” Boomer said.

“I’ve never been more serious.” Mike took his hand and kissed his knuckles carefully. “I can’t wait to start our lives together.”

Boomer could have cried. He almost did. Life was hard, even for a Super like him. With endless bills to pay and the occasional monster to dispose of, sometimes he felt like he was being pulled in too many directions without anyone there to help pick up the slack. But this… This was his.

“Me too,” Boomer said. “And I don’t care where we go, as long as it’s together.”

“Well, cool. In that case, if you’re not opposed to it, was thinking farther north, like Metroville. There are some great photography jobs there that I want to apply for, and the music scene is bigger than it is here—”

“Yes! A hundred percent yes, let’s do it. When do we leave?”

Mike laughed. “June 1st, as soon as they hand me my diploma.”

Six months. It had a date now. Unthinking, Boomer threw his arms around Mike’s broad shoulders and hugged him tight. “I’ll mark my calendar.”

“It’s a date.”

Incidentally, they did not get much sleep the rest of that night.

xxx

I told myself I wasn’t going to do a ton of fluff, but damnit all, Boomike is SUPER CUTE and I couldn’t help myself. Let them have the happy ending they deserve. Thanks for reading!

#PowerPuff Girls #powerpuff girls fanfiction #powerpuff girls fanfic #Blossick #PPG Reds #Boomike #Capri Sus #Todd x Hana #Brick #Boomer #Blossom #Todd #Mike Believe #february fic prompts

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misterbitches · 3 years

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I ship muren and li cheng bc i only saw it through gifs then i watched this episode cos i was like im only starting this show if they kiss im waiting and they did and it was nice and i got so anxious that i was about to fucking vomit. I really like them together. The top/bottom shit is dumb and i hope if they must mention it they all build a bridge and get over it so they can switch cos who gives a shit. I didnt realize how large they all are like most “tall” men on tv are lying. But bc that kid is so thin and tall and the other one (idk the stepbrother) is huge too. Li cheng is shorter than them both but more ~manly~ but still short so why doesnt he take a DICK UP HIS BUTT XD since that’s all that fucking matters and there’s only 2 genders and 2 eays to have sex lmao so nothing else otherwise ur screwed

Hd a terrible past couple of weeks personally and because i keep seeing my peopl eget murdered and things ripped from us ^_____^ anyway here’s Some libertatrian communist dumb bitch discoars so i’ll tag it:

keep in mind these are my opinions’”” when i engage in discourse. I am not the end all be all and I don’t need you to agree. There’s some shit I am non-negotiable on but thsi is just exchanging of information. Any authoratative tone I take on comes from my beliefs, my life, my experiences, and what I choose to cultivate as a person and an artist. I dont have control over your feelings, you do. If it hurts you then either tell me the issue and be PRECISE about it, understand that context matters which is why i type so much in engagement, and do not fucking lie or misconstrue my words. Do not call me western ever in your life either. I am a black-american. I have adhd and bc i am a black woman if ur automatically thinking im brolic i am accepting money in my paypal for ur wellbeing to get me to shut the fuck up.Thanks.

The stepbrothers storyline is stupid and lazy writing. I really want to counter people that say it’s written well and that it’s interesting because it isn’t. Even if it was illicit and fucked we can write a story out about this. Let’s rethink what they could have done shall we:

- become stepbrothers at about 16 and their parents mismanage the relationship and they fail in trying to get an integrated family together (this is what happened in the #iconic transit girls and that was fuckin’ weird but hey dude guess what we watched it and it was weird but not unethical and we know one is like 19 and the other is 21 and a girl so it’s like wow you avoided so much and handled their stepsister story very…….um lightly given the end lmao but it was there and people had AGENCY)

-OR you realize that freak is obsessed with him and then he realizes it and is like “bitch i swear to god” and in typical shtity trope BL fashion they can find a way from obsession, to loss and independence when you lose your obsession, to “love” if they choose

- have the fucked up shit but make it clear what the issues are and you literally cannot write your way out of it so do not try

But why can’t fucked up things be shown? Also this is realistic.

0. Well according to you but no one said that they can’t. So that’s on your interpretation of critique (that is, again, not bullying or harassment.) They can, i just gave plenty of scenarios in which it is affective and not just annoying to witness, trope-y, and frankly ridiculous and offensive. Sorry! They don’t do it well. You can come up with alternatives too. See #2 btw.

1. No it isn’t doing a good job of reflecting life because life has consequences. The exaggeration in drama doesn’t mean the arc shouldn’t be there. Almost always things that aren’t heavy with the message or meant to be sobering in a deep way are COMPELLING. The realism is the basis for art because we are human. This is not the way real humans act.

Someone said Tharn Type was mature and I had to laugh because no, no one acts that way and is “in love” if they act that way that means they fucking hate each other and they’re immature and frankly it’s just not that interesting for many of us to watch because the dramatization of the “realism” is fucking bonkers. That was such poor writing it is unbelievable and someone has the audacityt o say it’s how real adults act. Fucking murder me if I’m with someone for 7 years and we break up over a miscommunication and for some reason I am not as horny as my always horny boyfriend. The fuck? What kind of lives do you lead? Either you are not an adult or you are an adult who needs therapy.

I also hear the “realistic” argument but then people try and temper it with “but also it’s fiction.” What do you think fiction is? Why do you think filmmaking exists? Number one, it’s propaganda in the sense that you want others to buy into your presentation and see what you see. That means that the creators are telling people and influencing them WITH ART BECAUSE THAT’S WHAT IT IS about their feelings around a situation. That’s why it is imperative to be responsible as a filmmaker and artist and underline the deepness of creepiness if that’s what they want. If they want to relay that rape sometimes ok and psychos are crazy so they get boy (??!?!?!? BITCH?) then they achieved it with no innovative information. We know people get raped bc we are human beings and many of us live with that fear. You know, being the target demo and all. And bc BL loves that trope it’s rape fantasy peddled to young people and women. Just like shitty wattpad fics or NYT best sellers. Hooray, what now? Or are you trying to purport that this isn’t glorified fanfiction? Which it literally is

2. This is the issue with these shows. No one is saying that fucked up shit cannot be shown. There’s a film about a woman who is raped and she falls in love with her rapist (because he was masked but i think we find out later that she knows. Binoche is in it.) I have no desire for that film—i think it’s by a man and i extra dont care—but I hear it’s sort of powerful for many. I heard it was a good film. But the act itself is always eschewed and the conflict comes from how fucking ridiculous it is especially finding out that she knows. The power imbalance adn the possibility. They may not have handled it in a way I would have cared for but it was there.

There’s simply no imagination because these people do not care that much and aren’t great writers and filmmakers because they simply do not have to be. Sorry.

The industry doesn’t rely on the best they rely on efficiency (this is everywhere.) You can tell by the camera angles, the editing, the camera itself (idk if it is multicam but the flatness is typical soap flatness without the glowboxes to soften their faces.) Simple constant lighting. Now the surroundings are mostly beautiful. But even to some of the costumes. And those edits are abysmal, some of that camera work.

So with all that said even with the couple I extremely enjoy I see its (H4) faults. Add into that a lazily thrown together “shocking” love and if they are trying to get us to feel a type of way about its sexiness they fail. This is why movies like 50sog, 365 days, etc aren’t enjoyable to people because it’s fucking strange situations that they dont want to entangle or make enjoyable to viewers across the board. They know what people will take. It’s just that bitch what are we here for if even the sexiness isn’t there for ur stupid story.

At least with that teenager and 30 yr old man in MODC (which i do not love but i like them in theory if it wasnt totally repulsive to me and also if it was developed in a way that was good TO ME) they had their, er, “sex appeal” i talk about this as well the main couple in MODC to me, visually, was a miss. Not bc whatshisface was small and stuff but bc he was so sickly and they needed that to propel the story but it was just not appealing given how the story progressed. A missed opportunity in tying the two together besides making him look waif-y and sickly only to have the “did ur mom die in a car crash? No, cancer” type of move in not another teen movie. But the opposite. And not funny. Wayne tho????? GORL. Eggs. Cracked.

fandoms have a very warped sense of harrassment and discourse.

Most fandoms have harassers who are “protecting” the cast and crew who don’t need their protection (or maybe the crew does since they probably dont get paid well but why the fuck would anyone care about that lol) but very few have the people who have concerns or massive critique about the show are not going to be “bullying.”

If people are saying “if you like xyz, u suck” then sure it may suck for you to see but who fucking cares. Either talk to the person or don’t be friends with them. That is not bullying or harrassment. Things that are shitty get criticized. Fuck, things that aren’t shitty don’t. Get away from this idea of cancel culture and people misunderstanding the story. We have the ability to.

Think beyond your noses of personal preference. You don’t have to convince people of what you believe. Discussing it is good but critique is not bullying, harrassment, or hate. Neither is fucking roasting shit because even this shit I like (manner of death lets say) deserves it. Art is meant to be critiqued and if you dont fucking like the bullshit people make then say it. They know stupid stories like this are scandalous and they don’t give a shit in how to present them.

And guess what? You won’t like everybody. Many people can’t stand me i’m sure. Oh well. I mean frankly I don’t like that and I feel very unsettled when I don’t feel understood. That’s ok! I have to temper it. Sometimes calm myself down. I won’t get anything and everything I want. And you won’t like every opinion and sometimes it’s like “man am i a dummy?” But the part of growing up is fucking maanging that and beng honest about “bashing and harrassment” and “bullying” and growing up. Yuo can like what you want the “let people like what they want thing” is so fucking juvenile and THAT is not the real world. Which is probably why so many people feel that way, they dont want to live in the real world. Unfortunately, you do.

Think beyond our noses of personal preference and what we feel emotionally in conjunction with others. You don’t have to convince people of what you believe. And you can say things that you believe to be true but it doesn’t make them so or maybe it isn’t received that way to people. And many times we learn new things in the discussions “oh shit i didn’t see it that way” right? Discussing it is good but critique is not bullying, harrassment, or hate. Neither is fucking roasting shit because even this shit I like (manner of death lets say) deserves it. Art is meant to be critiqued and if you dont fucking like the bullshit people make then say it. They know stupid stories like this are scandalous and they don’t give a shit in how to present them. Usually the “opposition” in these situations aren’t the popular beliefs that permeate through society. Trust me lmao

Antiblackness

Antiblackness is a thing. It permeates everywhere. It permeates in this genre and it permeates in fandom. Get it the fuck together. Also do not conflate cultural relativism with being repsectful. They are not barbarians, they are smart human beings either making work or deciding to. We all have diff cultures but we have fucking sense in what is respectful and not. And if we don’t we fucking learn. You cannot excuse things and say “oh culture” when you have 0 idea of that culture or actual people who are radical etc and are fighting against it. Additionally the word westerner is an ignorant term when referring to people in the US or UK who are black. Because we are not. We extend sympathy to other groups and empathy since we know so there is no inherent power imbalance between a black viewer and their subject. Don’t suggest that because it’s wrong and ahistorical and contextless.

FIRST the fallacy of representation as freedom makes people fucking complacent, individualistic, and doesn’t let them think critically. Consumption and discourse around consumption is not helping material conditions of the marginalized communities in your home, the black ones who are ignored, those intersectionalized in these communities. Groups talk about art and what it means for them outside of just what we see and because we also don’t have access to a bunch of Thai reviews or what movements or going on we are less likely to know if we don’t FUCKING SEARCH for it. Because art is constant...which leads me to....

Representation is difficult. It matters and it doesn’t.

Tthese shows are not meant to overturn the LGBTQ+ community.

There are queer filmmakers and artists in these countries. Deep illustrious film careers or even TV that is moving and deliberate. We can even see it with the dude from “your name engraved” in their short series he was in beforehand. BL is no wa pejorative because it is simply not “qu**r” storytelling whatever that means. But know it has always existed everywhere and there are also out artists or radical artists in all these countries who do no respect mediums that are cash-grabs and poorly made.

ex: As much as “Like in the Movies” sort of isnt for me and is a bit hamfisted you can tell how much love goes into that. Love of the characters, acting, and message. Yes it’s cringey to see some of the lines (like very tbh subtlety wasnt exactly their strong suit) and yea naming them after lenin and marx is just 0ihgoaudgijposkagjihou BUT GUESS WHAT? THEY FUCKING DID IT. THEY TRIED. And class was a large component as well bc u cant fuckin ignore it. The show is aware of the machinations in its world as a show but also in the philippines and for a fuckin reason. And duatarte? Loooooooool so like yea not so sure bl makes him love his ppl but the show isnt trying to do that

It’s not a transgressive genre and it has no reason to be. No ethical anything under the way we live it’s just trying your fucking best to be. That’s it. They serve societal ills and capital’s purposes. Which is fine but it is not revolutionary.

These countries in SEA or even SA do not have as big budget for even mainstream dramas—though things are changing and that’s bc REVENUE like revenue from kpop is fucking huge for SK and again so much about that is bc of what happened in their history from japanese imperialism to WWII to the US—so for “queer” stuff it is sort of now important to make that an export and it sure is one. Not only globally or to the west but a lot of these places make their money within asia (duh!) outside of their countries. OBVIOUSLY. so BL is a way to output and gain money. The thing is, it doesnt seem to be put back into the industry at all. For people in all these countries to make works that aren’t for mainstream or wont reach as many people there’s a difference between trying and just shoving shit in your face and going here it’s gay you like it right? But dont antagonize the inherent patriarchal nature of BL.

Another thing: did you guys know thailand was never colonized? You should look it up. There’s little hints of things in ITSAY to represent french influence still. Isnt that fascinating? Find out why. It’s certainly interesting that the representation, though damaging and dubious many times and also incorrect like any media, is huge in asia and this isnt a commodity here (the US) exactly. A lot of that has to do with colonial ideas of gender of which I am sure. But listen………lmao

Sometimes people dont give a shit. And it very much shows. Here is the thing once again. GOOD TRANSGRESSIVE WORK exists.

Een within the capitalist Bs paradigm or you can see people trying (I can sort of applaud parts of lovely writer) also queer media has always existed everywhere the reason you don’t know about it is because it gets takena nd commodified into a mainstream product. We hvae little incentive, particularly if we are not fans of cinema or art in gen, to search fror others when the output is right here. Being dictated by others and the state and who will give you money. No longer an effort of a cast and crew who want to convey things. But google [any country] independent cinema, radical cinema, queer radical cinema, or even retrospectives on the cinema and rethinking what is queer and radical in film. What if we took that, diluted it, got rid of the creators who put themselves through all the work, ignroe al the nuances and do……………….two actors who are conventionally attractive with no chemistry making out.

It’s the same here lets say daniel kaluuya winning the oscar for the film about the BPP. I heard it was okay and not too offensive but it still isnt’ enough. It still isn’t like hwood isn’t trash, nnati black, misogynistic towards BW and women, and all that other shit. It was pushy but it can’t be enough where we are. Black KKKlansmen i think won an oscar, by circumstance i fuckin hate these award shows they mean nothing, and i like the film a lot but he has his misogynoir still resting in his films even if it is poignant. And it was a film that honestly wasn’t really made for black people. And should all art be a response to direct trauma or trying to make ourselves palatable when we’re just human?

$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$ and it’s importance (capitalism) but also sorta individual responsibility

Considering a lot of these actors are rich and then just dip that’s another problem. Mainstream isn’t what sustains marginalized art ever. It doesn’t change in the vast ways we think it does. What changes is the people of these groups pushing, fighting, forcing and then capitalism trying to make it work under capitalism. It will not. It cannot.

This is why artists and labels often don’t mix or you see people like Sonic Youth doing whatever they want and pissing off their label but making them give them money. Same with Nirvana. Vince Staples. The thing is they can fight and make good shit but what capitalism helps people….not care? They don’t respect the audience? We’re getting those returns on poor executed product placement, lighting, editing, framing, fucking acting. And you surewon’t see mixed black asians in these shows. WHY R U is the oNLY one i have seen it in and he just disappears (but that was pretty cool.) so who the fuck is this representing? And before you start: asian countries are not homogenous the way we believe them to be. There are marginalized communities outside of even mixed people that are harmed. So you can skrrt cause on that one: you’re wrong buddy. But it gives us the IDEA of a paradise which is what they NEED.With representation and visibility comes consequence and responsibility as artists. What it allows them to do is coast and not think complexly because why should they; it’s mostly the fantasies of some older woman who probably has money and much less interaction with the world. It’s bonkers. And what that allows even further is for them to say YOU ARE THE THING THAT YOU CONSUME and the THING THAT YOU CONSUME IS YOURS. It is not, it is not your identity, form a close bond but figure it the fuck out. Especially for adults who are hellbent on twisting their minds into pretzels and can’t acknowledge what’s just laziness in art and not giving a fucking shit. Truly.

There’s damage that has been done from Parasite as he was supported by CJE&M and the bullshit obsession america had and eveyrone’s poor interpretation of it if they are rich. BJH is a socialist and he is a filmmaker. He has made films that are outstanding and cost a lot of money. But now a fear for indie filmmakers is just not being able to raise that much or have that much attention. Getting funding that helps them instead of expecting the Next Big Thing that is a fad because capitalism is trash. Yes this funneling of money is absolutely harmful to us artists. Even buying in is strategic. Additionally, that film is probs one of the most radical films to have that wide release and accolade (unlike “Sorry to Bother You” which i have a lot of thoughts about. One being that asian exports are acceptable but black ones are not. This is an overall art critique and global media critique. Blackness is removed, not respected.) However, filmmaking isn’t green, it can’t be socialist, and it’s a lot of work. They used tons and tons and TONS of water to do a huge beautiful feat but we still know there is a cost. We have to figure that out because it shouldn’t be. It doesn’t go back into the crew’s pockets the way it should and the work becomes that of the director’s and actors solely. It’s fucking hard. We have to do our part but it doesn’t mean we are doing it perfectly. We just have to try to do better. So does BJH cos he needs to not be a misogynist but anyways i digress.

additionally and this is something some users fail to understand: people in the media sphere generally have fucking money. I went to film school that was international with super fucking rich kids. Taiwanese kids, kids from south asia, china, thailand. They had money. No not upper middle class money, not “rich” money, not some paltry 1m that’s chump change. Fucking money. Fucking RICH-RICH. MILLIONAIRES. BILLIONAIRES. WHICH IS DISGUSTING MIGHT I ADD. The domestic people didn’t have the money for school (in the UK) and i am in a massive amount of debt like every other black student that went there. You do not understand how much money is needed to survive so people who turn to these crew positions even casting etc need this fucking money usually. OKAY. A lot of the people that do well in these dumb shows or even on a larger scale HAVE MONEY. The reason these industries are small and struggling is because of lack of people and lack of resources to independent shit because oh gee it takes money to make things.

Why should I try? Well you don’t have to really if you have money or a name. Yet...

We can tell when like those Tik Tok shows or DCOMs dont give a shit (anymore.) You know how frustrated we get when content for young people is garbage? Well, see, BL is literally that under that system. Occasionally we will get something good now but there is virtually no need in any sector in the world at this point to truly figure out how to make it better and what to do to enhance artistic literacy, outreach, teaching people new things, getting people from these communities there and having true realistic says. Art and culture is IMPERATIVE TO WORLD LIBERATION but not when it is so stiffly trying to bend to capital’s idea of progressiveness. No. Neoliberalism. No.

That’s why in a way ITSAY is a huge feat; it takes from films etc and they clearly had money (the actors rae rich too which….lmaooooo j’aime pas) but it was a respected fucking script, acting was important, blocking, framing. There’s very little to critique as a visual medium for that because I understand what they are trying to do, their market is going to be mostly young girls, but they RESPECT THE FUCKING AUDIENCE. And guess what guys? You can make money from it!!!! WOAH! Since that may be the only goal which is disgusting and repulsive.

HOWEVER AND THIS IS WHAT IS SAD: itsay is an ex of a great show however knowing the actors backgrounds and the pseudo trouble it stirred when they weren’t supporting people protesting against the coup in the summer it really put a damper on my enjoyment. And this is how we can see that:

a) it’s honestly just a show and a good one but b) now what?

These kids (actors, who are like idk 19? 20?) are rich and not saying anything while countless actors, who were filming, did. Even tul who has $$$$ and the thing is the protesting against the coup legitimately attacks the rich. As it should. The protests going on were cries for help, against a dictatorship and fucking coup, asking people to get fucking help for covid, having kids be able to live. There’s a mini on VICE about this and it probably doesnt go too in depth but there’s a kid in there who talks about his friends getting into drugs and how he just wants to make music, have fun, skateboard. And it’s harrowing to see. This is a direct example of what these things do and don’t do. Yea we know a good show is here, we know growing up and slice of life, we know this is a bit of escapism and idealism but the idealism is reflected in the way these actors also choose to live their lives. So what progress? To who? For who? How is this helping me? What purpose does it serve? I say ITSAY serves its purpose as a piece and a glimpse into possibility of growing up but i do not say it antagonizes a broader issue that needs to be relevant in some sense but simply is not. It’s very singleminded and, well, it’s sort of like “besides my sexuality, what do i have to worry about?” But for real humans like....a lot. I do not respect their decision at all.

Why can’t we do our jobs and make something decent and respect our audience? No time, gotta make that sweet sweet sweet cash baybee. Look how progressive we are! Don’t look at history and material conditions. Thanks in advance, management.

History 4 does not have that respect. Many of these shows do not. Sometimes we hit good, sometimes we don’t. But in the end we cannot settle. And I won’t. If I am critiquing something I will not be shy and if I am meant to enjoy something as escapism then these shows NEED to highlight that and it’s rare sometimes (the best twins is a good reminder like that show is bad but man do i Brain Empty when i turn it on and i like that and there’s not much in it that makes me want to kill myself from annoyance but there are transphobic jokes i dont love however the whole show is a comedy about this dude’s crazy homophobic sister and she is constantly positioned as wrong and they talk about the aforementioned trans women as the actor was in drag. Interesting that they can manage that, huh?)

Oh btw.....taiwan has a very complicated history but ignore all the bad stuff it’s good now you can kinda sorta get married and stuff. KMT? You know how i learned that? I care about human beings and read about it lmao. I am not Taiwanese and look at that. So now I have historical and DIALECTICAL~**~*~****~*~*~ context so i can judge it as an artist, a black woman from america, and from the knowledge i have to pick up on their history to see if this fits into a broader picture besides the micro-one of sexuality on an individualized level. And this is kinda where it comes full circle: these shows are not you, you are not them, they do not exist in a vacuum because nothing does. The failure to critique now means continuing on as it has and it will still do so. History and time are not linear in the sense we think it is. Someitmes things are better, sometimes things feel more austere. We are not living under liberation though and these shows are not going to do so. So they are not US nor are they for a nebulous “us” of which the groups are all fractured and have diff opinions anyway (my opinion as a black american is going to vary from an asian woman’s say and that could really clash and i do not feel solidarity with all those in every community i am for several reasons.)

Final thots that have taken up my time and the only thing i actually wanted to write but got distracted:

Anyway my dissertation is that I ilke Muren and LiCheng a lot a lot and i like how cute they are and how truly dumb li cheng is. This is an example of mostly good writing, decent actors, nice chemistry, and sort of a calmness to them. And I super enjoy how Muren is pretty forward with LC in the sense that being together is like very important to truly be together. When he was like “no i didnt forget!” Or when LC asked him something in the office I forget it was 6 am and again i almost threw up and muren nodded and then LC leaned on him. Very cute. I want more of them tho i may have to skip that othre couple (the cameo the ones from MODC) but omfg the younger one HIS HAIR GREW SO MUCH HE LOOKS SO MATURE AND CUTE OMFGIJ0HUG9SAOGIJPKOAGJSIOHUAGIJP hahhaha the one good thing i will say about THEM.idk how old the actor is i figure he was young idk it makes me happy to see him he’s very cute. I hope he’s in something i can watch and not gag at. Is he hot? Who knows but he is a cutie!!

Anyway muren and lc have a good thing going it’s nice to watch ho\pe they dont fuck it up but im truly a sucker for some true finds 2 luvas i think some user on her\e was like i’m not a fan of friends ot lovers bc it doesn’t seem like they’re actually friends and maybe they were referring to this show idk. But it made me think and it was a very good observation. So i think they are friends and also luvrs <3

#history 4 #history 4: close to you #i told sunset about you #a thot #tharntype #lovely writer #bl fandom #idk #lol #long

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thinkingaboutitalittle · 4 years

Text

ｔｉｇｈｔｒｏｐｅ

summary: “It’s capital, this tightrope that the two of you walk between harsh discipline and sweet indulgence.”

pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

warnings: mentions of violence, red room, implied age gap-ish, it’s a little angsty? kinda hurt comfort but there’s plot

a/n: hi again! I really like the concept of this one! I hope you like it too, feedback is definitely welcome

word count: 2.2k ish

When he’d first met you, you were the antithesis to what he’d expected. Prepped with the information that you were a recruit found in one of the last scattered branches of HYDRA’S Red Room and trained to have the strength and endurance of a skilled olympian, when you’d been introduced all wide-eyed and with a bright smile that had a smear of peanut butter at its corner, Bucky was floored. Fresh from Wakanda and losing his best friend, he didn’t think it’d work, the two of you running together.

And at first he was right, things were rough. Technically, you were and still are his apprentice, obligated to attend general training and conditioning sessions with him as your guide. You’d had an impeccable persistence and the skill set that HYDRA engraved into your physicality was more than enough to get you through, but Bucky had the experience. You were strong and good at taking direction, but HYDRA had trained the instinct and critical thinking out of you, and the process of finding your footing with your newfound freedom was difficult.

There were arguments over the ungodly hours that he’d chosen scheduled for sparring sessions (“Are you shitting me Barnes? You want me to wake up at five in the morning to get decked in the face?”), about whether or not certain techniques were viable in fighting situations (“Biting into someones arm while they’ve got you in a headlock isn’t reliable option doll, especially if the arm is made out of vibranium”), and when the two of you were extra frustrated, eating habits were also up for debate (“You cannot only eat pop tarts the week before a mission!” “I’ll stop eating pop tarts the day you give Sam a compliment,”).

But eventually, when the two of you’d finally realized that your distaste for each other may have stemmed for a repressed attraction towards one another, you made it work. You Learn to fight without actually aiming to hurt the other person and you manage to communicate with one another with the exclusion of screaming matches and elongated lectures. (You also learn how to sneak into each others rooms without waking up other shield officers on your shared floor in the middle of the night, but that’s something neither of you care to define)

The two of you are sparring together late this afternoon after you’d convinced him of the fact that you’re far better suited to give him your focus after you’d fully awakened and consumed a healthy portion of your daily allotment of junk food.

“I already told you your elbows are too loose, don’t give me that shit again,”

You tighten your stance against the previously acclaimed Winter Soldier, and throw another, albeit cleaner, punch. A grunt of approval from Bucky and your movements continue to present themselves with precise stability.

“Christ, Barnes you’re stricter than my babysitters at camp HYDRA,” He smirks, appreciates the value of making light of a shitty situation, and then retorts,

“I’m prettier to look at though, huh?”

It’s capital, this tightrope that the two of you walk between harsh discipline and sweet indulgence.

You square your shoulders and dip your head in an attempt to seem more menacing, “Only in the dark, baby. I’m gonna kick your ass,”

Again he responds with a practiced snort, “Good fighters don’t reveal their strategy before they’ve done it, keep that chin up or I’m going to knock it next time you come near me,”

Somehow, amongst all the near misses and successful jabs to the stomach, a small smirk manages its way onto your face. Before you’d started to train with Bucky, fighting was a commitment you had no choice in deciding. You’d go through endless hours of getting beaten down, only to be forced back onto your feet and beaten again; bulldozed into compliance. Training with Bucky is different; dares you to test the boundaries and willingly push yourself to your limit, not because you have to but because you want to.

You solidify your strategy in your head before moving to deliver a swift kick to Bucky’s ankles. He dodges it, as expected, and plants himself on top of you, restraining your legs between his own and digging his enormous forearms into your biceps.

“I already told you, this shit won’t fly on anyone bigger than you, princess, you’re going to have to tap,” and boy, if only you’d had a body camera to record the way that his face slackens when you retaliate with, “C’mon Buck, you’re telling me it doesn’t get you off to be on top of a dame like me?”

It’s a low blow to use your unspecified status outside of the gym to your advantage, but what was it that he’d told you in your first training session? Ah yes, use whatever advantage you have to your benefit.

You were only following directions.

Quickly, you move his practically limp limbs from your body and force yourself onto his front, resting your knees atop his flesh and alloyed forearms (because goodness knows you wouldn’t be able to hold them down with your hands) and the rest of your weight on his torso. And he looks so helplessly confused in this position you can’t help yourself from speaking through a smug smile, “Never took you for a bottom, princess.”

Buckys going to crack your head like a walnut. He jerks upward to catch your head between his fists, but a sudden rush of alarms stops him in his tracks. All of the sudden, the shield compound is doused in red lights and an automated voice is eerily repeating there has been a breach in the compound, agents follow evacuation protocol. However, the warning comes late because only a few seconds after you and Bucky have detangled yourselves from each other, the doors to the training hall are bursting open with what has to be a group of wanna-be HYDRA affiliates demanding information and files about some secret mission that neither of you were a part of.

Regardless, Bucky is on his feet immediately and ushering you to stand behind his immense form, his tone gritting out a stiff, “Y/N. Behind me. Now.”. Though your developing sense of instinct is telling you that this situation is one that Bucky shouldn’t be handling alone, your feet move before your brain can catch up, eager to comply with his demands instead of challenging them.

The infiltrators are small in number but waste no time zeroing in on Bucky as soon as they realize his presence as the Winter Soldier. He pushes you into a locker, spitting out something about staying there until he handles them and direct orders, agent but you can’t help but crack the door open, fearing Bucky’s well being.

Surprising no one, Bucky can mostly handle himself against a group of middle-aged men who are scarcely trained and even more scarcely armed. However, in his struggle with one of the larger men in the group, Bucky fails to notice that one of the other Hydra members has managed to snatch a particularly large knife from his belt loop and is getting ready to dig it into his back in an attempt to save his comrade.

Emerging from the locker, you move to kick the knife out of the enemy’s hand, knocking it somewhere across the gym, and landing yourself in the middle of the brawl. In your haste, the agent swings a punch to your jaw, but you recover quickly. You knock the agent twice and before you can move to disable him further, Bucky finds his way to you and heaves the man a generous amount of yards away.

Before either of the chance to say anything to each other, the room is rushed by Shield agents searching to apprehend the HYDRA men and to find out any information regarding the infiltration.

It’s a couple of hours before you get to see Bucky again.

Between all of the shield officers asking painfully specific questions and their obnoxious insistence that things like this never happen, by the time Barnes finds you sitting in the compound kitchen, legs dangling from the center island and fingers wrapped around a lukewarm cup of tea, you’ve both had enough time to sit with previous events.

You’re ambivalent, a tricky mixture of guilt and pride making a home in the form of a lump in your throat. Part of you knows what you did was the right thing; if you’d have let Bucky get hurt, the other offender would have used the advantage to gang up on him and you’d’ve had to take on the both of them instead of just one. But there’s still a lingering part of you that feels an immense sense of shame for not wholly complying.

Maybe it’s just leftover conditioning from your time with HYDRA, the remaining indents from the ideals they’d ingrained into your mentality, but disobeying direct orders, no matter how irrelevant they may have proven themselves to be, left you with a bitter taste in your mouth and frustrating tears in your eyes. Even after training with Bucky for so long and recognizing the difference between appropriate and inappropriate times to act on your own volition, you still maneuver on a fine line between overwhelming shame and practiced action.

He moves in front of you, between your legs, and when he notices your refusal to look him in the eyes, Buck slips his thumb and forefinger under your chin lifting your misty eyes to his worried gaze. There’s a rush of bile rising in your throat that you know can only be remedied by a salve of words, “Bucky I- I’m so sorry I didn’t l-listen to y-,”

“If you finish that apology, I’m going to give you another shiner, princess,”

He stills you, maneuvering the hand that’s not holding your face to shift the tea out of your hands and then to rest on your bicep. Save for a handful of your sniffles and the soft noises Bucky makes in the back of his throat when his eyes focus on a particularly darkened or swollen segment of skin, the two of you maintain a quietness as he looks you over.

And - no matter how long he’s been fighting with you by his side and no matter how many times he’s scolded himself for feeling self-pity when others, you are in pain - this part never get easier; swallowing his pride and accepting the fact that not everyone can make it out unscathed.

He moves away from you to fish an icepack from the door of the fridge, holding it in his hand for a few seconds before setting it back in its spot and pressing his now cool metal palm to the side of your face. You sigh in relief, starting to come down from your thoughts, leaning into Bucky.

Finally, he speaks, “You didn’t do anything wrong,” you suck in a breath and he knows you’re preparing to refute his claim, so he cuts you off swiftly, “I know you think you fucked it up because that’s what they want you to think, but you acted on your instinct doll, you did good.”

Your breathing slows back down to its normal pace, and his thumb moves to wipe the tears off of your cheeks. It’s almost laughable how easily he gets you calm; how he’s managed to keep you from falling off of the tightrope and now rests on it with you, an unspoken in equilibrium. He nudges his nose to yours and smoothes a kiss to your lips, a final attempt at calming whatever stray nerves remain.

When he pulls away, you can’t help but chuckle. “What is it, sweetheart?”

Recovering with a weak smile you respond, “I get knocked twice for your ass and all I get is a little kiss?”

His smirk is cheeky as he presses another to your lips, this time deeper and more intentional, “You’re telling me this isn’t enough to get you off, princess?”

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #marvel #eve wrote this #bucky barnes oneshot #winter soldier x reader #avengers #tfatws #bucky barnes x you #Bucky barnes x y/n #bucky one shot #bucky x you #bucky

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iam93percentstardust · 4 years

Note

I'm bombarding you with those prompts, so I fully understand if you just ignore all those you don't like, lol. Would WinterIronFalcon be an OT3 you're intrested in writing? Some established WinterFalcon with Tony pining helplessly after them, not believeing he could have a chance? With a dash of angst in it? Thank you ♡

There isn’t much angst in this but there is hopeless pining so yay?

Also on ao3 here

“Share Bear, it’s not fair,” Tony whines into the phone.

“What isn’t?” his cousin asks, sounding patient but also kind of amused. He takes the phone away from his ear and squints at it. Is she making fun of him? She probably is, Sharon always makes fun of him. She’s mean like that; he’s pretty sure she gets it from Natasha.

“They’re so fucking gorgeous, I can’t stand it.”

“Oh. Them again. Seriously Tony, didn’t you used to have better taste?”

“Excuse you,” he says, offended. “My taste is perfect.”

“They think arguing is foreplay.”

“It’s bickering! And it’s cute!”

“Gross,” Sharon says cheerfully.

“God hates me,” Tony says dramatically, flinging his hand over his eyes. “That’s why he cursed me to work with two such beautiful humans who are already dating each other.”

“Tony—”

“I know Bucky stays up to date with the fandom,” he continues, going a little quieter. “He’s gotta know that tons of people ship the three of us. But he doesn’t say anything about it. Share Bear, why doesn’t he say anything?”

“Probably because for every person who ships all three of you, there’s twice as many who ship just you and him,” she admits. “I know that if someone were shipping Maria and Nat and ignoring that I even exist, I’d be pretty upset.”

“Yeah,” he says glumly.

“What’re you filming today anyway?” she asks.

“True Crime. We were supposed to be doing an episode of Supernatural at the Odinson Mystery House, you know, over in Norway where the son found out he was adopted and then got super into Norse mythology and supposedly disappeared into a rainbow?”

“Oh yeah, that guy was crazy.”

“Wasn’t,” Tony insist stubbornly. “There are three different eyewitnesses and they all saw the same thing.”

“All three eyewitnesses tested positive for meth.”

“It was trace amounts and ruled irrelevant to the case. Anyway, there’s some sort of blizzard so our flight got canceled. We figured we’d get a jump on this season’s True Crime episodes instead.”

“What are you doing this week?”

He scowls into the phone. “Fandom episode. They voted for Captain America.”

He can practically hear Sharon wince. “I’m sorry. That fucking sucks.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, not least because both of them know exactly what happened to Captain America. He was recovered from the Arctic back in the 50s and went on to live a very happy and fulfilling life with Aunt Peggy. But that’s a very closely guarded state secret; the U.S. government can’t let it get out that Steve Rogers survived nearly a decade in the ice. Technically, Tony and Sharon aren’t even supposed to know but Aunt Peggy had insisted she be allowed to tell them after she took custody of Sharon and Tony moved out of Howard’s and into her home. It’s kind of cool actually, knowing that Uncle Steve is really Captain America. He’s a pretty great guy. It just kind of sucks that he can’t tell anyone about it and now he has to do a whole episode about it when everyone knows he’s a shitty liar.

He’d talked it over with Uncle Steve and Aunt Peggy when the results of the vote had first come in. Aunt Peggy’s advice had been to act more manic than usual, throw even more outlandish theories into the mix, and really make this episode about the banter between him and Bucky. “Direct their attention away from Steve,” she’d said. “They’re already going to be looking at you. Just make sure they’re doing it for the wrong reason.”

He kind of wants to kiss Bucky. That would definitely draw attention away from the episode. But that’s not fair to either Bucky or Sam, who are very happy with their relationship and don’t need a homewrecker like Tony throwing a spanner into the mix.

“Good luck,” Sharon tells him before they hang up. “You’re gonna need it.”

“Wow, thanks,” he mutters but she’s already gone.

Marvels Unsolved was never supposed to be this popular. It started off as a novelty webseries about Tony trying to convince Bucky about the existence of the supernatural—he firmly believed that if science could turn Uncle Steve from an actual shrimp to the god of muscles, then magic had to be out there—and then they’d started talking about an unsolved crime from the early 20th century after filming an episode one day, forgetting that the camera was still rolling, and had ended up with enough footage to make a second episode about real crimes. They had stayed pretty unknown throughout that first season but then true crime podcasts had exploded in popularity and Unsolved along with them.

Now they have a fandom and merchandise and actual fanfiction written about them, which is the craziest thing. They both have several often-quoted gifs floating around the Internet and Bucky has somehow become the poster child for being unimpressed by literally everything (he actually makes some of the best faces when something genuinely scary happens but they always end up editing those parts out—he has an image to maintain after all).

They brought Sam on once they started gaining in popularity. Tony, by that point, already had a pretty well-established crush on Bucky. He’d even thought that he had a chance with his co-host, small as it may be, and at first, it hadn’t seemed like Sam was going to change anything. He and Bucky argued all the time so Tony had been absolutely stunned when he’d stumbled upon them making out like it was the end of the world.

They had just finished filming their second season. Sam had suggested going out to a local bar. He’d suggested it for all three of them but Tony had, inexplicably, felt like a third wheel all night as Sam and Bucky bickered. At one point, Sam had disappeared off to the restroom and a couple minutes later, Bucky had followed him. Tony doesn’t know how long he had sat there waiting for them but he’d eventually gone looking for them only to find Sam pressing Bucky up against a wall.

And that had been that.

Three years later, Sam and Bucky are still going strong, Tony is as smitten with Sam as he is with Bucky despite knowing how hopeless both crushes are, and the fandom seems convinced to either write Sam out of Tony and Bucky’s relationship or write Tony into Sam and Bucky’s. He wishes they would stop. He stays pretty up to date with the fandom as well and they have all these meta posts about the way Bucky looks at him or something. It just keeps giving him hope but, well, it’s been three years. If Bucky wanted him, or if Sam did for that matter, they would have done something long ago.

“Hey, you doing okay?” Sam asks him as they’re setting up.

“Sure, why wouldn’t I be?” He avoids meeting Sam’s eyes, focusing instead on adding creamer to the coffee. Marvels had presented them with these mugs last year to congratulate them on four years of Unsolved. They’ve got their most iconic quotes printed on them, Bucky’s with “Obviously I killed JFK” and Tony’s with “I’m the dramatic bitch your mom warned you about.” Sam has one too with his one and only line in the entire show printed on it (“Why did I agree to work with you?”) but since he’s always behind the camera, he doesn’t have to use the same mug for each episode.

“You just seem a little off.” The worst part is that Sam genuinely looks concerned. If they didn’t care about him, he thinks his crush might be easier to manage but they do because they’re just nice guys like that. “I know you weren’t too thrilled when we announced this week’s case.”

“Howard worked with him, practically hero-worshipped the damn guy. Of course, I’m not excited.”

Sam winces. They know all about Tony’s shitty relationship with Howard after his dad called Marvels furious that his son was hosting a webseries instead of coming home to grovel at his feet and take over the business. The whole team had been brought in to listen as Fury tried to placate him. By the end, Bucky had been furious on Tony’s behalf and Sam had berated Fury for twenty minutes for making Tony listen to the vitriol his dad had spewed. It had cemented his crush on Sam, then just a passing fancy, into something real and permanent.

“Seriously, Sam, I’m fine. Might be a little off today but I would have said if I didn’t think I could do it.”

Sam doesn’t look convinced but he agrees anyway. Tony sits down next to Bucky and passes him his mug. Bucky shoots him a grin and murmurs, “Thanks, doll.”

Tony doesn’t blush but that’s only because he has five years of practice. Out of the corner of his eye, he spots Sam counting them down and he turns to face the camera, settling his hands in front of him.

“This week on Marvels Unsolved True Crime and in celebration of our 100th episode,” he begins, “we asked you what you’d like us to investigate and you came back—”

“—overwhelmingly,” Bucky interjects.

“Many, many times,” Tony agrees, “with a topic near and dear to my own heart: Captain America.”

“That’s right,” Bucky says, sounding surprised though Bucky had been the first to point out that maybe they shouldn’t do this episode because of Tony’s connections to Project Rebirth. “Your dad helped turn Steve Rogers into Captain America, didn’t he?”

“And he never let me forget it!” Tony says cheerfully.

“One hundred episodes,” Bucky says slowly, enunciating each word. “Can you believe that, doll?”

Sometimes, he wonders why the fans ship them when Sam is right there. Other times, Bucky says things like this and he understands completely.

“Not even a little bit, Bucky Babe.” Okay, so maybe he doesn’t help.

“One hundred. The big one zero zero.”

“We tried to do something extra special and get Sam in front of the camera for you guys—”

“—so you could see what a hunk he is—”

“—but Sam said that he didn’t trust anyone else to film us properly—”

“—which makes sense because Tony? If you put him in the wrong light, he’s practically a gremlin—”

“Hey!”

“I’m just telling the facts.”

“Well, the facts are wrong.”

“They’re facts, sweet thing, they can’t be wrong.”

“Can too. Anyway, since Sam refuses to join us—”

“—and that just breaks my heart because Sam, he’s one of my favorite guys, you know?”

Tony pauses. It’s not like Bucky to say anything nice about Sam. Usually, it’s all good-natured insults and bickering. He must really be fed up with the Starkbucks shippers to say something like this when they’re still this early in the show.

“Only one of?” he asks curiously.

Bucky shoots him one of those filthy grins that their audience loves so much. “Well, it’s hard not to include you on that list,” he drawls.

He’s not going to blush.

He’s not going to—

Damn it.

Whatever. It’s no big deal, that’s what editing is for. So what if Sam has never edited out one of Tony’s blushes yet? Maybe Tony will get lucky and he will this time.

“You know, I was actually named for Captain America’s sidekick?” Bucky asks, getting them back on track.

“Wow, that is deeply unfortunate,” Tony deadpans.

“Yeah, Dad’s a fanboy. His whole troop was pinned down and rescued by the two of them. He tells the story all the time—kind of like your dad.”

“Except my dad goes straight past into fanboy and directly into obsession territory.”

“…Fair enough.”

“Really? That’s all you’re going to say?”

Bucky shrugs and takes a sip out of his mug. “I’ve been inside your house. I’ve seen the Steve Rogers shrine. I’m not going to argue with you.”

Tony thinks about that for a moment. “It is kind of a shrine, isn’t it? Anyway, we’ve got some great stuff for you today. We’re going to crack open this cold case, show you some never-before-seen footage courtesy of my mom sneaking my dad’s old war tapes out of the mansion, and then we’ll talk a little bit about the theories out there.”

“How many of them are going to be ridiculously outlandish and physically impossible?”

Tony glares at him. “None of them. I have never once presented a ridiculously outlandish and physically impossible theory.”

“Right because alien abduction is a valid—”

“Aliens are real!”

“You said that crabs might have eaten Amelia Earheart!” Bucky shouts over him.

“It’s a valid theory!”

“I take it back, you’re not one of my favorite people anymore.”

“That really hurts me, deep inside,” Tony says sarcastically, trying to cover up that maybe that does send a small pang shooting through his chest. He likes the thought of being one of Bucky’s favorite people. He doesn’t want to lose that.

“How deep?” Bucky asks and winks.

“Very deep. Way, way deep down. Practically in my—”

Bucky’s eyes widen and he nearly chokes on his coffee. “Okay, that’s enough of that. Let’s get into the facts.”

“Hey, that’s my line!”

“With a missing plane and pilot and so much redaction in the files, we’re lucky to even have a name, let’s get into the theories.”

“Actually, wait, before we do that,” Bucky says, “I want to ask if you’ve ever noticed that your voice changes when you’re doing the voiceovers.”

“Wait, what?” Tony asks. He glances at him, to one of the cameras, then back to Bucky. “What do you mean?”

“You know, it gets all deeper like you’re trying to voice movie trailers or something.”

“No it doesn’t.”

“Sure it does.”

Tony shakes his head. “There’s no way.”

They both turn toward Sam, who thinks about it and then makes a ‘sort of’ motion with his hand.

“Told you!” Bucky says triumphantly.

“You’re such a child,” Tony sneers.

“Yeah, that’s why you like working with me so much.”

Behind the camera, Sam silently snickers and Tony glares at him before telling the camera, “If you’re watching, let us know in the comments. Is my apparent movie trailer voice okay or does it need to go like Bucky clearly thinks?”

Bucky goes paler. “Hey, wait, I didn’t say it had to go.”

“It was implied when you brought it up,” he argues.

“No!” Bucky insists. “I was just wondering if it was on purpose.”

They both turn toward Sam, who thinks about it and then makes a ‘sort of’ motion with his hand.

“Aha!” Tony says triumphantly.

“Traitor,” Bucky mutters into his coffee.

Sam signs, “I’ll make it up to you when we get home tonight.”

“And that was more than I ever wanted to learn about Sam and Bucky’s love life,” Tony lies through his teeth. “Let’s get into the theories. I only have two for you today, one of which I think Bucky will particularly like.”

“Oh no.”

“Our first theory is that Steve Rogers died in a plane crash on December 16, 1944. Winter months in the Arctic are known to be particularly stormy. There would have been low visibility due to the high latitude and time of year and with the waters and surrounding land being well below freezing, it’s possible that, even if Captain Rogers survived the impact, he would have frozen to death in the stormy seas.”

Bucky thinks about it for a second. “Yeah, that seems plausible.”

“In addition, Howard Stark, a known Captain America aficionado and the father of Marvels Unsolved’s best host—”

“You lie like a rug!” Bucky howls.

Tony snickers and then when Sam signs, “He’s really not,” bursts out into full-out laughter.

Once he’s recovered, he continues, “Howard Stark has spent the first fifty years after the crash of the Valkyrie and the last twenty funding searches in the Arctic in the hopes of recovering Captain Rogers’ body. He has found no evidence that Captain Rogers survived the crash although he did find part of the remains of the Valkyrie and has since stated that, ‘No human could have survived that crash.’”

The expeditions are a scam and have been since Howard first found the Valkyrie crash site and Uncle Steve along with it. He hadn’t been planning on continuing the expeditions—too costly, as he claims—but when Aunt Peggy had told him that Uncle Steve’s survival had to remain a secret, he’d kept them up for pretense’s sake.

Bucky is saying something about how it sucks that the first superhero is gone and when he finishes, Tony grins and says, “Then you’ll like our second theory.”

“Somehow, every time you say that, I end up completely hating it. Wonder why that is.”

“Our second theory is that Steve Rogers survived the crash and is still alive but cryogenically frozen in the ice. There—”

“Bullshit!”

Tony starts laughing but he tries to continue on over Bucky shouting that it’s complete nonsense. It’s hard and he knows that Sam will probably have to do some editing and maybe make Tony do some voiceover work in order to make the theory audible but he thinks he manages to do a pretty good job.

Bucky is pouting by the end of it, arms crossed over his chest. “What fucking bullshit,” he mutters.

“The supersoldier serum—” Tony starts to point out.

“Isn’t a miracle drug.”

“That’s exactly what it is.”

“No, it just made him big and strong. It doesn’t just magically keep people alive when they should have died.”

And then they’re off into familiar territory, arguing about the merits of either theory. Tony’s actually feeling pretty good about himself, convinced that he’s doing a decent job of steering the conversation away of anything classified, right up until Bucky says, about halfway through the episode, “I’m surprised at you, Tony.”

He wrinkles his nose. “Surprised?”

“Usually, you have some absolutely batshit, off-the-walls crazy theory but these have actually been pretty normal for you.” He pauses and then adds for effect, “And you’re usually much better at your research than this.”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh come on, even I know that there’s one more theory.”

He starts tapping at his chest nervously, almost wishing that he had a pair of sunglasses. Aunt Peggy always said that his lies are in his eyes, that they’re too expressive to hide the truth. When he was living with Howard, in the spotlight, he always had a pair of sunglasses to hide his eyes but he hasn’t wanted to use those since he moved out. He wishes he had them now.

“And what’s that?” he asks, feigning a casualness he doesn’t feel.

“That Steve Rogers lived and came out of the ice at some point and has been living out his life in anonymity.”

He barks out a nervous laugh. “I didn’t mention it because even I know that that theory is completely impossible.”

“Hasn’t stopped you before.” Sam nods agreeably. Bucky nods back at him and adds, “Even Sam agrees with me.”

“He’s your boyfriend, he’s practically required to.”

Both Sam and Bucky laugh at that one and yeah, okay, it was a pretty ridiculous statement. Anyone who knows them knows that being boyfriends is less likely to make them agree with each other.

“Look, Steve Rogers didn’t come out of the ice alive. Howard would have known for one thing and if you think, he could keep something like that quiet, then you don’t know him very well.”

“Maybe the government insisted it be a secret,” Bucky suggests, shrugging. “There have been plenty of people who have claimed over the last couple decades to be Captain America.”

Tony scoffs. “Oh come on, by that logic, anyone could be Captain America.”

“Maybe they could be.”

“No,” Tony says flatly. “It’s like that crazy conspiracy theory guy over on Reddit who’s convinced that Bruce Wayne is Batman.”

“Maybe Bruce Wayne is Batman.”

“Ooh do the butts match?” Tony says mockingly. “I mean, really, Bucky Babe, if we’re going off of lookalikes, then my fucking Uncle Steve is secretly really Steve Rogers, which is ridiculous because the guy’s like practically ancient and faints at the sight of blood in PG-13 movies.”

That sets off another round of arguing that lasts the rest of the episode until finally Tony wraps it up with, “Whether Steve Rogers died in 1944 or is still alive today is a mystery that will remain unsolved.”

They both pause for a moment to provide time for Sam to edit in the theme music and closing title. Usually, there would be some lighthearted bantering afterwards, maybe a joke about something they said earlier in the show. This time though, Bucky says thoughtfully, “The thing is, though, I’ve met your Uncle Steve—”

Tony goes cold.

“—and he really does kind of look like—”

Tony panics. That’s the only explanation that he has for declaring, “I’m done waiting,” reaching across the tables and grabbing hold of Bucky’s shirt, and yanking him forward to kiss him.

For a moment, Bucky is too startled to do anything but then he melts into Tony, mouth opening under his, tongue pushing forward to meet his. Bucky’s arms come around him, pulling him up and out of his chair and settling him into his lap. Tony makes a small greedy sound, swallowed by Bucky’s kiss, and then they’re both pulling away. Bucky’s lips are very red; Tony can’t stop staring at them even as he’s filled with dismay.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I shouldn’t have—”

“Why not?” Bucky demands.

“You—Sam—” He glances toward the camera but Sam isn’t standing there anymore. His heart drops into his stomach—has he just ruined Bucky and Sam’s relationship? But then he hears someone drop to their knees behind him and when he turns slightly, Sam’s fingers are on his chin, gently turning his head.

“How long?” Sam asks.

“How long what?”

“How long have we been wasting our time when we could have been kissing you instead?”

Three years, two months, and fifteen days. “Too long.”

Sam kisses him then, mouth gentler than Bucky’s but no less consuming. Bucky is a hard, hot line against his front; Sam is warm against his back and Tony? Tony loses himself in the storm that is the two of them, sparks shooting through him as Bucky’s hands find their way to his hips, as Sam’s tongue slips into his mouth, as Bucky whispers into his ear, “We’re not wasting any more time.”

Marvels Unsolved’s 100th episode shoots to their most watched, most liked video in less than a day and when asked, maybe the smallest handful of viewers could have said what it was about.

The day after it posts, only a week after it was filmed, Tony’s phone rings.

“Kill it with fire,” Sam says sleepily.

Tony, however, recognizes Aunt Peggy’s ringtone and he rolls over to grab it before Bucky can throw it at the wall. “Hello?” he asks groggily.

“Congratulations on not blowing Steve’s cover,” she says.

“Oh yeah,” Tony mutters. “Can I go back to bed now?”

“One more thing, duck.”

“What’s that?”

“Congratulations on the new boyfriends.”

#winterironfalcon #alle writes #alle answers #ooh boy this got long #if you like please consider reblogging #justsomeoneunordinary

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nat-roman0ff · 4 years

Text

beep beep

shawn gets lost in a parking garage and you’re lucky (or unlucky) enough to have to help him.

words: 1,839

warnings: aggressive paps, car alarms and lost pop stars.

Your arms are weighed down by the amount of bags in your hands and roped around your arms. Being a personal shopper for the super rich around the holidays for some extra cash was starting to become more of a burden than it was worth.

But at least you’ll never have to do arm day in the gym ever again.

The parking garage is full of fancy cars and SUVs and your beat up Camry sits amongst them like a rotten dandelion in a rose garden. There’s some commotion as you come out of the elevator, a pap stalking some celebrity asking him questions. This wasn’t an unusual sight in Los Angeles, but you always felt a pang of sorriness for whoever was being harassed.

You recognize him almost immediately, with his soft curly hair pulled back in a headband. Shawn Mendes. He’s even prettier in person despite the deep crease of worry between his eyebrows. He’s pacing the aisles looking at license plates with an increasing panic on his face.

The pap continues to harass him, asking him personal questions and he laughs them off with a snarky remark or with another question. He’s good, you think.

“Oh my god, THERE you are!” You exclaim, giving him the eye as he passes by your car.

Shawn raises an eyebrow, “oh, uh, hi?”

You raise both eyebrows, “we found your car! Now let’s get these gifts to the children’s hospital!”

“Oh right,” he pips and the pap finally drops their camera, “the children’s hospital. Well have a lovely day sir and tell your friends at TMZ to expect my Christmas card in the mail!”

The pap looks confused but shrugs, “alright man, have a good one.”

You and Shawn watch the man leave via the elevator and he lets out a sigh of relief and slides down the side of your car.

“Although I’m not sure what a child would like with a lingerie set from Victoria’s Secret I’m glad he bought it,” you pip.

Shawn lifts his head, “he didn’t buy it. But he wasn’t fucking leaving me alone. So thank you.”

You nod, “you’re welcome,” you wait, and Shawn goes back to burying his hands in his face, his knees drawn up to his chest.

“Does that happen a lot?” You ask.

He nods.

“Not much of a talker, eh?”

Shawn’s head perks back up, “sorry, shitty morning, worse afternoon. Then I had this guy chasing me around and now I can’t find my car.”

“Well,” you say, placing your hands on your hips, “how about you help me get these into my car and I’ll help you find yours?”

He stands and reached his hand out to shake yours, “deal. I’m Shawn, by the way.”

“I know,” you wink.

He smirks, “of course you do. So why do you have so many bags?”

“I’m a personal shopper. Us peasants need a side hustle to get by sometimes.”

Shawn nods, “I get it. I had a paper route when I was thirteen.”

“Congratulations, you’re a multimillionaire now.”

He snorts, “touché.”

Shawn takes care of the last few bags and slams the trunk shut. Wiping his hands together and proud of his work.

“So do you have any idea where your car is?” You ask.

He’s silent.

You groan, “okay so what kind of car do you have?”

“A Range Rover.”

You slap your hand against your forehead, “yeah you and everyone else in LA. Alright, time to pound pavement, Mendes.”

The two of you walk the aisles of the vast parking garage, Shawn clicking the little button every few seconds to see if he hears the locking beep.

“Hey what does this one do?” He asks, pointing at the bright red button on his fob.

You side eye him, “that’s a panic button.”

“Oh,” he pips, “good to know.”

You just nod and walk with him, pointing at various Range Rovers with no luck on that floor. Shawn looks down, like he’s physically here but his mind is not. It takes you saying his name a couple times before he responds when you ask questions and his replies are half hearted and soft spoken.

You decide to take the stairs and after about five minutes or so of uncomfortable silence Shawn finally speaks up, “I’m sorry if you think I’m like the biggest Hollywood idiot on the planet right now.”

You shake your head, “nah, you just seem...sad? Tired? I guess. I don’t know you so I don’t want to ask questions, just want to help you get to your car.”

“Thanks,” he smiles for the first time since you’ve met and it’s absolutely mind blowingly beautiful.

“Plus,” you start, “you’re famous so you can’t kill me since you’re too easy to track down. You’re like the safest stranger ever.”

Shawn laughs, “thank you, again. I can’t believe I’m taking time out of your day for this.”

“It’s fine,” you shrug, “just means when we find this car you owe me big time.”

“Oh yeah?” He says, raising an eyebrow, “what does the lady desire?”

You ponder for a moment and your stomach growls, “food.”

“Let me take you out for dinner then,” Shawn replies, “tonight? If you’re not busy, of course.”

“Not so fast!”

His face drops.

“We still haven’t found your bloody car yet.”

“Fine,” he stops you both where you’re standing, “if we don’t find my car you’re driving us to dinner.”

“Oh, smooth.”

—-

You and Shawn drag your feet to yet another floor of the parking garage and groan in unison as you’re met with row upon row of tightly packed parking spaces.

“How fucking big is this place?” Shawn cries, throwing himself onto the concrete ground. “I give up. They can keep it. I hate that car anyways.”

Shawn pulls himself into a ball, face pressed into his knees. His body starts to shake. Is he crying? You’re first filled with fear, and then a warm kind of sadness starts to spread. You sit down next to him on the ground and rub his back. He looks up, his face red and blotchy and his eyes wet.

“I’m sorry, really. This is fucking embarrassing. It’s just - I’ve - I’m...yeah.”

“I get it. I do. If you don’t mind me asking, what’s going on?”

He lets out a breathy laugh, “what isn’t going on?” He pauses for a few moments to allow himself to recollect, “I’m stuck in a shitty contract right now, making music I don’t want to, being turned into a brand, and I’m missing my sister’s school awards ceremony back home in Toronto because I have to be here. Doing nothing but getting chased by dudes too lazy to get a real job and losing my car in the mall parking garage.”

You suck a stream of air through your teeth, “well that’s certainly a lot to unload.”

“You asked,” he deadpans.

You nod, “very true. Okay, well. I don’t know much about the entertainment industry and contracts and such but can’t you just like, I don’t know, go home? Call out sick? You’re the star so I would think you’d have some type of holding power with that.”

“Yes and no,” Shawn starts, “I just want to go home and sleep in my own bed. I want to wake up and go to my favorite coffee shop around the corner from my place, pet my neighbor’s dog on the way back, maybe write a couple songs and see my friends and family again.”

“That sounds nice,” you say, resting your hand over his, “you should do that.”

Shawn looks into your eyes and your gut tells you to kiss him but your head tells you that you sat in chewed gum. Instead of kissing you, much to your chagrin, he rests his head on your shoulder.

The two of you sit there for a little bit, only until the high pitched horn of a Prius scares the both of you out of it. Shawn lets out a shrill scream and you both scramble to your feet.

“I’ll give you $100 if you pretend you never heard that,” he says.

“Deal.”

The sun is starting to set, and the glow of the lowering sun beams into the parking garage. Golden hour, it’s called. And while you watch Shawn point his fob at each passing car hoping it’s his, you think sunsets like this are made for people like him.

Somewhere in the distance you hear the faint beep of a car locking. You both stop dead in your tracks and look at each other.

“Did you?” Shawn starts and you nod.

He raises his keys again and hits the panic button. Off on the other side of the garage the alarm sounds and he takes off in a dead run towards it. You do the best to follow but his long legs give him an advantage. He eventually slows, holding his hand back for you to grab it so he can drag you along.

When you reach the car, the alarm is blaring and you’re both panting. Shawn throws his hands up in the air and sinks to his knees, “thank you baby Jesus,” he whines while trying to catch his breath.

He gets back up and pulls you into a hug, burying his face in your neck. You hesitate for a second before hugging him back. You’d never met a stranger quite like this before, let alone had one hug you. No one at work was going to believe you on Monday when you told them the story.

“Time to go home,” he says when he releases you.

“Home home or -“

“Want to come with me?” He asks, and doesn’t even give you a second to respond before continuing, “I’ll buy your plane ticket. Got a passport on you? Let’s just run with it.”

The look in his eyes is of pure relief, like whatever was holed and balled up inside of him a few hours ago had passed. His eyes were wide and bright with wonderment.

“No,” you say, shaking your head, “go home, enjoy some family time. And call me when you get back.”

“Fine,” he says, “but you’ll let me take you out for that dinner, yeah?”

You nod.

“Do you want a ride back to your car?”

You bite your lip and shake your head, scared to answer, and pointing about half a dozen cars down to yours, where the madness all started.

“Oh you have got to be fucking kidding me!” Shawn half yells, half laughs and the two of you just end up in hysterics over it all.

The sun has finally set when it’s time to say goodbye, although neither of you want to. You watch Shawn leave and smile at the thought of him being able to go home, and even more so about meeting with him again.

But the smile immediately drops when you reach for your phone, and realize the two of you had never exchanged numbers.

--------

i wrote this on my phone at work today...and yes there is (probably) going to be a sequel...

#shawn mendes #Shawn Mendes Imagine #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes blurb #shawn mendes fanfiction #shawn mendes fic #shawn mendes fluff

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cantcomeupwithacreativename · 3 years

Text

The Experiment Chapter 5

"Let go of me asshole!" I screamed at the dark haired teacher. A purple mist surrounded me. I felt my body going limp as my head slumped into the scarf.

I woke up on a bed in a pale green room with white sheets isolating me.

"Oh, hi dear, how do you feel?"

"Uh, I'm fine…"

As it turns out there were security cameras with audio, so my account wasn't needed. The 2 second years that I fought with got expelled because this was the 4rth account of bullying they've been caught on, and the 2nd fight. Apparently, one of them was in my class, and this is their 1st strike, so they're thinking about transferring my classes so that I'm not with them. They haven't decided.

Back at my alley with Kei, she won't stop asking me questions.

"How was your first day of school? Were the people nice? Did you like it? Did you meet any famous heroes? Who's your favorite? Did you make any friends? Did you? Did you? Did you?"

"Um, yeah, I think so." There's no reason to tell her about the fight, is there? Or the possible transferring of classes.

Nothing interesting happened on my walk to school. When I walked through the door to 1 B, one of the boys ran over to me.

"I heard you fought a bully! That's so manly!" His sharp teeth glistened as he spoke.

"Uh, thanks dude…" I flashed him a grin.

"Hey, while we're talking, how did you get those scars?"

"A shark." I looked him dead in the eyes

"Really?!??!" He shouted

"No." I said as I walked away.

Later that day, during lunch, an alarm went off, making everybody scatter and stampede. I saw that nice ponytail girl from yesterday getting squished in the crowd. I pushed my way over and pulled her up.

Thank you F/l/n-san."

"Oh no prob."

A tall, bulky teenager flew to the top of a sign and shouted at everybody. He said it was the media, and people needed to chill.

Anyway, the rest of the day was just english, math, grammar, and normal classes.

When I got back to the alley, Kei wasn't there. I didn't think anything of it. Later, she came back with a couple burns on her. Before I could ask her what happened, she coughs blood at my feet.

"I stole a wallet," She later confesses, "from Endeavour."

I- she wHAT????

"Why him?!? The most aggressive of all pro heroes is who you choose to steal from???"

"He's the one it would affect the least," she said with a shrug, "and plus, the moron was stupid enough to have it hanging out of his pocket."

Well, I can't argue with that.

"Anyway, I've gotten enough to rent an apartment for a couple months, and I've worked enough to get a couple more." She keeps her voice down while saying this, to keep thieves or muggers away. I knew by 'worked', she meant whoring around some rich old man's place. That made me sick. She shouldn’t have to do that. She isn't even an adult yet. She's legal, but that doesn't make it right. They were pedophiles. Gross. But yay for the apartment!

"I've already sent the money to the landlord, so in a few weeks we can move in!" She was so happy. I didn't want to ask about taxes or bills or up front payments.

The next day, about the middle of the day, a strange announcement is made.

"All teachers go to the front door immediately. This is an emergency. Students, get into lockdown. This is not a drill. I repeat, this is not a drill." That message was repeated about three times and chaos ensued.

"Oh my god! Do you think it's real??"

"Is there a shooter?"

"Is that why they called the pros? To get him out?"

"Hey, turning the lights off is my job, you're assigned to barricade the door!"

"Is everybody in the classroom?"

"I DON'T WANT TO DIE!"

"Be quiet!"

Get out of my space, too close!"

"Everybody shut up."

A large boom and the shattering of glass shut everybody up.

"Do you think the pros got it?" A tiny voice whispered.

"Shut it." I whispered back. Briefly glancing at the guy, I see Monoma, with tears in his eyes. He must be really scared...

"Hey, I'm sure it'll be fine," I say, pulling him closer to me and tucking my wing around him, shrouding him in darkness.

We sat there, crouched under the counters for hours, too scared to get out. Eventually, the cops came in and told us there was nothing to be afraid of anymore, and that the heroes handled it and everybody was safe. The one thing they refused to tell us was what the hell happened. Rumors spread about one of the classes being attacked, that Allmight was in critical condition, dying in a hospital, that all of 1 A was dead, etc.

I only found out what really happened from the news in store windows. Apparently, class 1 A was attacked by villains while training. Allmight saved the day.

The next few days, school was closed, so I got extra money from a few random things. It wasn't much, and it sure as hell wasn't going to pay any bills, but it's better than nothing. Nothing real, just a girl who had pity and gives me a dollar to take out the trash for them.

At school, people are starting to notice my smell, and dirtiness. Regardless of that, Monoma has been hanging around me. On my way back to class, I hear a general studies group gossiping about how 1 A is so amazing, and how they defeated so many villains. Then, people started to talk about how 1 A was so much cooler than class 1 B, and they never once mentioned us. Monoma started to get more and more irritated with them.

"I'm sure they're perfectly nice people," I say to Monoma, "Hey, we can go see them later today and meet them."

“Everybody up and to the field, we’ll be doing an endurance training test today.”

(Choice 1: sexy) We got to put our hero costumes on today. I designed mine after Midnight, because 1, she’s my favorite hero, and 2, I like wearing sexy things. It makes me feel powerful and confident. Like, you want to touch but you can’t. My scars really don’t bother me. People don’t usually ask, and I don’t really care, or have a way to hide them even if I wanted to.

(Choice 2:baggy) We got to wear our hero costumes today. Kei had helped me design mine. Something light, easy to move around in, and NO CAPES. They were stupid. Why have one you no? It’s just a piece of fabric flapping around on your back. Plus, my wings. I would prefer something not tight, so I didn’t need to worry about villains looking at me weird. I didn't need to look sexy to save people. I had cargo pants, with pockets, and a hoodie, also pockets, with holes in the bag for wings. Other than that, I gave them creative freedom.

Holy…. crap…. they looked… AMAZING. It was so cool, I looked like a real hero

We did our running, and our pushups, and stretches.

At the end of the day, almost all the students in the whole school crowd the 1 A doorway. Looks like all the other students had the same plan as us. I was pushing my way up front, when a guy slammed the door open.

“What’s going on, why are all these people here.” One kid in the class said.

“Scouting out the enemy shitty hair,” one guy said, “we’re the class that survived a real villain attack.”

(Yes I know mineta says this but I kicked him out. He’s the one who decided not to be a hero. It was too scary for him.)

"Out of the way extras." He glares at all of us. Woah this guy's a real ass. Monoma was right, they are stupid overconfident jerks. Monoma and a lot of kids from my class looked like they had just been slapped.

"Stop calling other people extras just because you don't know them!" A guy with glasses says, looking indignant.

"It's not my fault you all are just stepping stones to my victory." He says as he shoves everyone aside, pushing me back into some really tall guy with lavender hair. He looked tired. Someone bumped into me after Bakugo shoved them, and I tip the poor kid, and we both fall, leaving my face a few inches away from his and my wings fly out catching someone else. Luckily, he doesn't fall. Still on the tired guy, I untangle my wings from his neck, and get off him.

"Sorry." I say as I help him up. He nods and walks over to the door.

"I came to see what the famous class A was like. I heard you guys were impressive, but you just sound like an ass. Are all the students in the hero course like this or just you?" The people in the back shake their heads but he carries on. "How sad to come here and find a bunch of ego maniacs. I wanted to be in the hero course, but like many others I was forced to choose a different track. Such is life. I didn't cut it the first time around, but I have another chance. If any of us do well in the sports festival, the teachers can decide to transfer us to the hero course, and they'll have to transfer people out to make room. Scouting the competition? Well, maybe some of my peers are, but I'm to let you know that if you don't do your very best I'll steal your spot right from under you. Consider this a declaration of war." He stares at the guy, and the guy stares right back.

"HEY YOU! I'M FROM CLASS 1 B NEXT DOOR TO YOU!" It’s Tetsutetsu, yelling at class 1 A. "WE HEARD YOU FOUGHT SOME VILLAINS AND I CAME TO SEE IF THAT WAS TRUE! BUT YOU'RE JUST A BUNCH OF BRATS WHO THINK YOU'RE BETTER THAN US! TALK ALL YOU WANT, IT'LL JUST BE MORE EMBARRASSING WHEN YOU'RE KO'D. DON'T YOU IGNORE ME!!!" He yells as the mean one starts walking away in the middle of his speech.

"Hey, aren't you gonna say something?" Someone in class 1A shouts at him.

"These people don't matter." My mouth drops in shock. Before it was rude, but that's just cruel. Saying that nobody but him matters? Wow. What a dick, glad I don't have class with him. "The only thing that matters is that I beat them."

On our way out of school, Tetsutetsu grumbled about that class the whole way. I could tell Monoma was hurt. Maybe he had more of a past than I thought.

#bnha #shifting #fanfic

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dammitadolfnomorecake · 4 years

Text

Once Bitten, Twice Stupid prt.41

“Did you have to do that?”

Watching Lance forced to hide away for the second time that day pissed Keith right off. Glaring at his brother, he wasn’t impressed with Shiro’s attitude at all. Why did Matt and Rieva get a free pass, when Lance got... well... this?

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you were rude. He’s a nice guy and you went at him like he’d killed your pet dog or something”

Shiro sighed

“Keith, I only want what’s best for you. Lance isn’t comfortable with so many people in his house, and it’s not safe for either us being under the same roof as two werewolves and vampire”

“Yet you had no problem with Matt and Rieva before. You didn’t have a problem with Lance before. He’s probably got whiplash for how cold you’re acting towards him”

Shiro groaned at him, leaning heavily against the kitchen table as he did, Keith had no idea what was on Shiro’s mind

“I really don’t mean to... When I look of him I think of Adam in the end. That’s not something I want you to go through”

“Lance isn’t Adam”

Lance was Lance. Adam was Adam. That was all there was to it... Spending time with Lance had helped. It’d reassured him, it’d shown him that being a vampire wasn’t easy. Even if Adam hadn’t been killed, the psychological effects on him would meant years of pain and therapy. Even if there’d been times Adam had deserved to be pushed into traffic, he didn’t deserve going through what Lance did. It would have broken him to see the effects on Shiro

“No. He’s everything Adam could have been if things had been different... And now you say you have a crush on a vampire, after how messed up losing Adam left you. I’ve barely been back a few hours and you’ve made all this decisions without me. I don’t want you having your heart broken because they turn around and decide Lance needs to be put down”

“Lance isn’t like that...”

Lance wasn’t an animal. He was nice and he was funny. Younger Keith had been so embarrassing...

Shiro rubbed at his eyes, sounding tired as he continued to irritate Keith

“Keith, you’ve known him all of a month. You’ve been living on top of each other, feelings are bound to happen. I’m not saying you can’t be friends with him, but maybe you take things slowly? Spend some time apart and think about how you actually feel. There’s a lot to think about...”

If only his brother knew how much damn thinking he’d had to do, and how much extra thinking Lance had done for the pair of them

“You think we’re moving too fast?”

“Aren’t you? You’ve never dated. You’ve neglected you health, and... accidents happen. You went to help him when he was bleeding, despite the fact his blood could have gotten into your system. What if you were making out and he cut his lip? What if you’re too caught up in having sex and you suck too hard on his neck, and got his blood in your mouth? I don’t want to lose you. And I don’t want you going through what Lance and Adam have been through”

“Then talk to him like a normal person. You don’t think we’ve talked about this? Lance is the most paranoid person I’ve ever met when it comes to his teeth and his blood”

“A relationship works both ways. What if you’re both hurt and he can’t help you because you’re bleeding? You’re acting reckless and it scares me that I’m going to come back and find you turned”

“And you’re acting he hasn’t done us all a huge favour by letting us stay in the first place. He doesn’t want to lie to Pidge, nor does he want to lie to Hunk. They’re best friends, they talk pretty much everyday and you decided to bring Matt and Rieva here without having a proper conversation with him over it. You decided to move us here without having a proper conversation either. Lance has been helping me deal with my issues over losing Adam. He made me see that maybe I did need a break to deal with what I’m feeling. I like him, and he likes me. We’re not rushing into anything”

“Do you know for a fact he feels the same way?”

“I do. He’s agonised over this and we’ve talked. We both want to see what this thing between us before anything gets serious”

Shiro let out long breath, his eyes silently pleading with Keith to listen as he cast his gaze to Keith

“Can you understand I’m scared for you? I don’t want you being hurt. Your my brother...”

“I know. We’re taking the time to get to know each other properly. We’ve both got issues and we both know that we don’t know what’s going to happen. I’m asking you to respect our choice, and to stop being to negative towards him because he’s trying his best for all of us”

“Are you dating?”

Keith didn’t want to lie. He wanted to be able to reach out and touch Lance when either of them needed that comfort they’d found in each other

“Kind of. We’re taking it slow”

“I’m being overprotective, aren’t I?”

“Yeah. And a dick too. I’ve never felt anything like I do when I’m with him”

“I can’t say I support it. But... I respect that you’re an adult and can make your own decisions. I did push all of this on him. Maybe I should talk to him?”

“Wait until after dinner. He’s stressed out about everything needing to be perfect because he’s upset about his vampire ego. I’ll check on him for now”

Shiro’s eyes widened fractionally

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been like this... Falling for a vampire wasn’t in my life plan. Lance hasn’t seen what we have. He doesn’t judge me for what skills I have and don’t have. I’m not Krolia’s son here, or your little brother. I feel more like me than I have in a while now”

They both knew it wasn’t easy for him at the Blade headquarters. No matter where he went, he was always in the shadow of his brother and his mother

“If he hurts you, I won’t hesitate to make the call”

“I know”

Lance was sitting at his desk, tears rolling down his cheeks as Keith let himself into his office. He’d barely slipped through the door before Lance was throwing his arms around him

“You idiot”

Keith felt himself smiling, despite how heavy the conversation with Shiro felt

“You heard?”

“I told you I didn’t want you two to fight”

“We’ll be fine”

“Still... I could hear how upset you were...”

“Because he wouldn’t listen. And I was worried about you”

“I’m sorry...”

“Don’t apologise for needing a break. Shiro will tell you in a professional at shutting myself in my room”

“I can see that. But are you really okay?”

“I will be”

The answer didn’t satisfy Lance. Tugging him backward with him, Keith found himself ending up in Lance’s lap as he sat in the armchair in the corner of the room. Resting his chin on Keith’s shoulder, Lance held both his hands. This was new... but not necessarily... maybe a little embarrassing seeing he was built larger than his boyfriend, and he was all manly and that

“Talk to me?”

“I thought we were?”

He didn’t need to see Lance’s face to know he was rolling his eyes at him

“I heard what Shiro was saying. Leaving Rome was the same as leaving Adam all over again for him, for him, wasn’t it? I think that’s bled into Matt. Did you two stay in the same place after Adam died? You don’t have to answer, but you’re thinking about him. Maybe talking will help? Or am I over thinking this again? I’m talking too fast, aren’t I?”

Lance was doing both. Over thinking and talking too fast. Keith squeezed his hands, still really not sure about the position they were sitting in

“You’re trying. You get points for trying. We moved for our own safety, but Adam owned the place so Shiro took over the deed. I... I think it’s was one of the first places I felt at home again. Him and Shiro wasn’t much of a family, but they wanted me there. Sometimes I felt like the third wheel, and got the feeling Adam would have happier if I wasn’t living with them... Shiro says it’s in my head from being in the system so long. I’m not good at moving...”

“You feel like you lost your home again”

“Yeah. Basically. I suppose... and I’ve always kind of gone where the job sent me. I’m not used to wanting to stay...”

“If you’re worrying about being so far away, Platt is just down the road. We can call and text. Pidge still wants you in our group chat. And I’ll help you. I mean, I’m not a hunter and I don’t have much patience for my kind, but I can help you the best I can”

“You already have. I don’t know why they don’t teach us about using blood when we make our bullets...”

Lance let out a nervous laugh. Lance had probably never held an actual weapon before with the intent of killing

“I don’t know if I should be happy about you talking about getting excited over weaponry, or just accept it?”

“Seeing I’m not going to kill you, I don’t know either?”

His boyfriend kissed his neck. Lance seemed bolder now, maybe because they were alone and didn’t have to have to hide. Keith sighed, earning him a poke in the stomach

“At least living with Shiro you’ll have your own stuff again?”

That was definitely a plus. He missed his bike... and he missed his cameras... and his swords. He was a simple man. But living with Shiro in a new city meant starting all over again without knowing how long they’d be there for.

“How badly are you going to worry about me on my bike?”

“I only have to worry if something happens. You’ve made it this far. I think you just be okay”

He had made it through some pretty shitty situations. He’d made a lot of mistakes on his way, fuelled by anger and the need to be seen as himself

“Because I felt like I really didn’t have that much to lose outside of Shiro”

“Well, now you’ve got friends. Totally awesome friends. And you’ve got Coran and Allura. Trust me, if anything goes wrong they’re the people you want closest to you. They might be weird, but they’re dependable”

“I’m not sure how that’ll work when Coran will technically be my boss”

“He’ll back you up. He’s been like a rock since I turned. He never once turned me away, even when I probably deserved it”

“But he’s your friend...”

Wouldn’t it be the same though? Keith in Lance’s shadow this time. He knew Coran because of Lance. Coran had seemed certain they’d get together and the man had been right... meaning he’d be seen as Lance’s boyfriend and not himself

“So? The work you do for him will determine what he thinks of you. Not because you’re my friend, or Shiro’s little brother, or because your mother’s a hunter. He’s not one to be hung up on that kind of thing. Work is work and personal is personal. He’s going to worry about you on a hunt because he cares, but he’s not going to give you easier assignments because of me”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. So don’t go using the wrong syringe and you’ll be fine”

He was never ever going to live that down...

“You won’t save me again?”

“I’d prefer I didn’t have to... but what’s the worst that’s going happen? Ooooh... maybe I’ll grow two heads?”

Lance poked him in the stomach again. He was annoyingly good at knowing what to say... and what to do. Maybe sitting in Lance’s lap wasn’t so bad? Not when he was trying to be there for him. Keith knew he shouldn’t be shocked, but having Lance cry over him seemed like overkill. Like he didn’t deserve Lance’s worry... but at the same time, it was actually really nice... and made his heart go weird

“And be twice as annoying?”

“I think you mean i’ll be twice as handsome. I’ve already lost my position as the hottest supernatural thing in town. I have to have something going for me”

Keith was genuinely confused. Curtis was... Curtis. Matt was... Matt. Rieva was pretty enough... but Lance like a nice little dork package. There was something in his “not plain plainness” that was nice...

“You think Matt’s hot?”

Lance laughed, Keith’s cheeks heating up. He was missing something here

“Oh my god. Nooooo. That’s Pidge’s brother!”

“Stop laughing at me! It’s not like I know! I like you well enough”

“Oh, god... oh, Keith. I think that’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever said. No. I mean Rieva. She’s definitely out of Matt’s league... Oh my god... I’m going to have mental scars forever”

Keith’s heart sunk, his stomach felt like he’d missed that bottom step and everything had lurched

“You like Rieva?”

“I don’t know Rieva. I meant she’s pretty...”

“Do you like girls better?”

Lance immediately caught his upset. This time he used both thumbs to poke Keith’s stomach

“What? No. I’m saying aesthetically she’s the best looking out of the four of us. You’re a close second in the house, only because I’m a proud fur father and Blue would never forgive me”

“But you think she’s pretty”

“And I think you’re prettierererer... prettiest. See, I can’t even English to tell you”

“I think you’re nice...”

Keith was failing hard on this. He couldn’t tell Lance all the little things were what he liked, because he felt kind of lame about saying it like that

“I know, you said. If it counts I thought Shiro was handsome. I thought you were a total douche and look at us now”

That’s because Shiro was handsome. He was just plain with weird purple eyes

“You’re like cute and stuff when you’re a bat”

“Don’t be coy, I saw you staring at my junk”

“It’s nice junk...”

Fuck, he was getting flustered. Why did he let Lance get to him like this?

“I’m pretty attached to it. Seriously though, I like you. We’re both pretty hard on ourselves, but you’re a good man under that emo anger loaf. I want you to know you can talk to me about this. About work or anything out. I get you probably have some of secrecy thing going, but sometimes it’s nice to be able to talk to someone who sort of gets it”

“Yeah... Shiro likes that I’m making friends”

“Friends are good. You’re good. You deserve to let yourself be happy”

“Because you’ll worry about all the other stuff?”

Lance snorted

“You know me so well. We should get back to the kitchen. I... was having fun. Having you in there with me. I know I was super awkward... but I don’t mind spending my space with you”

Shit. With just a few words Lance had feeling like a million bucks. That flustered feeling only growing like the warmth in his chest. He really liked Lance and hoped things would work out...

#once bitten twice stupid #oncebittentwicestupid

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hatsukeii · 4 years

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Hi! 2, 4, 6, 8, 12, 14 for Kageyama from the headcanons list?? If it's too many, just choose whichever interest you the most! Thank you! 💜

Hhhhh ty for requesting!!

I have so many ideas from Kageyama after seeing the latest few chapters all over my explore page on ig, this should be fun~

Btw just because I crave fluff and made up romantic scenarios I will be including you as a female s/o, I hope you’re fine w that bc I’m terrible at writing same sex fanfics and I feel like including you might be fun too, sorry if it’s not what you prefer, I’ll write up another one if you want!!

(You aren’t mentioned excessively though, so don’t worry!!)

Warnings: Mild manga spoilers that have to do with Kageyama’s backstory, nothing too major though, and angstangstangstangstangst-

2. How are they like on social media?

- Kageyama’s probably one that doesn’t really have that much regarding social media.

- However he would probably have the most common ones.

- Instagram, snapchat, maybe twitter too.

- He also has tiktok now that you’ve basically forced him to download it.

- Definitely uses instagram the most out of everything he has.

- Username: milkboykags

- Followers: 992 (Since he’s pretty popular through playing volleyball.)

- Following: 745 (He tries to follow most of his followers back if they have mutual friends between them, even if it’s a fan.)

- Profile pic: Probably one of those grunge shaky pics of him with a few of the Karasuno team members and you with a dark background and stuff.

- Bio: If you don’t have milk, don’t bother looking for me. ~Me, 2k19 (He hasn’t updated his bio a year lol.)

- His instagram feed is actually pretty aesthetic.

- He has one volleyball post of the entire team at the beach playing beach volleyball while the sun sets.

- He’s way too proud of that post.

- Another one of his posts was taken when you two were on an arcade date (At that time he hadn’t confessed yet, but he asked you out just to do that) and he sneaked a photo of you trying to get a unicorn plush from one of those claw machines.

- That one he’s gonna be keeping in his feed forever.

- He has a collection of highlights.

- There’s one for volleyball practice shenanigans, one for those little dates he takes you on, another one for full on group hangouts, then one of camera wars with random people that try taking photos of him, most likely you or Hinata.

- His feed basically revolves around this filter recipe he made for instagram, which makes his photos look cooler toned and more faded.

(P.s dm me if you want the recipe bc i made it on vsco lmao no I’m not a vsco girl don’t worry.)

- He doesn’t really use snapchat and twitter.

- Only does streaks with you and the volleyball team.

- Tiktok though, is a whole other story.

- Username: givemethecows

- Followers: 1405 (People from both tiktok and instagram.)

- Following: 200

- Bio: I make videos and shit.

- Profile pic: Bass boosted you like jazz meme (Bass boosted but photo if you get me.)

- Kageyama has this whole lowkey eboy thing going on with his tiktok.

- Most the time his videos are just a way to show his weird sense of humour or his sense of style that screams casual eboy.

- Since you forced him to get tiktok, you also forced him to learn dances with you.

- He’s terrible at those.

- Like very bad.

- He managed to break a pair of Tsukishima’s glasses while doing the renegade at break.

- And almost twisted his hips trying to throw it back as a joke.

- Needless to say it’s both hilarious and embarrassing for Kageyama.

- There are also tiktoks of him doing insane volleyball tricks on camera like the demon quick, the synchronised attack, and his jump serve etc.

- Which have gained him quite the following on the platform.

- In conclusion, Kageyama is generally pretty good at social media, but sucks ass at dancing.

4. What is Kageyama’s preferred weather?

- Surprisingly, Kageyama doesn’t like sunny weather. At all.

- For him, it’s the absolute worst thing.

- He think that sunny weather is way too annoying and hot and stuffy and gross.

- Plus, going out for morning runs in sunny weather is like wearing 10 jackets in hell.

- Like you can put on an extra layer if you’re cold but you can’t just strip naked if you’re hot.

- Oh my god he hates it so much it pains him to even think about it.

- He likes rainy days.

- Definitely not his favourite though.

- Rainy days usually mean staying home for the entire day.

- He can just laze around in his house, do whatever he wants.

- The sound of rain against glass windows soothes him.

- The constant sounds of droplets hitting the windows give him a sense of tranquility and peace.

- He will quite literally, fall asleep to those sounds.

- However rainy days do have their drawbacks.

- One of them, is having to stay home.

- Kageyama likes going for runs just to take in some fresh air, but that won’t work when it’s raining cats and dogs now will it.

- Plus, it means everything he does is restricted in his house unless he can get to an indoor gym that’s open.

- Boring.

- So he prefers windy days, when the cold breeze grazes his skin and the sun hides behind the fluffy clouds.

- It’s those days where he doesn’t have to suffer the heat that the sun brings upon him, nor does he have to suffer the feeling of rainwater dripping from the tips of his hair.

- He can do whatever he wants and still feel at ease and comfortable.

- Quite literally everything he asks for in a day.

6. Favourite music?

- Let’s be real, Kageyama probably isn’t good at music.

- He can’t dance or sing to save his life.

- However, he does enjoy how listening to music calms his nerves and gives him a chance to relax, even if he’s in a situation where he should be focused on an assignment or a piece of class work.

- People would expect him to enjoy listening to EDM or alternative rock, but no.

- This boy likes to listen to lofi and love songs.

- This doesn’t mean that his playlist only consists of these two genres, but the majority of songs in his playlist are either chill lofi beats or songs that give you the feels.

- Some of his favourite artists are Jeremy Zucker, Blackbear, Conan Gray, Billie Eilish, Lauv, Clairo, Wallows, Khalid, BENEE, Post Malone, Coldplay, Rex Orange County, Green Day, Shiloh Dynasty, Kina, love-sadKID, and the Arctic Monkeys.

- Has like 5 different playlists for different moods and events.

- One for moody times, one for study beats, one for when he wants throwbacks, one for firing him up before volleyball matches, and one for if he ever has to DJ in the front seat of someone’s car.

- Prefers to listen to music by himself.

- You’re an exception though.

- If he’s with you, you get one earbud, but he’ll be the one choosing the music still.

- You two have pretty contrasting tastes when it comes to music.

- He likes softer songs and lofi the most, whilst you prefer old rock and alternative rock. Oh and also a lot of throwback songs.

- I feel like Kageyama has definitely cried to a few songs when he was going through hard times.

- To him, listening to music is also a way of releasing all the inner conflict and frustrations.

- (Spoiler for backstory) When his grandfather died, he put Fix You on loop for at least 20 minutes.

- He was just numb, curled up into a ball on his bed, staring at the wall. He couldn’t feel anything. Nothing in his mind registered properly. All he could think of, was everything his grandfather had taught him, before he eventually passed away.

- Submerging himself into the melancholy song he was listening to, he didn’t even feel the tears that were now streaming down his face.

- The salty tears were now staining his pillow, creating little wet spots.

- He listened to every single lyric in the song, clutching his sheets harder every time the chorus came up.

- He punched his mattress repeatedly, still unable to accept the fact that someone he held so dear to his heart had just left like the wind.

- It wasn’t long until he was a sobbing mess, shaking and whimpering as he knelt on the bed.

- Silently sang to the lyrics, plopping back to his bed in defeat.

- His sister lingered in front of the door for five whole minutes, eventually leaving to let Kageyama sort out his feelings himself.

- You introduce a ton of new songs to him, since he doesn’t know that much about anything else other than lofi and sad songs.

- Just please no one let him listen to Nickleback. Please. He doesn’t need to know about it.

8. Movie that he would choose for a move nigh?

- The monthly Karasuno volleyball team movie night was finally here, and it was Kageyama’s turn to choose a movie this time, much to Tsukishima’s dismay.

- He’s put a lot of thought into this, not wanting to disappoint his teammates by choosing a shitty movie.

- He basically tried to figure out what everyone wanted to watch.

- However, everyone had very contrasting requests.

- Tsukishima wanted to watch Jurassic Park, Yamaguchi wanted a Disney movie, Hinata wanted something Marvel, Tanaka and Nishinoya wanted a horror movie, (Mainly so they could hit on you whilst you were still single) Sugawara wanted a romcom, Yachi wanted a comedy, and the others were fine with anything.

- He stressed himself out way too much trying to choose one movie.

- He finally got an idea after 3 entire days of thinking.

- And it wasn’t anything the team expected.

- Kageyama pulled up with Pulp Fiction.

- He’s seen that movie at least 5 times already.

- It was the perfect mix of comedy, gore, action, and philosophy.

- Plus, anything that starred Samuel L Jackson was worth a watch.

- Till this day, it remains one of his go to movies, alongside any MCU movie. (Captain America: The First Avenger is definitely his favourite though.)

12. Something small that they enjoy?

- One of the two small things Kageyama enjoys doing is baking cookies.

- Cookies in particular.

- I mean, there really is no detailed explanation.

- He’s pretty good at baking in general, even Tsukishima enjoys the cookies he bakes.

- Plus, he gets to dip the cookies in milk, what’s there not to enjoy?

- Another little thing he enjoys a lot is actually photography.

- Most the time, when he sees a pretty sky, or a city street at nighttime.

- He can’t help himself but snap a few photos here and there.

- Something about a well shot photo just hits different.

- Sometimes, he brings his camera out just to takes nice photos.

- Whenever you two are on dates, he’ll be able to capture candid or motion shots of when you’re just looking out the window of a bus mindlessly, or when you’re twirling around on the street playfully.

- Photos speak a thousand words, and honestly? He lives by that.

14. What is enough to bring him to tears?

- Support.

- Kageyama really needs support from someone he cares about.

- And no, not like support from his teammates.

- That’s different from hearing someone cheer from the stands.

- (Spoiler for backstory) Kageyama’s parents never gave much attention to him, since they were always busy with work. The only person that ever showed support for him was his grandfather, who passed away while he was still young.

- As if that wasn’t enough shit directed towards Kageyama, his teammates abandoned him during a match in junior high not long after the death of his grandfather.

- Which means that Kageyama now has lowkey abandonment issues.

- All through his volleyball journey he never got the support and reassurance he needed.

- He watched in envy as people from opposing teams, or even his own teammates, waved at their family members after they won or lost a match.

- All he could do was stare at the stands, hoping to catch just a glimpse of a family member.

- Nothing.

- Nobody realised how alone Kageyama felt during and after matches, until they watched him break down in tears after a particular match.

- It was the Spring Match against Seijoh, and Karasuno was playing like normal.

- Kageyama was insanely good as usual.

- What he didn’t notice then, was that you had dragged his sister Miwa to the match just so you both could cheer for him.

- In addition to that, you were also wearing his jersey.

- It wasn’t until the final point was scored, did he hear you and Miwa scream from the stands.

- Hearing the familiar voices, his head basically snapped in your direction, scanning the stadium for someone familiar, before landing his eyes on you and his older sister.

- His eyes widened for a hot second, his mind running in circles.

- Nobody has ever cheered for him.

- But here you two were, cheering for him from the stands.

- And you were wearing his jersey.

- A hand went up to cover his mouth, a huge grin spreading.

- One drop.

- Two drops.

- Then came the waterworks.

- The entire team was shocked.

- Like shookth.

- The two of you ran down to the arena, engulfing Kageyama in a huge hug.

- Best moment of his fucking life.

- From then on, the Karasuno team members made sure to notify you of any matches they had against other schools, hoping you and Miwa could go cheer.

- You two haven’t missed a single match since.

Whoooo three hours of work and going straight to Netflix at 2:30am, what a life.

I couldn’t resist I’m sorry casual or slight angst is my favourite genre of hc and fanfic-

I hope you liked this xx😗👉👈

#haikyuu x reader #kageyama tobio #hq kageyama #haikyuu headcanons #hq headcanons #hq x reader #kageyama x reader #haikyuu #hq #writing prompt

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