#i think of his big ol eyes and short height and my hands go on autopilot | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

deadpool15 · 7 months

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Our life

"HI, my name is S-Sunny. Sorry, I'm a bit camera shy, unlike this one right here." I point in the direction of my husband sitting next to me. It always feels a bit crazy referring to him as my husband. I'm like, I'm married now. "And I'm Byeon woo seok, this is Mrs. Byeon." I stare at that big Ole lopsided smile on his beautiful plump lips. "Baby, I introduced myself already," "Yea, and you didn't say it right, honey, so I got you." To think I'm married to this cringe worthy guy is a wild thought.

Question 1. How did you two meet?

Adjusting myself in the seat, I hadn't noticed I'd moved slightly away from Woo seok until he pulled me right back under him. "Can you even remember this, I know I can right down to the smallest detail, but she has a very bad memory in general." I snicker at that comment. Of course, he wants to tell the public that. "I'll start, we met at a cafe. She was studying or technically finishing up some homework when I had just gotten my order and decided that instead of taking it to go, I would stay and have a seat. I saw her, sitting in the very corner of the café working away on her laptop while wearing a turtleneck with a big baby blue trench coart sitting on the side of her and her blue jeans She looked like something out of a Disney movie, I had never seen something so beautiful." I blushed hearing him recall the story. He always tells it as if he is falling in love all over again. "She didn't even notice when I asked if I could sit with her, so into her on little world." I fixed a hair on his forehead before grabbing his hand. "I did notice, though I thought it was weird. I mean, I grew up in a black neighborhood, though I went to schools in all white neighborhoods. So, no one ever took time to get to know me or wanted to even be next to me. I got used to my own company to the point where I became so introverted that when someone spoke to me, I would mumble and walk away or pretend to be mute. No one in that cafe sat next to me now I don't know if it was a racist thing or a simply just a rule of don't act next to someone when there are a lot of seats. I literally proceeded to look behind me, thinking he was speaking to someone else, but my seat was against the wall." We both sit there laughing at that memory.

Question 2. Who took interest first?

"I know for a fact it was me. She was the sweetest thing I had ever encountered in my life. She was an all shy, but once you got to know her, she was this amazing bubbly soul." I simply looked at the camera feeling aware of the people in the room until Woo seok squeezed my hand to let me know I wasn't alone. "When I first met, i was trying to figure out why this beautiful human wanted to be next to me. I was a college student at the time, like first year I'm on my last year now. I came to Korea to get a degree and a change of scenery. I grew up in Tennessee, U.S. I feel like it's obviously once I start speaking English. Though, all my life, the only thing I knew was farmland. Taking care of the animals and my papa."

Question 3. Is your height an issue?

I stared at the entire camera staff when I heard the question, with a poker face. "Really guys? We are adults here who wrote that in the first place, huh?" I stand up, causing the crew to laugh even harder than before. "I'm not answering the question, forget all of you. I thought we were friends." I sat there trying not to pout, knowing it would only make them embarrass me further. "Baby, your height is fine. You're just short, and that's ok." I blink my eyes up at him. Sadly, I still have to look up even though he is sitting down. "I'm not short. you're just really tall." I lie through my teeth. Well, it's not exactly a lie he is really tall, but I'm really short. Standing at 4'11, cursing my ancestors for not marrying any tall men down the line to help a girl out. When I met him, the first thing I noticed was his height, I mean, he was standing. While I was sitting, when I stood up, he simply laughed and told me I looked like something from a movie.

Question 4. Celebrity look-alike?

"I didn't really have one until I saw Bridgerton. There is a girl on there. She plays Lady Whistletown. I believe her name is Nicola Coughlan. While I was doing a shoot in LA, someone pointed out the fact that we looked so much alike, and I didn't believe them until I saw her. She is slightly taller than me and way older as well. Though it's nice to be compared to her." I stated while smiling, I remember when someone showed me her, and I was like, that's a white woman, until I started to see the similarities. Crazy right? "I don't believe I have one in general, Sunny claims I look like Niki from Enhypen. I don't really see that." I stare at the crew watching many people shake their heads in unison. "See, I told you, it's really the lips and the eyes that make them look similar. They both have pump Bratz doll lips." He chuckles when he hears the comparison, remembering on one of our first dates I had said he reminded me of a Bratz doll while he sat there confused I laughed. "You claim I remind you of that fairy, and we look nothing alike, so we are even, sir." He stops laughing to pull our phone, showing the crew what I'm talking about. "It's not necessarily their looks because besides the small stature and button nose, they don't look alike at all, but they sound so much alike. That's what I noticed when he spoke English, I told her she reminded me of a fairy. I just couldn't remember the movie. Turns out it was an American children's film, I had watched two nights before meeting her."

Question 5. Was marrying a sudden decision?

"In a way, it kinda was, I had never planned on getting married, not just in Korea, though, in general. The idea of marriage was so stupid to me like imagine someone saying I love you so much I'm gonna get the government involved so you never leave me and if you try to it will be a lot of paperwork and pain you have to go through." Woo seok laughed as he heard my explanation of marriage it was always a funny idea to him. He wanted marriage, so we were different in that way. "I met here when I was 31 at the time, so my mother, as well as the elders kn my life kept nagging me to marry someone, but my acting career was doing good and I didn't see myself settling foen until I met her. Though she told me one night she didn't have any intentions to marry me." I placed my head over his mouth and shushed him. "When you say it like that, it sounds bad. Be quiet. It's not like I didn't have intentions to marry him, I just didn't think about marriage in general with anyone. We had been dating for 6 months, and I was afraid to sleep in the bed with him, to be honest. No matter what, I've never been one to plan out my future, I simply live in the moment. Because the future scares me. I laughed, recalling the memory.

Flashback

We had just finished our fate at the amusement park. It was fun, though I was hungry and couldn't wait to get home and eat. Woo seok was driving when I noticed the sky had become blurry and soon rain started to pour, after a while of driving it was coming down hard and he suggested he pull over to his unit. I was completely ok with that until I realized that meant I would have to come inside his home. "It's too dangerous to be driving out in the rain, Sun, we can go up to my apartment and just spend the night." I timidly agreed, I had never spent the night over to a guy's house or anyone for that matter. We walked inside the building, greeting the front receptionist. Then, we made our way to the elevator. Knowing what was to come, I simply stared at the numbers on the elevator, hoping they would go slower.

The sound of the loud ding let me know my wishes remained in vain. We stepped inside the elevator, I'm pretty sure my boyfriend had taken notice of how distance I had become. It wasn't necessarily his fault, I mean, it was he made me nervous as shit. Omg I just swore it was in my head, so it doesn't really count. The elevator came to a stop, breaking me from my thoughts, I watched the tall man fish through his pocket while grabbing my hand with his other to unlock the door for us. He eventually found the key, letting us both inside his flat. While I took my shoes off, he let me know he would get me a change of clothes. I was so tired I didn't feel like showering, and I was glad I didn't wear any makeup today. "Here, baby, I got you some shorts and a shirt. Hopefully, you can fit into this." He stated while he motioned me towards the bathroom to change, letting me know he would be in the kitchen. I quickly took off my clothes and changed into the pair I was given. I walked out of the bathroom to notice he had changed as well, walking around in a pair of pajama pants and a rob on his shoulders, no shirt was seen. This man is trying to kill me, Lord.

I stared at her as she came out of the bathroom, and God, what did I do to deserve such a woman. She was walking around here, looking like sex. She was a beauty. Nothing could make me think differently. I thought those shorts wouldn't fit her, but I guess I forgot how thick she was. Her ass was looking so good in them. I wanted to take a bite fuck, I never knew I was an ass man until I met her. But I had to control myself for her she was my shy baby, after all. "Did you want something to eat, baby?" She nodded her head, and I went to fixing her favorite Ramen. I pulled her closer until I sat her on the counter. She was startled pushing my chest back while looking in the opposite direction for my modesty. How adorable. "Baby, we've been together for a while now. You can look at me without a shirt. I promise I won't get angry." She was thinking too hard anyone could see that, so I grabbed her by the chin, turning her in my direction and pulling her closer again. "I'm all yours."

Present

Question 6- What's sunny stand for?

I turned to her, letting myself get captured by all her beauty. Rubbing her back, I just liked being by her at all times. I had never been a clingy guy until I met Sunny. She brought out a completely different side kd me I didn't know existed. "It stands for like half of my name. It's Sunnybelle. Funny enough, my dad had a thing for fairy-tales as a kid and growing up as well. He made us read them to him, trying to make sure we could read. He claimed that when I was born, the sun was shining so bright like it was never of my birth. And everything fell into place in his life after, with no worries. Extremely exaggerated story thanks to my father, but that's my real government name. I say that because a lot of people think I'm lying when I tell them that." I blushed, realizing Woo seok was still staring at me.

Question 7- Are you excited for everyone to see your show?

We both were thinking about that one. I feel like Woo seok expected this question because he was used to the interviews, though I was working in the fashion industry. No one ever really was interested in questioning me unless it was about my race. "We are super happy that you all will get to see a little of our lives. I say a little because we won't be adding every detail on here. I mean, we must keep certain things private, you know." I nodded to his words agreeing. Certain fans took these types of shows as an invitation to stalk people or just crazy stuff in general. I myself am a very private person, to be honest, so this was a whole new process for me. Though I was ok with it as long as they didn't follow me into the bathrooms or something. I chuckle thinking about how stupid that would be before looking around the room, hoping no one saw me do that. I can literally hear the crazy talking to yourself comments. "He is correct. It will be a fun new experience for all of us. And I hope you all enjoy seeing us live together on this path." I hit Woo seok's arm since he was trying to tickle me on the slide with no one looking.

*Stay tuned for the next chapter*

#byeonwooseok x reader #byeon woo seok #oc #reality

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llyncooljones · 1 year

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who is he? - twelve days of rowaelin '22.

ao3 || masterlist || twelve days of rowaelin ‘22 masterlist

prompt: fake dating because ex will be there.

word count: 1118

trigger warnings: language, sexual themes

tag list: @live-the-fangirl-life @rowaelinismyotp @fireheartwhitethorn4ever @elentiyawhitethorn @rowanaelinn @autumnbabylon @leiawritesstories @backtobl4ck @letstakethedawn @rowaelinscourt

“Elide, no. Please. Don’t—don’t make me go over there. I will embarrass myself, truly. Don’t make me do this, I’m begging you, one spoilt rich girl with a secretly traumatic past to another spoilt rich girl with a secretly traumatic past. Don’t. Make. Me. Do. This.” Aelin tried to turn, but both of Elide’s—admittedly small, and yet so super strong—hands were pushing her forwards. Not allowing her to turn, nor twist.

It was rather annoying given the nine-inch height difference between the two of them. But maybe their weights were more evenly matched—or maybe Elide’s was higher, due to those big ol’ tits of hers.

“Alright, so if you’re such a coward that you can’t go up to the hot man, whom you’ve been staring at for half an hour, we need to come up with a plan of action. By the way, I want full credit at your wedding for getting the two of you together.” Elide’s smile was wicked and cunning, and she put her index finger and thumb on her chin, and stroked like she had a beard, and some crazy science machine.

“I don’t know, Elide, don’t think that if I knew, I’d be over there scoring myself a Christmas-tree-farming husband, who’s tall enough to put the star on my tree without a ladder.” Elide’s eyes sparkle, and Aelin does damage control, “And that was not an innuendo nor a metaphor for him being able to find my clit, or g-spot, without a how-to. Get your mind out of the gutter, Lochan.”

A fake gasp from her best friend, and then an evil laugh. Aelin truly did consider the likelihood that her best friend was the wicked witch of the west. She decided not, but Elide interrupted her thoughts with a shriek (again, with or not?) and a hand wrapped around her bicep. “I know how you’re going to get with him.”

“Oh, do you now. Let’s hear it, then.”

“He’s gonna be our fake boyfriend to the party that Dorian’s hosting for Christmas eve. It’ll be perfect. You’ll tell him that Dorian’s your ex, and you’ve told him you have a new boyfriend, for the party and therefore you need a fake boyfriend. Christmas Tree Man is perfect for the job because he’s independent, tall, and muscular. Whilst Dorian, who’s your fake ex-boyfriend, is short, lanky and still on his father’s tit. And insecure about it. Christmas Tree Man will make him jealous, and you want that because he hurt you.”

“Let me get this straight: he’s going to be my fake boyfriend, to a party hosted by one of my best friends who is going to be my fake ex-boyfriend, who I’ve fake-told I’ve got a new boyfriend, because he is the epitome of everything my ex is not, and that’s a sore spot for him. Which means my presence with Christmas Tree Man will hurt and offend him, which I want to do because my fake ex-boyfriend hurt me, and I now want to hurt him.”

“Yeah, wow. You’ve caught on quickly. So, down this,” she said pushing a recyclable cup of mulled wine towards Aelin, “for liquid courage and go get your man.”

“Elide I was fucking pulling your leg. I am not going up to some man who I find attractive and lying to him about relationships I’ve never had, and then cornering him into being my fake boyfriend. I refuse. That is, just so wrong on so many levels. If I can’t gather the courage to go up to him, and ask him out for drinks like a normal person, maybe I shouldn’t be going with him.”

Elide’s face crumbled, like a high school note they had passed, and she pouted. “Aelin, you’ve not taken your eyes off that man for a second—not even during this conversation. You need to go up to him, ride the horse, and go! We’ll put aside this whole lying thing, just be honest and tell him that he’s the most attractive guy you’ve seen in years, and that you’d like to go out to dinner or drinks or party with him.”

Aelin shook her head but was secretly considering it.

“Aelin, if not for you, do it for me. I’ve found that tall men group together. So, he will likely have a tall friend whose size will directly correlate to his size. If you know what I mean.” She winks, and Aelin had to laugh, she couldn’t not, “I’ve not had good dick since freshman year of college—and I’m twenty fucking four. I’m desperate.”

“Fine, I don’t think I’ve had good dick ever, so maybe Christmas Tree Man won’t disappoint, if everything is proportionate. But he does still have to know how to use it. What if he doesn’t, Elide, what if he thinks having a big dick is eno—”

“—Aelin, I swear, go to that man, and find us both a big dick, and hopefully a relationship. Love you, Bye!”

She unfolded herself from the picnic table, and shook off her nerves—mentally, she can’t be seen jumping around by her future something. Her eyes settled on Elide still, whose eyes she noticed were large and round and surprised. Instead of questioning her clearly crazy best friend, she turned, only to bump into the chest of a rather tall man.

Tall.

No, she thought. It can’t be, she wondered. No way, she placated.

“Firstly,” he said, in a voice that had her panties wet already, “I would’ve agreed to your crazy plot, princess. I would have doubted it, but I would’ve agreed, and gone to your fake ex-boyfriend’s party, on Christmas eve which I normally spend with my friends and not a random but gorgeous blonde, as the epitome of his insecurities. Just to hurt him, because I knew the second I saw you, that any man who hurt deserved to be hurt right back. Where it hurt the most.

“Second, I could put the star on your Christmas tree without the help of a ladder—and I mean that in both possible ways. This means that, third, I know how to use my dick, even if I do consider myself to be proportionate. On that topic, apparently tall men do group together because I’ve got a friend taller than me, for your friend who’s shorter than you, who I believe is also proportionate but in the same boat as me when it comes to Christmas trees and stars.

“And finally, whilst I don’t mind Christmas Tree Man, I have just told you that I’ve got a big dick, know where your clit is, and can give you g-spot orgasms, so please, call me Rowan.”

#12 days of rowaelin #twelve days of rowaelin #rowaelin #rowaelin fic #rowan whitethorn #aelin galathynius #tog #tog fic #throne of glass #throne of glass fic #llyncooljones' writing #my fic #my writing #wih?#who is he?

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ryuzatodraws-backup · 3 months

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🎷🎶

It’s Sunday as the girls decided it would be the perfect time for a little shopping. They make their ways through the busy street adorning their best outfit that matches their chrome masks. A few passerbys bid them good morning while a few others makes way for them. They know exactly who they are, the girls of the Green Gem club.

Copia settles in between the ghoulettes as she walks, it is a cheery morning as they chat. ‘’Oh you girls should show me where are the best stores are!’’

Cirrus gasps as she points at a clothing store, the window display there’s all sorts of array of clothing. ‘’This is the best in town and they’re having a sale!’’

‘’We should go in!’’ Sunshine chirps as she tugs Cumulus’s hand. ‘’Come on!’’

___________

‘’So~ are you going to tell us about what happened last night?’’ Cirrus watches Copia as she twirls the dress in front of the mirror.

‘’Oh! Last night’’ she turns towards the taller ghoulette, even with the face paint , the girls could see a tinge of pink flush on her ears. ‘’Well~’’

‘’Oh do tell!’’ Sunshine coaxes her, they only have been performing together for a month but they found Copia easy to work with, and she makes a good ol’ mean spaghetti bolognese.

‘’Well last night, you know how I always receive a bouquet after a show?’’ Copia takes a seat between the girls on the lounge chair.

.~~~

It was beautiful, fragrant and fresh as always.Roses, lilies, lavenders of all kind, without a fault there will always be a card in between those flowers.

A card with the roman number 3 on it. It will always be purple as well.

Copia decided to ask Secondo about it, to which the man ended up chuckling.

‘’You always see them in first row, with me’’

‘’With you?’’ Copia squints and hums before a familiar face pops in her head.

Another jazz singer, who without a fail will always be front row either with Secondo or without.

She changes to her usual dress before heading out, to her luck she spotted the man she was thinking about. Slowly she approaches him who was preoccupied with other men at the lounge. Seeing her however the men smiles and bows slightly.

‘’What an amazing performance tonight Copia, you never failed us.’’ One of the older gentleman with red suit smiles at her.

‘’Grazie, you’re always so kind.’’ Copia stands behind the man he wanted to see, she didn’t expect for him to be so short. His head is just at the right height of her chest.

Slowly Terzo turns towards her with a smile. ‘’Sorella, good evening.’’ He offers his hand. Copia happily receives it before he brought his lips to her palm, kissing the black leather glove softly.

‘’Well it seems like I finally met with the man behind the mysterious bouquet of flowers I received.’’ Copia caresses his thumb softly.

‘’My my do you like them?’’ Terzo ends up leading her away from the crowd into a more secluded area, near the bar. ‘’I was hoping by sending you a few that I can guess your favourites’’

‘’You certainly did’’

They took a seat , Terzo signals to the bartender and the man nods before passing them both a glass of whiskey. Copia’s glass has a small umbrella to it. The man in front of her smiles a bit.

‘’Do you also like to take your whiskey with a little?’’ He gestures to the colorful umbrella.

‘’Oh I do! It makes things fun.’’ Copia smiles and sips.

Time passes by before the bartender ushers them that they are closing.

Terzo leads Copia out slowly through the back door

‘’But surely that’s not all that you did, right?’’ Sunshine reapplies another nail polish on Copia’s finger.

‘’True! Did he get grabby? Steal a kiss from you?’’ Cumulus fixes her hair as she set her mask away,

The girls are back in Cirrus’s room as they pamper themselves with the dresses and snacks that they’ve brought earlier. It also starts to rain outside.

‘’Come on Copia do tell!’’ The girls gathers around her with big puppy eyes.

‘’Oh alright’’ she giggles before continuing.

—

He did lead her towards the back, the back of the spiral staircase as they slowly kisses. Terzo is smaller than her but the way he carries himself makes him 4 feet bigger than the female singer. Copia is smitten.

‘’Come, cara’’ he offers her his hand which she gladly takes. Together they went up the staircase, on the roof.

The night is bright with the streetlights and the taller buildings. Cars honking slowly as the wind breezes them both. Terzo takes the chance to wrap his arm around her waist, she pulls the man into another sloppy kiss. It feels as if it lasts forever.

After a few more minutes ,Terzo leads her back down and sends her home privately with his car.

—

‘’You tell me that you didn’t have sex with him?’’ Cirrus changes her robe into one of her lace pyjama. She also seems to have a cheeky smile on her face.

‘’Goodness no! It’s…it’s just a kiss.’’ Copia blushes as she settles back into the pillows, watching the tv.

‘’Hmm A kiss? I’m pretty sure i can count many other kisses in there’’ Sunshine counts with her fingers.

‘’Will you see him again?’’ This time Cumulus leans in curiously, her blue eyes twinkling.

Copia smiles as she bites her lips. ‘’Si, I hope so.’’

#the jazz band ghost #copiiia #c3 #ask prompt

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mlimby · 2 years

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JJBA Character Model Studies/Analysis (only Part 5)

Hi, this post is just me praising the art direction in the “Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure” fighting games “Eyes of Heaven” and “All Star Battle”. Don’t know if this has been done before but I’ve been thinking about this so much.

One thing I love about the character design in these games is that they avoid same-face-syndrome. Each character is given unique facial features AND retains their part’s art style “quirk”, I guess you could call it, that anime/manga sometimes struggles with (due to the nature of the genre.) This is the closest to canon appearance descriptors that we are going to get that are not the basic things like height, hair color, eye color, etc. I’m talking like face shapes and whatnot.

Since the Part 5 cast are my favorites, I’m going to be using them as my examples. Yes, I am starved of Part 5 content.

Each image I use is going to be from a GTA 3 mod page (which I will source at the end of this post cause don’t you want to play as them in GTA?) since it’s the clearest and most consistent set of close up images I could find lol.

Giorno:

Round, hooded(?), soulful, watery, wet beast eyes (his iris and pupils take up most of the space in his eyes)

Winner of wettest most watery eyes on the team

Very angled, blocked in eyebrows

Heart shaped face (widest at the forehead with pointy chin) very much emphasized by his cornet hair

Square jaw

Big ole rounded ears that stick out (Second biggest ears on team)

Slightly wider nose relative to the width of his mouth but overall balanced facial features

The way his suit is modeled gives him kind of a blocky appearance and make his limbs look shorter

Short fingers

In all, they gave him a very rounded/blunt appearance

I don’t believe in kibbe typing but, Soft Natural

Bucciarati:

Horizontally long, almond shaped eyes with visible double eyelid (smaller iris and pupils leave most of the white showing)

Has the second driest eyes on the team (only behind Mista)

Super thin, straight eyebrows that are more filled in towards the front (probably drew them on)

Thinner, oval face shape I think (pulls off the blunt bangs and bob cut very well good for him!)

Has a wider mouth and super full lips

Thin and long nose (emphasizing longer mid face makes him look more mature)

He got small bones

Well tailored suit (compared to Giorno’s somewhat ill fitted modified school uniform)

Long, slender fingers

Sleek, modern, and sharp impression

Probably Dramatic Classic lol

Fugo

Round/almond shaped eyes with visible double eyelid (smaller iris and pupils with most of the white showing)

Very long, angled, eyebrows but not as fat as Giorno’s

I’d like to say he has an oblong face shape plus IMAX forehead (sorry)

More v shaped jaw most similar to Bucciarati

Similar facial feature placement to Bucciarati but has a slightly more rounded nose tip and a not as pinched nose bridge

Big ole hands and fingers

Lanky teenage boy archetype

Very rectangular but slightly more blunt than sharp

Flamboyant Natural or straight up Dramatic probably

Narancia

Big round eyes with visible double eye lid but his iris and pupil still leave a lot of white showing (biggest eyes on team)

Big ears like huge ears (biggest ears on team)

Really thick and noticeable bottom lashes

Second place for most watery eyes on the team (I’d describe them as more sparkly and alert than watery I suppose)

Thin but angled eyebrows

Oval face shape but no sharp or hard edges just round (retains the most facial baby fat)

V shaped/rounded jaw but not as defined

Lips similar in proportion to Giorno’s but with a more defined cupid’s bow

Shorter limbs

Smaller hands with smaller fingers

He’s not short! He’s compact!

He’s like a small rock to me just all muscle but thin

Like how monkeys have super compact muscles that make their limbs appear thin but they’re actually super strong and can do unspeakable damage

Flamboyant Gamine

I’ll add more of the team in a later reblog of this post or a separate one I don’t know.

Image Sources: (all by Alessandar212)

#jojo’s bizarre adventure #jojo no kimyou na bouken #jojo part 5 #jjba #jjba part 5 #giorno giovanna #vento aureo #golden wind #bruno bucciarati #pannacotta fugo #narancia ghirga #mlramble #jjba analysis #wall of text #text post #personal

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the-haunted-office · 2 years

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( @thenarrator385 - Continued from here!)

“What’ll we do with the money?” Thursday’s eyes light up. She is only too happy to oblige with sharing her ideas, especially when it comes to her partner-in-crime! “Well, first we’re gonna put it all down on the floor somewhere. Make a nice, big, comfy bed of money. Then we’re gonna roll around in it like a couple of idiots - except we aren’t idiots, we’re GENIUSES, because this whole idea is nothing short of BRILLIANT. Then we’re gonna pick it all back up and put it back into whatever bags we took it out of - unless it was delivered to us in boxes, it’s just that- usually these kinds of exchanges are done with those big suspicious black duffel bags, right? Then, we go see how much we can put into the vending machine before it tell us to fuck off. After that? Who knows! We’ll do whatever we want! Maybe start by making some cool papier-mâché with the cash.”

After her explanation, she laughs a little bit and claps her hands along with him.

“We’re gonna do so well here, Elliot! I just know it! Victor and Cyrus hate each other’s guts, and we’re gonna get to watch it all unfold, hehehehe.”

Thursday takes his cue adjusting his suit to adjust her own too. They can never be too perfect, can they? Gotta make sure that each little crease is lying just the right way to communicate that certain special law-abiding pizzazz to any passersby.

She grins back at him. “All right, the plan. Here’s what I propose.”

“First, we need to get you into my control booth,” she explains, and as she does she is gesturing a lot with her hands, making a lot of facial expressions, moving around, and is just plain very animated. “You’ve never been there before, but it’s not too difficult - as long as you don’t mind heights and climbing a really big ladder. And don’t worry about our suits! They’ll be fine, nothing a little brushing here and there won’t fix. Anyway, yeah, we get you into my and Cyrus’ control booth, and I’m sure that we’ll be able to, um, convince him to leave, you know, persuade him, give him a gentle nudge. Definitely nothing to do with threatening him. No, we don’t want to make him too suspicious, do we? I’m sure our combined presence alone will be enough to convince him to leave.”

“After that, he’ll go down the ladder. Now, to get downstairs into the main office area from there, he’ll have to get into the elevator. Here’s where we’ll be trapping our first, ah, client. See, we have to trap Cyrus first, because from the control booth he can see everything. If we try to trap Victor first, then Cyrus will see that and then we’ll just be stuck listening to him bitch and moan the whole time about it without a snowball’s chance in hell of getting any money out of either party. Not to mention not getting to see them tear into each other.”

“So! After we’ve done that, we’ll need to call Victor over to my office. We can do that from my computer. Does Victor have a computer? If so, we can send him a message from mine telling him, I don’t know, that he’s the 1,000,000th visitor to his email account and that he’s won a free iPod Nano as a result. He’ll fall for it, I’m sure, based on what you said about him being stupid, ehehehe.”

“We’ll give him explicit directions on where to meet us so that he may receive his free iPod Nano, and of course those directions will lead him into the elevator where Cyrus is waiting.”

“Now, the tricky part is making sure that Victor actually gets into the elevator with Cyrus, as I am certain the moment he sees him he’s not gonna want to go in. So, I suggest we plant an actual iPod Nano on Cyrus before he leaves the control booth. We’ll have to make it so it’s obvious to anybody looking for it, but not obvious to Cyrus himself. So- maybe we’ll tape it onto his back or something. I think it could work. I’ll give him a good ol’ pat on the back as he leaves, he’ll never suspect a thing.”

“Anyway, when Victor sees that iPod, he’s gonna probably lunge for it. I mean, it’s free! And it’s his! He won it fair and square simply by checking his email! He’s not gonna just walk away without getting what he came all that way for! No way! So he’s gonna get into the elevator with Cyrus at that point. If Cyrus happens to be facing in the wrong direction and Victor doesn’t see it, well, we’ll get on the ol’ microphone and announce that the prize is actually in the elevator and that Cyrus stole it or something. That’ll make Victor even more mad and get in there to get it, and also more likely to cause the two of them to fight.”

“And that’s when I’ll close the elevator on them and stop it from working. Ahahahahahaha!” Thursday rears back in her best villain laugh. “What do you think, Elliot? You ready to give it a go, or do you have another plan or thoughts? Hahahahaha!”

#thenarrator385 #BCS AU #hheehehehehhehe #in my mind all this laughter in the comments sounds like beavis and butthead

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eepy-pleepy · 3 years

Text

It’s Not Everest (No Vacancy)

The neon “NO” is hidden behind an overgrown shrub, so Dean pulls the Impala into the motel parking lot before they can see that it is, in fact, lit.

“Awesome.” Dean says in a tone that clearly doesn’t think so, and whips the car around to pull back onto the dark road. They immediately hit a pothole and Sam’s head bumps the ceiling.

“Ow, wait, Dean, we didn't go check with the office, maybe they just left the sign lit because they can’t freaking see it–”

“No, Sam, every goddamn motel in this godless town is full up and I don’t particularly feel like walking into another musty fucking office just to have them tell me I need to learn how to read. It’s too damn late, I’m too damn tired, I’m just gonna find a pull-off where the cops won’t feel the need to be our 5AM wake-up call and we’re sleeping in Baby. Fuck it.” He emphasizes the last sentence by throwing the car into park, all seventeen feet of shiny black metal successfully hidden behind a bank of tall, scraggly shrubs off the shoulder of the road. Dean kills the engine and the early summer evening rises to fill the silence with the musical stylings of several hundred crickets.

“Dean.”

“We’ve done it before, Sam.”

“I know we have. What about Cas?”

Dean looks over at the passenger’s side. Sitting shotgun, Cas looks back at him, his eyes just a dark glint in the moonlight.

“I can just... keep watch outside.” He says.

“Bad fucking idea.” Dean snaps. “I wake up in the middle of the night and see you out there lurking, I might shoot you between the eyes. You’re staying in the damn car.”

“Dean, there’s not enough roo–”

“Look, Sammy, passing out is passing out, sitting or lying down. This is a molehill, not Everest. I just need my four hours, damn.”

Dean crams up against the driver’s side door, crossing his arms over his chest, leaning his bent knees against the back of the seat between himself and Cas. He’ll worry about bootprints on the leather upholstery when he isn’t so fucking exhausted.

“Jerk.” Sam mutters from the backseat, almost inaudible.

“Goodnight, bitch.”

“Goodnight, Dean. Sam.” Cas murmurs.

“Don’t make it weird, Cas.”

"Goodnight, Cas."

"Thank you, Sam."

Dean gives a little huff through his nose. Cas folds his hands in his lap and turns his head forward to watch the fireflies.

Dean doesn’t like it when Cas watches him sleep. Cas knows this.

But if he doesn't want eyes on him, he shouldn’t be drawing so much attention to himself. This is the fourth time inside of an hour that he’s shifted around, clearly uncomfortable with his sleeping arrangement, six feet of full-grown man trying to figure out how to make three feet work for him.

It's clearly not working out.

Dean's head has fallen against Castiel’s arm. He’s snoring gently, Cas can feel his breath warm through the sleeve of his trench coat.

He shuts his eyes. Pulls his focus down to just this, the upper lefthand side of his body. Feels the weight of Dean's head, the unyielding shape of his skull, the softness of his cheek. Cas turns his head towards him, just to better assess the situation. Not at all to feel the soft tickle of Dean’s hair against his nose and lips. That’s just an... accidental consequence.

Cas feels too big for his own skin. It’s something a multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent should be entirely familiar with, but this isn't the feeling of cramming a Chrysler building into a 5-foot-11-inch frame.

This is bigger than that.

The slump of Dean’s body across the seat means that his head is the only thing supported, and it has his neck at a bad angle. If Dean's an angry sleeper, he's even worse with a crick in his neck and Cas doesn't love the idea of being stuck in a car with that tomorrow. He can't pull Dean more flush against his side without the risk of waking him and sending him into a conniption of bruised heterosexuality, so instead, he carefully lifts his arm. It works perfectly: Dean slides forward, falling to lying down with his head in Cas' lap.

The effect is immediate. The uncomfortable pinch between Dean's brows smooths away and he takes a deep, slow breath, settling against his new pillow and sinking into an easier sleep.

Cas hasn't realized he's smiling, yet. It's a tiny, soft thing, the one he gets when he's looking at something precious.

He is.

The moonlight catches the sweep of Dean's eyelashes, the top of his cheek, the shell of his ear, gilding them silver. His lips are parted, plush and dark in the contrast of the pale light. He's slightly curled up on the bench seat and Cas knows it's to fit the small space but that doesn't mean it's not the most fucking endearing thing he's ever seen.

The short hair over Dean's ear is mussed from the way he was slumped like a grumpy turtle past the collars of his shirt and jacket. Delicate, Cas brushes it right again.

Dean shifts, pressing up into his ghost of a touch. Cas draws back, afraid he's been caught doing something definitely not on Dean's approved list of Things Just Friends Do, but Dean doesn't wake. Cas' hand hovers.

He shouldn't. He should return to looking out of the front windshield and prepare the diffusion for when Dean wakes up to find himself sleeping in Cas' lap. That's what he should do.

The trouble is, nothing short of a fucking catastrophe could pull his eyes away from this. Dean is so beautiful, so calm and easy in his slumber, and he's right here, safe and close and warm. Literally right in his lap.

Cas pets Dean's hair, feeling that dangerous constriction again, something so huge and profound it might very well burst him. Dean sleeps on.

"You should tell him."

Sam's voice from the backseat is so quiet it's barely a whisper, but it startles Cas like a gunshot. He turns his head a margin to find Sam watching him, head and shoulders against the back driver's side door, arms crossed over his chest.

"Did you say something?" Cas tries, matching Sam's barely-there whisper.

"You heard me."

"Tell him what?"

"You love him."

Cas turns his head further so he's not just looking at Sam out of his periphery. There's nothing accusatory in Sam's tone, quiet as it is, or in his posture, cramped as it may be. He looks back at Cas with nothing but the same easy camaraderie he's always shown him, like they're discussing a good book or the lovely weather, not a complete paradigm shift.

In his lap, Dean tucks one hand under Cas' thigh and nuzzles his face deeper against the fabric of his pants. Cas looks down at him again and feels ready to explode into several new galaxies.

"I can't." He breathes.

"Why not?"

"You know your brother, Sam.” Cas says, unable to stop himself from stroking light fingers through Dean’s hair again. “And I’m happy. I refuse to risk losing him in pursuit of something I don’t need from him.”

“You’re right, I do know my brother. Probably better than he’d like to believe.” Sam says. “And I think he might surprise you, given the chance.”

Cas looks back at Sam like he wants to argue, but then just closes his mouth, his jaw bunching. Sam gives a little shrug and sits forward, reaching behind himself for the door handle.

“Just some, uh… food for thought.” He says. “I’m gonna hit the head. I’ll take my time. No particular reason.”

“Sam.”

But Sam’s already unfolding out into the night air, the car rocking as his weight shifts. The crickets are suddenly much louder, invading their little bubble of quiet. In Cas’ lap, Dean twitches.

Sam shuts the car door and Dean sits bolt upright. His gun, dropped in the footwell before he fell asleep, is in his grasp in a blink.

“Sam's just gone to relieve his bladder.” Cas says next to him. Dean squints at him and sniffs, wiping at his groggy eyes, then flicks the safety back on. The gun hits the footwell again with a dull thunk.

"God. Like a damn cashew. You'd think with all that height there'd be more... storage."

Cas is carefully looking forward, and not at the red mark on Dean’s cheek that’s the same shape as the warm spot rapidly cooling on his thigh. Dean rubs at that side of his face.

“Was I…?” He clears his throat. “Uh.”

“Asleep? Yes. I thought that was the idea.”

“Lying on you.”

“You needed to stretch out.”

Dean gives a frustrated sigh. “No, Cas, man, that’s your personal space. You should have shoved me off.”

“It was easier on your neck.” Cas says, still looking straight ahead. “You weren’t bothering me.”

“That’s not the point. You gotta have boundaries.”

“What’s mine is yours, Dean. I have no qualms sharing everything I have with you.”

Dean scoffs, leaning forward over the steering wheel and tilting to pop his spine. “Jesus. You ol’ romantic.”

Cas turns his head to look at Dean. The slightly uncomfortable smirk slowly slips off of Dean’s face. His eyes drop to Cas' lips before he catches himself, and he makes a weak attempt to laugh the charge out of the air between them.

“Man, you gotta figure out your levels. Last person who looked at me like that had me thinking marriage."

“Dean, why do you say things like that?”

Dean’s shoulders shove up under his ears. “You turn eyes like that on some innocent girl she’s gonna up and devote her entire life to you, Cas, I’m just letting you know you gotta tone it down!”

“Why would I turn eyes like this on some innocent girl?”

“Because you’re doin’ it to me like you think it’s a normal thing to do!”

“Dean, maybe you need to figure out how to receive a signal without assuming the other person isn't aware of what they're broadcasting." Cas snaps, then subsides as something like fear flickers across his face.

Dean’s jaw hangs uselessly for a stunned moment.

"Cas. You–"

Cas watches him in the manner of a gazelle waiting for a sudden deadly movement. Dean's gaze flits to Cas’ lips again.

"You. Uh." He says eloquently, and his tongue darts out in a nervous motion. This makes his lips impossible to ignore, shiny and wet in the moonlight.

“It's not Everest." Cas whispers.

"It kinda fuckin' is." Dean says, hoarse.

“Forget it. You should go back to sleep.” Cas says, reaching towards Dean with two fingers. It’s his fighter’s instinct that makes Dean grab them before they can touch his forehead, but it’s something else entirely that bunches his other hand in the front of Cas’ coat and yanks him forward. Cas tumbles gracelessly on top of Dean, and Dean doesn’t give either of them time to think.

At the first touch of Dean’s lips, Cas melts. A tiny sound escapes him, not quite a sigh, not quite a moan, and he’s grasping Dean’s shoulder like it’s the only thing preventing him from falling into the footwell. Their mouths part with a soft, wet noise and Cas meets Dean’s eyes, almost too close to focus on.

His arm is pressed across Dean’s chest from his fall. He can feel Dean’s heartbeat, galloping like an outlaw with the sheriff on his tail, and he understands the feeling.

“Dean.” He croaks.

“Yeah.”

“Do that again.”

Dean nuzzles their noses together, nudges Cas’ mouth in a barely-there brush of lips. Cas touches Dean’s face, dizzy with it, feeling stubble rough on the skin of Dean's jaw. He presses forward, holding Dean’s face like the beloved thing it is, and kisses him reverently. Dean sinks against the door until he’s lying across the seats and shoves his arms up under Cas’ suit jacket, encircling his back.

The crickets play them a love song. It’s entirely lost on them.

When Sam returns, approaching the Impala with caution, he finds his brother asleep with his angel hugged against him like a large, man-shaped teddy bear. Cas glances up, clocking the motion of Sam leaning over to peer through the driver’s window, and there’s a smile on his face that Sam’s never seen on him before.

If happy was what he had been, then this? This is pure, unfiltered bliss.

Sam slides carefully into the back seat and shuts the door as gently as he can.

“I’ll save my I Told You So, but only because you look so cute.” He whispers.

“Sam.”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

Read on Ao3

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katsukikitten · 3 years

Text

Part one. Master list for plus one can be found here.

Just a nice fic I decided to write for fun. Please enjoy!

Asshole!

He was nothing but a huge, giant fucking ASSHOLE for the entire two years the two of you were dating and he decides NOW is a good time to break up with you?

Two days before your cousin's wedding and over TEXT MESSAGE?!

That fucking asshole.

He knew how you felt. Exactly how you felt about going alone to your cousin's wedding after your family begged to meet your boyfriend and teased you for "probably making him up." Which hell, he may as well have been made up considering how absent he was in the relationship. Using work as an excuse to come home late but forgetting to turn off his snap location when he showed up at the bar.

So you did what any rational woman in her upper twenties would do.

You drowned your sorrows in booze, tonight red wine as it was the only thing around, and you scrolled through your socials in hopes of distracting yourself from your suffering.

Alas the devil that is Instagram only amplified your sadness and irritation. Showing couple after couple, your friends on hikes kissing on the mountain top, kissing in the flickering light of candles at a fancy dinner or, worst yet, getting proposed to. The video showing her in hysterics screaming, "YES I DO I DO!"

And it feels terrible to feel this way. Especially about your friends, the people you love and want to support, still it stings. You hadn't told anyone about the breakup, you weren't even sure your friends even remembered that asshole's name.

A teardrop lands on your screen, magnifying all the magical lights of the led beneath the glad. You wipe away the tear and with that the feed refreshes. A new post has come in at the top, Res Riot's official account.

Kirishima stands with a fat white cat in his arms. He dwarfs the animal with his large stature that looks larger as he still has his Red Riot gear on. The caption reads something along the lines of "missed my precious baby."

Red wine is a dangerous thing as your body acts on its own. You go to his page to hit the little arrow to DM him. Typing out and backspacing your message as you struggle from the booze, you decide to say fuck it and use the voice memo feature. Before you know it your sniffling voice is playing back to you after you've hit send.

"My ex broke up with me before this stupid wedding. It's in two days and my family is going to roast me big time when I show up alone. They think I made that asshole up. I don't know why I'm even in your dms. Your account is probably run by some dick head who can't even capture your kindness. I guess I'm here cause my first thought seeing you on my timeline was Red Riot has always been my hero…"

Ugh totally fucking cringe.

There is no surprise as you see the three normally ominous dots pop up, probably his social media manager about to ask you to stop your "advances" as Kirishima is too busy to date and he'd hate to block you or some other bullshit.

But there it is a surprise to see a little bubble with the play button and some vertical lines in various heights. It takes your sluggish brain a moment to realize you've been sent a voice memo. Odd. Your thumb smashes the screen faster than you can think and a deep voice rumbles through the speakers of your phone.

"Actually I run my official and personal socials. And I'm sorry to hear about your ex doll. He sounds like a real ass. I'll be your hero, I'll go with you to the wedding."

Your heart stutters, no way, no way in HELL this was Red Riot. You had read about the horror stories before or pervy account managers taking advantage of women who so desperately wanted to talk to their hero.

Hell, it's happened to Dynamight plenty of times.

You swallow quickly but the bile rushes up your throat. Not just from the anxiety of a possible con but from drinking an entire bottle of wine with nothing on your stomach after months of sobriety. Quickly you stumble to the bathroom, abandoning your phone on your bed. You barely make it in time to praise the porcelain Gods before you fall onto your back. Looking up at the light in your cramped bathroom, the orb doubles and spins as you feel the Earth turning on its axis. You curl into your side using your bathmat as a pillow as you drift off into sleep, totally forgetting about the voice memo on your phone.

As you sleep peacefully on your memory foam bath rug, Kirishima settles into his nightly routine. One giant hand grabbing strands of long dark red hair into a towel while another sits snugly around his Adonis belt and the thick, black happy trail that follows up the center of his abs before spreading out onto his chest. He tosses the towel over the open door of the bathroom before sitting in his favorite armchair with phone in hand. Diamond, his beautiful white cat he rescued a few years ago, jumps onto the arm of the chair, purring loudly when Kirishima's free hand scratches her ears absentmindedly.

He chuckles to himself as he realizes exactly what he's done. Acting on a feeling instead of logic all because he heard a "damsel in distress." Starting off his rare vacation with spontaneity starting with an impromptu date with a stranger. He really isn't sure what you look like and it's obvious your handle doesn't have your real name in it, just PrincessPeach with some random numbers at the end. He takes the time to scroll through your profile. Seeing pictures of food, of many sunsets, a friend's dog that guest appears often, your own cat and plenty of strays.

It takes him a while before he sees a photo of you. His heart stutters in his chest as he looks you over. Laughing with a friend, soft lighting from strings over head that blur like little fireflies. Your smile is wide, half hidden by your hands as your eyes seem to smile with you. Sparkling as if they held stars.

For a moment Kirishima forgets how to breathe, it isn't until Diamond jumps down from the armchair does he inhale. He smiles softly to himself before he drops his towel, puts his phone on charge and promptly falls asleep in his bed.

Kirishima rises before the sun even has a chance to filter through his blinds. He sighs softly, getting up to a sitting position disturbing a fluffy white ball that lays beside him.

"Mmrow." Moon stone eyes blink slowly as they look at the mountainous man hogging the bed.

"I didn't mean to wake you sweet baby." He says softly, going to pet the soft white fur only for her to get up stretch and give him her butt before plopping back down.

"I know, mean ol' daddy woke you up too early again." He says softly, his hand falling onto her back before he rises from the bed. Fishing for his running shorts, socks, headphones and shoes. He makes his protein shake, leaning on the counter as he drinks it, looking at how you read, or better yet, listened to his message but still no reply. It was late and there was a small slurring of your words, he figures you've passed out. He just hopes you're okay.

His run goes as usual, up before anyone else unless they were the normal avid runner. Passing by the usual array of people. An old man holding onto his youth by jogging through his daily five mile morning run, Kirishima knows he runs another five in the evening while the sun is setting. He hopes he can embody some of this man's commitment when he is older. Then he passes a middle aged woman, who gives him the biggest smile as she pases, jogging backward to send him a wink before plowing ahead. Occasionally he'll see a running group or a few teens training to be heroes, they always ask if they can run his route. "It's long." He always warns in a kind, warm voice. They assure him they will be fine so far only one other person could handle his 12 mile morning run. A young woman in her second year of hero courses at UA. Since then Kirishima put in a word with his boss and so every time internships roll around she's in the office.

By the time Kirishima is rounding back towards his high rise apartment, the city begins to stir. Slowly waking as men and women in business suits rush towards the train, parents flinging open the doors or curtains fussing at their children who cling to an extra few minutes of sleep before school.

This was always his favorite part of the run, not because it was almost over, oh no it was because he had a chance to glimpse at everyday life. Of nine to fives, of school hours and after school hangs outs at snack bars or the library.

What most would call the mundane but Kirishima would never call it that. It's why he worked so hard to protect it.

Diamond greets his sweaty form at the door. Glaring angrily with her moon stone eyes. Tail swishing before she goes to the kitchen by her bowl. Waiting impatiently.

"I'm not late, sweet cheeks." He coos, and she glares, "I know I know. You're hungry now."

He opens the fridge, gets out the highest quality food there is and places it on her dish, sure to keep it all in the middle or she'll claim her bowl was empty. He added a splash of water too since the weather was starting to get hot.

He sucks down a water or two, demolishes a protein bar and then heads to the apartment gym.

A few hours roll by and without hearing from you yet his worry over your well being begins to cloud the forefront of his mind. He pauses his music, picks up his phone and talks out a voice memo.

A loud DING echoes from your room and around your skull as you rise with a throbbing headache.

"Fuck." You hiss to yourself grabbing at your head as you shakily rise to your feet. Yanking the handle of the faucet to drink from the stream before looking at yourself in the mirror.

"Ugh." You grunt ignoring your swollen face and eyes, yanking the mirror door open to snatch at the bottle of aspirin. Swallowing THREE extra strength pills before slamming the door shut and turning off the faucet. You make your way towards your bedroom, more than ready to sleep the rest of your day away. Grabbing at your phone to charge it you see the push notification of an Instagram message from Red Riot.

The fucking Red Riot.

Internally you scream before it bubbles up your throat and escapes. You fumble to unlock your phone before looking that it's a voice memo.

Mortified you realize you sent one too. And first at that.

"Fuck MEEE!" You plop onto the bed. Nervous this second voice memo is probably about how you're a weirdo or something as you relive the memory of asking him to be your plus one.

Hesitantly your thumb hovers over the play button before you find the strength to press the cool glass. A soft thunderous voice plays out.

"Good morning sleepy head. I haven't heard from you yet, I hope you're okay. Be sure to drink some water and eat something greasy. Trust me, late nights with Denki and Bakugou taught me something. Since the wedding is tomorrow I'll need a picture of your dress for the color and style so I can match you Sweet pea. Contact me soon so I can know where to pick you up."

Did he… did he just call you SWEET PEA? Your heart pounds in your chest before it registers he's asked for your dress color and lowkey asked for your address. This couldn't be real. It sounded like Kirishima, his voice familiar from interviews you've watched but it very well could be a prank. Defeated you hit the small microphone and reply.

Kirishima hears a sharp DING in his headphones over his music as he finishes his set. He wipes the sweat from his face on his shirt giving the few people in the gym a lovely view of his sweaty and thick torso. One woman trips on the treadmill but it goes unnoticed by Kirishima. He pauses his music and hits play on the little memo. Your beautiful yet groggy voice comes in through his ear buds causing Kirishima to bite his lip. It causes such a flutter of butterflies in his stomach he has to listen a second time to actually hear what you said. Although he understand, he cannot help but feel hurt by your reply.

"How do I know you're not just some pervy guy using Kirishima's Godly looks to prey on unsuspecting people."

Your phone chirps at you from the bed stand and you growl reaching for it. You had hoped your message would have been clear. An unspoken of you know they're a fucking creep taking advantage of their PR job.

"What can I do to prove it to you, Sweet Pea?"

You hate how that cute nickname sends your heart into a somersault and your stomach in delightful knots. Still your doubt pulls a harsh tut from your lips before you reply.

Kirishima doesn't need his phone to alert him that you've messaged him, he's been looking at his screen for far to long without having to restart his set. He listens to your voice as if it were music.

"Fine, you wanna prove it to me so bad. Take a picture of yourself shirtless with the word 'Sweet pea' you love so much and send it to me. No photoshop I know what my favorite hero looks like!"

For over an hour you don't hear back and you figure you showed that perv.

But now you can't sleep so you nurse a water, door dash a "greasy" breakfast all before cranking your shower as high as it can go. Your phone dings and you try to ignore it. You really do but as the saying goes curiosity killed the cat. Opening the message you see a classic guy mirror selfie. Kirishima is clear as day in the photo, his large hand pointing to his bare, hairy chest where sweat pea is scrawled in his adorable handwriting. He winks at the camera as his kissable lips wear a dangerous, almost cocky eyes travel down his bulk following his happy trail that dives under a pair of black shorts, the best part of the view getting cut off by the vanity. At first you try to rationalize that this was fake but damning evidence was sitting on the vanity. A fluffy white cat in a diamond and ruby encrusted collar sits on the counter giving her owner an odd look.

His cat Diamond that everyone knows he loves and adores. Slick begins to collect between your thighs and especially so after you listen to the voice memo that comes through shortly after. His normally friendly and soft voice comes out a bit dark, husky as he says in a playfully annoyed tone.

"Now send me a picture of that dress, Sweet Pea."

#kirishima x reader #kirishima eijirou x reader #bnha x reader

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mcmansionhell · 3 years

Text

Underground, Part 1

[Author’s Note: A year ago, when waiting for the DC Metro, I came up with an idea for a short story involving two realtors and the infamous Las Vegas Underground House, typed up an outline, and shoved it away in my documents where it sat neglected until this month. The house recently resurfaced on Twitter, and combined with almost a year of quarantine, the story quickly materialized. Though I rarely write fiction, I decided I’d give it a shot as a kind of novelty McMansion Hell post. I’ve peppered the story with photos from the house to break up the walls of text. Hopefully you find it entertaining. I look forward to returning next month with the second installment of this as well as our regularly scheduled McMansion content. Happy New Year!

Warning: there’s lots of swearing in this.]

Underground

Back in 1997, Mathieu Rino, the son of two Finnish mechanical engineers who may or may not have worked intimately with the US State Department, changed his name to Jay Renault in order to sell more houses. It worked wonders.

He gets out of the car, shuts the door harder than he should. Renault wrinkles his nose. It’s a miserable Las Vegas afternoon - a sizzling, dry heat pools in ripples above the asphalt. The desert is a place that is full of interesting and diverse forms of life, but Jay’s the kind of American who sees it all as empty square-footage. He frowns at the dirt dusting up his alligator-skin loafers but then remembers that every lot, after all, has potential. Renault wipes the sweat from his leathery face, slicks back his stringy blond hair and adjusts the aviators on the bridge of his nose. The Breitling diving watch crowding his wrist looks especially big in the afternoon glare. He glances at it.

“Shit,” he says. The door on the other side of the car closes, as though in response.

If Jay Renault is the consummate rich, out-of-touch Gen-Xer trying to sell houses to other rich, out-of-touch Gen-Xers, then Robert Little is his millennial counterpart. Both are very good at their jobs. Robert adjusts his tie in the reflection of the Porsche window, purses his lips. He’s Vegas-showman attractive, with dark hair, a decent tan, and a too-bright smile - the kind of attractive that ruins marriages but makes for an excellent divorcee. Mildly sleazy.

“Help me with these platters, will you?” Renault gestures, popping the trunk. Robert does not want to sweat too much before an open house, but he obliges anyway. They’re both wearing suits. The heat is unbearable. A spread of charcuterie in one hand, Jay double-checks his pockets for the house keys, presses the button that locks his car.

Both men sigh, and their eyes slowly trail up to the little stucco house sitting smack dab in the center of an enormous lot, a sea of gravel punctuated by a few sickly palms. The house has the distinct appearance of being made of cardboard, ticky-tacky, a show prop. Burnt orange awnings don its narrow windows, which somehow makes it look even more fake.

“Here we go again,” Jay mutters, fishing the keys out of his pocket. He jiggles them until the splintered plywood door opens with a croak, revealing a dark and drab interior – dusty, even though the cleaners were here yesterday. Robert kicks the door shut with his foot behind him.

“Christ,” he swears, eyes trailing over the terrible ecru sponge paint adorning the walls. “This shit is so bleak.”

The surface-level house is mostly empty. There’s nothing for them to see or attend to there, and so the men step through a narrow hallway at the end of which is an elevator. They could take the stairs, but don’t want to risk it with the platters. After all, they were quite expensive. Renault elbows the button and the doors part.

“Let’s just get this over with,” he says as they step inside. The fluorescent lights above them buzz something awful. A cheery metal sign welcomes them to “Tex’s Hideaway.” Beneath it is an eldritch image of a cave, foreboding. Robert’s stomach’s in knots. Ever since the company assigned him to this property, he’s been terrified of it. He tells himself that the house is, in fact, creepy, that it is completely normal for him to be ill at ease. The elevator’s ding is harsh and mechanical. They step out. Jay flips a switch and the basement is flooded with eerie light.

It’s famous, this house - The Las Vegas Underground House. The two realtors refer to it simply as “the bunker.” Built by an eccentric millionaire at the height of Cold War hysteria, it’s six-thousand square feet of paranoid, aspirational fantasy. The first thing anyone notices is the carpet – too-green, meant to resemble grass, sprawling out lawn-like, bookmarked by fake trees, each a front for a steel beam. Nothing can grow here. It imitates life, unable to sustain it. The leaves of the ficuses seem particularly plastic.

Bistro sets scatter the ‘yard’ (if one can call it that), and there’s plenty of outdoor activities – a parquet dance floor complete with pole and disco ball, a putt putt course, an outdoor grill made to look like it’s nestled in a rock, but in reality better resembles a baked potato. The pool and hot tub, both sculpted in concrete and fiberglass mimicking a natural rock formation, are less Playboy grotto and more Fred Flintstone. It’s a very seventies idea of fun.

Then, of course, there’s the house. That fucking house.

A house built underground in 1978 was always meant to be a mansard – the mansard roof was a historical inevitability. The only other option was International Style modernism, but the millionaire and his wife were red-blooded anti-Communists. Hence, the mansard. Robert thinks the house looks like a fast-food restaurant. Jay thinks it looks like a lawn and tennis club he once attended as a child where he took badminton lessons from a swarthy Czech man named Jan. It’s drab and squat, made more open by big floor-to-ceiling windows nestled under fresh-looking cedar shingles. There’s no weather down here to shrivel them up.

“Shall we?” Jay drawls. The two make their way into the kitchen and set the platters down on the white tile countertop. Robert leans up against the island, careful of the oversized hood looming over the electric stovetop. He eyes the white cabinets, accented with Barbie pink trim. The matching linoleum floor squeaks under his Italian loafers.

“I don’t understand why we bother doing this,” Robert complains. “Nobody’s seriously going to buy this shit, and the company’s out a hundred bucks for party platters.”

“It’s the same every time,” Renault agrees. “The only people who show up are Instagram kids and the crazies - you know, the same kind of freaks who’d pay money to see Chernobyl.”

“Dark tourism, they call it.”

Jay checks his watch again. Being in here makes him nervous.

“Still an hour until open house,” he mutters. “I wish we could get drunk.”

Robert exhales deeply. He also wishes he could get drunk, but still, a job’s a job.

“I guess we should check to see if everything’s good to go.”

The men head into the living room. The beamed, slanted ceiling gives it a mid-century vibe, but the staging muddles the aura. Jay remembers making the call to the staging company. “Give us your spares,” he told them, “Whatever it is you’re not gonna miss. Nobody’ll ever buy this house anyway.”

The result is eclectic – a mix of office furniture, neo-Tuscan McMansion garb, and stuffy waiting-room lamps, all scattered atop popcorn-butter shag carpeting. Hideous, Robert thinks. Then there’s the ‘entertaining’ room, which is a particular pain in the ass to them, because the carpet was so disgusting, they had to replace it with that fake wood floor just to be able to stand being in there for more than five minutes. There’s a heady stone fireplace on one wall, the kind they don’t make anymore, a hearth. Next to it, equally hedonistic, a full bar. Through some doors, a red-painted room with a pool table and paintings of girls in fedoras on the wall. It’s all so cheap, really. Jay pulls out a folded piece of paper out of his jacket pocket along with a pen. He ticks some boxes and moves on.

The dining room’s the worst to Robert. Somehow the ugly floral pattern on the curtains stretches up in bloomer-like into a frilly cornice, carried through to the wallpaper and the ceiling, inescapable, suffocating. It smells like mothballs and old fabric. The whole house smells like that.

The master bedroom’s the most normal – if anything in this house could be called normal. Mismatched art and staging furniture crowd blank walls. When someone comes into a house, Jay told Robert all those years ago, they should be able to picture themselves living in it. That’s the goal of staging.

There’s two more bedrooms. The men go through them quickly. The first isn’t so bad – claustrophobic, but acceptable – but the saccharine pink tuille wallpaper of the second gives Renault a sympathetic toothache. The pair return to the kitchen to wait.

Both men are itching to check their phones, but there’s no point – there’s no signal in here, none whatsoever. Renault, cynical to the core, thinks about marketing the house to the anti-5G people. It’s unsettlingly quiet. The two men have no choice but to entertain themselves the old-fashioned way, through small talk.

“It’s really fucked up, when you think about it,” Renault muses.

“What is?”

“The house, Bob.”

Robert hates being called Bob. He’s told Jay that hundreds of times, and yet…

“Yeah,” Robert mutters, annoyed.

“No, really. Like, imagine. You’re rich, you founded a major multinational company marketing hairbrushes to stay-at-home moms, and what do you decide to do with your money? Move to Vegas and build a fucking bunker. Like, imagine thinking the end of the world is just around the corner, forcing your poor wife to live there for ten, fifteen years, and then dying, a paranoid old man.” Renault finds the whole thing rather poetic.

“The Russkies really got to poor ol’ Henderson, didn’t they?” Robert snickers.

“The wife’s more tragic if you ask me,” Renault drawls. “The second that batshit old coot died, she called a guy to build a front house on top of this one, since she already owned the lot. Poor woman probably hadn’t seen sunlight in God knows how long.”

“Surely they had to get groceries.”

Jay frowns. Robert has no sense of drama, he thinks. Bad trait for a realtor.

“Still,” he murmurs. “It’s sad.”

“I would have gotten a divorce, if I were her,” the younger man says, as though it were obvious. It’s Jay’s turn to laugh.

“I’ve had three of those, and trust me, it’s not as easy as you think.”

“You’re seeing some new girl now, aren’t you?” Robert doesn’t really care, he just knows Jay likes to talk about himself, and talking fills the time.

“Yeah. Casino girl. Twenty-six.”

“And how old are you again?”

“None of your business.”

“Did you see the renderings I emailed to you?” Robert asks briskly, not wanting to discuss Jay’s sex life any further.

“What renderings?”

“Of this house, what it could look like.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Jay has not seen the renderings.

“If it were rezoned,” Robert continues, feeling very smart, “It could be a tourist attraction - put a nice visitor’s center on the lot, make it sleek and modern. Sell trinkets. It’s a nice parcel, close to the Strip - some clever investor could make it into a Museum of Ice Cream-type thing, you know?”

“Museum of Ice Cream?”

“In New York. It’s, not, like, educational or anything. Really, it’s just a bunch of colorful rooms where kids come to take pictures of themselves.”

“Instagram,” Jay mutters. “You know, I just sold a penthouse the other week to an Instagram influencer. Takes pictures of herself on the beach to sell face cream or some shit. Eight-point-two million dollars.”

“Jesus,” Robert whistles. “Fat commission.”

“You’re telling me. My oldest daughter turns sixteen this year. She’s getting a Mazda for Christmas.”

“You ever see that show, My Super Sweet Sixteen? On MTV? Where rich kids got, like, rappers to perform at their birthday parties? Every time at the end, some guy would pull up in, like, an Escalade with a big pink bow on it and all the kids would scream.”

“Sounds stupid,” Jay says.

“It was stupid.”

It’s Robert’s turn to check his watch, a dainty gold Rolex.

“Fuck, still thirty minutes.”

“Time really does stand still in here, doesn’t it?” Jay remarks.

“We should have left the office a little later,” Robert complains. “The charcuterie is going to get –“

A deafening sound roars through the house and a violent, explosive tremor throws both men on the ground, shakes the walls and everything between them. The power’s out for a few seconds before there’s a flicker, and light fills the room again. Two backup generators, reads Jay’s description in the listing - an appeal to the prepper demographic, which trends higher in income than non-preppers. For a moment, the only things either are conscious of are the harsh flourescent lighting and the ringing in their ears. Time slows, everything seems muted and too bright. Robert rubs the side of his face, pulls back his hand and sees blood.

“Christ,” he chokes out. “What the hell was that?”

“I don’t know,” Jay breathes, looking at his hands, trying to determine if he’s got a concussion. The results are inconclusive – everything’s slow and fuzzy, but after a moment, he thinks it might just be shock.

“It sounded like a fucking 747 just nosedived on top of us.”

“Yeah, Jesus.” Jay’s still staring at his fingers in a daze. “You okay?”

“I think so,” Robert grumbles. Jay gives him a cursory examination.

“Nothing that needs stitches,” he reports bluntly. Robert’s relieved. His face sells a lot of houses to a lot of lonely women and a few lonely men. There’s a muffled whine, which the two men soon recognize as a throng of sirens. Both of them try to calm the panic rising in their chests, to no avail.

“Whatever the fuck happened,” Jay says, trying to make light of the situation, “At least we’re in here. The bunker.”

Fear forms in the whites of Robert’s eyes.

“What if we’re stuck in here,” he whispers, afraid to speak such a thing into the world. The fear spreads to his companion.

“Try the elevator,” Jay urges, and Robert gets up, wobbles a little as his head sorts itself out, and leaves. A moment later, Jay hears him swear a blue streak, and from the kitchen window, sees him standing before the closed metal doors, staring at his feet. His pulse racing, Renault jogs out to see for himself.

“It’s dead,” Robert murmurs.

“Whatever happened,” Jay says cautiously, rubbing the back of his still-sore neck, “It must have been pretty bad. Like, I don’t think we should go up yet. Besides, surely the office knows we’re still down here.”

“Right, right,” the younger man breathes, trying to reassure himself.

“Let’s just wait it out. I’m sure everything’s fine.” The way Jay says it does not make Robert feel any better.

“Okay,” the younger man grumbles. “I’m getting a fucking drink, though.”

“Yeah, Jesus. That’s the best idea you’ve had all day.” Renault shoves his hands in his suit pocket to keep them from trembling.

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#architecture #design #fiction #las vegas #underground house

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anonymous-tals · 3 years

Text

Oops, I projected my mental health issues onto a fictional character that is similar to me. Time to write fanfiction, I guess!

TW: Eating Disorders. If you are struggling or are in recovery from an eating disorder, here’s a big ol’ trigger warning. There are no numbers or specifics about anything but it does center around Brad Bakshi of the show Mythic Quest struggling with his eating disorder.

This is not in an attempt to glamorize eating disorders(not that I wrote anything that would but just in case someone misinterprets this). Eating disorders are not cute or quirky. They are serious illnesses that lead to death. If you are struggling with an eating disorder, you deserve recovery. Please reach out for help to a trusted adult.

National Eating Disorder Association 1-800-931-2237

One last trigger warning for eating disorders before we begin! I hope the writing isn’t trash. If you have any critiques, feel free to comment them. I hope you enjoy the story(if this is cringey, future me, you have permission to murder me right now):

Brad’s eyes opened, squinting as he tried to adjust to the harsh lights. He looked around the room, confused as to where he was. After a couple of seconds, he identified the room as a hospital room. There was a lady sitting on a chair by the door reading a book. Adjusting himself, Brad slowly sat up, his head aching as he did. The lady perked up as she noticed Brad had awakened.

“Oh! You’re awake!”, she said, calmly, putting down her book.

“Where-Where am I?”, said Brad.

“You’re in the hospital, sir.” Brad looked around the room. The walls were a cool green. Typical nature photos shuffled through on a tv that was mounted on the wall in front of his bed as it waited to be used. There was a thin door that he guessed was either a bathroom or a closet. Brown cupboards lined the walls. He moved his arm only to notice there was a tube attached to it.

“What the hell happened?”, he thought. The previous day, or what he presumed to be the previous day, had been foggy. Well, pretty much everyday lately had been a blur.

“I’m going to go tell a nurse you’re awake so we can do weights and vitals.” A pang of fear struck him at the sound of the word weight. Someone else was going to see what he weighed. His thoughts were racing.

“Just take a deep breath.”, he thought. He tried to calm himself down by looking around the room. He noticed there was a card on the counter beneath the cabinets. Curiosity got the best of him and he stood up. Stars popped into his vision and he steadied himself before making his way to the counter. The tube was just barely long enough for him to reach it. The cover read, ‘Get well soon!’. Brad walked back to the hospital bed and sat on the edge of the mattress. “I wonder who it’s from?”, he thought, opening the card. “I can’t believe you are in the hospital! You appeared so healthy. Get well, soon, motu.”

“Brad Bakshi?”, a nurse called from the doorway. He looked up, tossing the card into a trash can by the bed. The lady who had been sitting in the room with him walked in and sat down again, opening her book. “Hello, I’m Amanda Armstrong and I’ll be your nurse today. Do you know why you’re here?”, she said.

“No.”, Brad replied, shortly.

“Well, you were brought here by…”, she looked down at a clipboard she was holding. “...Ian Grimm? Does that name sound familiar?”

“Yes, he’s my boss.” Brad kept his voice calm but his heart was starting to quicken. Memories from the day previous began to surface.

“Well, he said you had fainted while walking up a flight of stairs.” Brad’s calm demeanor cracked as the memories flooded back.

“Oh...yah. I remember that.”

“Yes, well, you got a concussion. Thankfully, it isn’t too bad.”

“When will I be getting out?”, Brad said, shaking away his feelings of anxiety.

“Well, let’s take your vitals first and then we can discuss that. Come with me.” Brad followed Amanda out into the hall. They didn’t walk for long but the environment made him feel uneasy. There was something surreal about it. Or maybe it was the fact that he felt a little light headed that made everything feel a bit off. “We’ll be in here.”, said Amanda, opening the door. Brad entered the room, surveying his surroundings. It looked like a typical room for check-ups. Amanda made her way to the computer sitting on the desk and started logging in and opening a file. “Ok, let’s do your vitals. I’m going to ask you to lay down and stay still, please!” She walked over to the wall where a weird machine stood. “I’m just going to put this on your arm, if you’d roll up your sleeve for me.” Brad rolled up his sleeve and she velcroed what appeared to be something relating to blood pressure. “Ok, I’m going to need you to answer honestly. Have you had any feelings of depression or sadness?”

“Excuse me?”, said Brad, startled, sitting up.

“Please lay down, Mr.Bakshi. Begrudgingly, Brad lay down.

“Why on earth are you asking me this?”, said Brad, frustrated.

“Well…”, she hesitated. “Ok, I’m going to be direct with you here. Your boss reported that you hadn’t been eating much and you have been appearing to be quite fatigued and dizzy. Right now, we’re doing your vitals to see what we’ll need to do.”

“Are you implying that I have an eating disorder? I’ll tell you right now that I don’t.”

“Well, the lanugo is telling a different story. Now, please, let’s go through the questions.” The nurse asked the questions while doing the vitals despite Brad giving short, passive aggressive answers.

“Ok, time for weight and height.” Brad's heart quickened.

“Do we have to?”

“I’m going to have you turn around. You won’t even see it!” He stepped onto the scale as he tried to hide his growing panic.

“You fat idiot. If you restricted more, maybe you wouldn’t be so anxious right now. You wouldn’t even be here, I bet! You fat, stupid, fatty-”

“Ok, you can step off!” The nurse's voice interrupted his thoughts and he stepped off the scale. Ok, let’s do your height.

She measured his height and then went over the computer and input the information.

“Ok. So, here’s what we’ve got going on here, Mr.Bakshi. Your vitals are showing symptoms of anorexia and so is your BMI.”

“BMI is garbage.”, Brad said dismissively.

“Well, that doesn’t disregard any of the other information. I can’t force you to do anything since you’re an adult but I would highly suggest going into inpatient care.”

“For the last time, I don’t have an eating disorder! Sorry, I care about my health! I thought losing weight was a good thing!” The nurse sighed before closing out of the tabs on the computer.

“Well, you can think it over during the next couple days. You’ll need to stay here to make sure your head is okay.” Rolling his eyes, Brad scoffed.

“Fine, whatever. My decision won’t change, though!”

They headed back to the room and Brad sat down on his bed. He stared at the tv. It had just faded to a picture of a monarch butterfly on a purple flower. His gaze travelled across the room until it fell onto the card he had thrown in the trash can.

“I bet I wouldn’t even get diagnosed with anything. I’m too fat. I need to be thinner. I’m not even that bad. I need to be that bad, though.” Just then, a sharp knock on the door halted his thoughts in their tracks. Brad looked up to see David standing at the doorway with a balloon and a gift bag.

“Great, just what I needed.”, said Brad, sarcastically.

“Nice to see you too, Brad.” Brad rolled his eyes in response. “The office was really worried about you! You sure took a tumble. Anyways, here’s a balloon! And a gift! Courtesy of your friends at the office!”

“Interesting. I didn’t consider you guys as friends.”, Brad replied coldly.

“What do you want me to say, then? Huh? Courtesy of everyone you annoy and pester?” Brad looked away, not responding. He was finding it harder and harder to keep his emotions hidden underneath.

“Listen, David. I don’t care about you guys and you guys don’t care about me and I’d like to keep it that way.”

“I’m sorry we’re decent enough human beings to care about other people.”

“Pshh, you don’t care about me. You just want to feel good about yourselves so you can feel like you’re a decent human being. So you can stop pretending you care about me because you don’t, ok? No one does.” His emotions were slipping through. He could feel his eyes welling up but he wouldn’t allow the tears to fall.

“Come on, Brad. Of course people care about you! Your brother for example! He’s a great guy! He threw you that awesome birthday party, remember?” Brad sat still, not responding. “Earth to Brad, anyone in there?”, David said, giving a small laugh.

“Shut up!” Brad shouted loudly, causing David to wince. “My brother is a horrible person. He has gone out of his way to ruin my life. In fact, he is ruining my life right now.” His voice cracked as a tear broke through.

“Brad, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize-”

“Just leave, ok? Please just leave.” Brad’s heart began to beat faster. “You idiot.”, he thought. “You let him see that you’re weak. You are weak. You’re just a fat, weak, pussy.” His breathing was getting quicker and quicker. The room started to spin. It felt like everything was happening all at once. Just then, he felt a hand on each of his shoulders.

“Take a deep breath, ok?”, said David. Brad hesitated before taking a deep breath in and letting it out. “In, 2, 3, 4. Out, 2, 3, 4. In, 2-” Slowly Brad began to calm down. He opened his eyes, not even realizing that he had closed them. “Better?”, asked David, taking a step back. Brad looked towards the window, avoiding eye contact, wiping the tears from his face. He tried to think of something witty to say but he was too tired. They were both quiet for a bit before David broke the silence. “Well, I have to go but I-”

“Stay. Please.” Brad didn’t break eye contact with the window.

“I...I guess I could stay.” David pulled up the chair that the lady had been in earlier. They sat there in silence for a while before David grabbed the remote for the TV. “Are you good with me putting something on?” Brad stayed quiet. “I’ll take that as a yes!” He scrolled through the small selection of movies before choosing something and relaxing into his chair.

…

They sat there for a while. Movies played while David talked about what had happened at the office that day. Poppy and Ian created an obstacle course to see who was better. Not better at one specific thing. Just better in general. Brad didn’t respond but every once in a while, a small smile would crack through.

“Well, it’s getting late so I think I should actually get going.”, David said, standing up and started walking out the door. Just before he left, Brad spoke.

“Thank you...for staying and all.” He, once again, wasn’t making eye contact.

“Of course, man. It’s no big deal!” There was a pause before Brad spoke again.

“They want me to do an inpatient program.”

“Oh? For…” David trailed off.

“Yah…” Brad started fidgeting with the corner of the blanket on the bed. “I don’t know what to do. Whether I should go or not.”

“Well, I’d say you should do what you think would benefit you best.”, said David, taking a couple steps towards him. Brad was silent.

“...Thanks, David.”

David gave a small wave as he walked out the door. Brad sat there awake for a while, unable to sleep. He sat there, listening to the sounds of the hospital through the door. A woman, presumably a nurse, poked her head in the room. “Would you like to order dinner?” Brad shook his head and the nurse left. He then spotted the gift bag that David had brought. He picked it up and removed the tissue paper stuffed in at the top. Inside there was a pig plush and a card. The plushy was adorable and very soft. He pet the pig plush, enjoying the soothing texture, before placing it in his lap and moving onto the card. It was your typical get better soon card. On the inside, there were either signatures or little get well messages from everyone. It seemed like the pig plush was Jo’s idea. Brad leaned over and placed the card on the side table next to his bed. He looked at it for a minute before grabbing the pig, getting under the covers and falling asleep.

#brad bakshi #brad bakshi fanfic #is this cringey? i can't tell.#mythic quest fanfic #mythic quest

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peach-the-owl · 3 years

Text

The Shadowhand and the Taskhand

Essek & Child!Sorcerer!Reader

Request: Maybe another Essek x Child!Reader where the kid meets her uncle Verin for the first time and Essek is afraid that the child might like his brother more than him. And at the end of the day the child is like "It was fun with uncle Verin but damn he is exhausting me." and Essek laughs because "Same kid same" and the child maybe offhand saying that they love their dad Essek and Essek.exe stops working for a while

So I defiantly took a shot in the dark with Verin's personality, since we never got to see him in C2, but I think it works. This is a special request from @sirkekselord, so all bets are off the table… Anyways, HAPPY BIRTHDAY MY LOVELY FRIEND!! I hope I did you well 😁

Today was going to be a bit different, you weren’t told what, just that it'd be different. Sure you did like routine but getting to go and do something different was exciting (have I said different enough yet), although Essek did seem just the slightest bit reluctant about this.

"Are you okay? You look a little nervous." You say, seeing the more stern look resting on Essek's face. He blinks, clears his throat and looks down at you.

"Ah, well-" Before he can finish saying anything another voice cuts in.

"Brother! So good to see you again, it’s been a while!" You turn your head in the direction of the voice and see another drow walk over, wrap Essek up in his arms and ruffle up his hair much to Essek’s dismay.

"Hello to you too, Verin." Essek greets back monotonously, an unamused look on his face. You try to hold back a laugh at the personality difference between the two… keyword try. Your little snorts of laughter gain Verin's attention as he lets go of of his brother and walks up to you.

"Hi there little one, if I remember you’re (y/n). I’ve seen you before but we’ve never gotten to meet properly. I'm your uncle Verin… wait I just realized I’m an uncle now! Haha! Well Essek, didn’t think you’d ever have it in you to start a family. I’m very glad I was wrong." Verin shoots his brother a smile, placing one hand on his hip and the other patting Essek’s shoulder. Essek just sighs, rubbing at the bridge of his nose.

"It’s really nice to meet you too." You greet back, doing little to hide your giggling from Verin's antics. He kneels down as ruffles your hair before effortlessly lifting you into his arms and placing you on his shoulders. "Hey, what are you doing?" You question in delighted surprise.

"I thought you might like to see what good ol' Verin is made of." He looks over his shoulder at you, you stare back curiously and nod. "Come now, I shall be your valiant steed and we shall head to the training grounds. Hold on tight!"

"I wouldn’t-" Essek once again doesn’t even get a chance to finish his sentence before his brother takes off with you wrapping your arms around his neck so you don’t go flying off. He stares at the area where you and Verin once stood, wondering if he should follow. You looked surprisingly excited over this and while a part of him said to go after the two of you to be sure you were okay, another part of him said to leave it be, let you have your fun. He sighs to himself, was he jealous? Perhaps, but there was no way he’d admit that out loud, besides… there was also no way Essek was leaving you alone in the clutches of his brother. He makes his way down one hall and the next, keeping a steady pace as to not come off as desperate to get to his destination to those around him. When open field comes into view he quickly spots you standing off to the sidelines, applauding Verin as he spars with another solider. One short fight later and having barely broken a sweat, Verin makes his way over to the two of you.

"Well, what’d you think of that? It’s all about timing and using your opponents strength against them." He kneels down to you height, staring patiently as he waits for your reply.

"That was really cool. I can defiantly see why you’re a commander to an army. All I can do is this." You then cast a Magic Missile spell towards a target, hitting close to the centre but not quite a bullseye. "See, I’m getting really good at it but I still have a lot to learn."

"Not bad, but try lowering your stance a little, it’ll balance yourself and you’ll hitting bullseyes left and right." Verin advises. You test his methods and sure enough get a more direct hit, three runes becoming more visible on your skin from using your spells. "So that's what Essek meant when he said you were a Runechild." Verin examines the runes shown on your forehead and arms.

"Yeah, it's fine I guess." You say a little sheepishly, a part of you still feeling just a little insecure about the attention. While all this is happening Essek is watching a short distance back, watching the two of you interact and share a joke and a laugh carefree of anyone or any responsibilities. It all left an unpleasant feeling bubbling inside of him, a feeling that went a little further then jealously. Worry? No, not quite. Afraid, he was afraid you may have found someone better then him in his brother. He tries to shake off these thoughts, you were his kid, he took the responsibility over you and you responded positively to it. So why did he feel a tug at his heart at the prospect of you favouring someone else over him, and why did another emotion, one he couldn’t quite place, arise at the idea of you being his kid? So much was happening in such a short amount of time it was all just overwhelming, that’s it, he was just overwhelmed with everything that’s been happening. A slight shake on his shoulder has Essek break away from his thought process.

"Are you still in there brother? Or has your mind merged with the Luxon?" Verin gives a smirk, a playful tone in his voice that has Essek rolling his eyes and removing his younger siblings hand from his shoulder.

"I’m fine, just in thought." Essek looks like he’s about to say more but a light tug at his cloak has him looking down at your smaller figure instead. You look up at him with big eyes and let out a small yawn. "Tired?" He asks, earning a nod from you.

"I suppose more time went by then I thought. I shouldn’t keep you two, best be on your way. It was lovely to meet you again (y/n)." Verin waves you both off.

"Bye uncle Verin." You call back with a wave of your own followed by another yawn. After walking a good distance away from the training grounds Essek lifts you into his arms and carries your sleepy form, you let out a sigh. "I think that was fun. I was nice to spend time with uncle Verin, but wow is he exhausting." Your comment pulls a small laugh from Essek.

"If you thought that was exhausting, try living with him throughout your childhood. I’ll admit it could be entertaining at times, but he’s always been a bit of a handful." Essek reminisces a bit, making you let out a giggle.

"I’m good," you rest your head against his shoulder, another yawn escapes you as you shift a little in his grasp to get comfortable. "I think I’d rather spend my day with you anyways dad." Essek makes a full stop at this, wondering if he just heard you correctly. He looks over at your now sleeping figure, resting peacefully in his arms. It hadn’t fully dawned on him the idea of being an actual parent, sure you easily referred to Verin as your uncle but hearing you say that one word to Essek finally let it sink in. While shocked at this revelation he couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride over all this, any and all concerns he had were pushed to the side for this one moment, in the solace of knowing you would choose him over anyone else.

#critical role #critical role & reader #mighty nein #the mighty nein #mighty nein & reader #essek thelyss #essek & reader #verin thelyss #verin & reader

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amyisherenowitsokay · 3 years

Note

Zagr for the ship ask 😤😤😤 every single one bitch

I cannot believe you have bombarded me like this. Appalled. Insulted. Astounded.

Please enjoy my entire analysis of my fictional totally canonical ship.

PRE-RELATIONSHIP

1. How did they first meet?

Dib, but also school.

2. What was their first impression of each other?

I think they're both initially incredibly dismissive of one another. Zim thinks the entire fate of the Armada's reputation lying on his shoulders, and Gaz really has too many personal problems even as a kid to deal with; neglectful Dad, overprotective, stupid brother, etc.

3. Did any of their friends or family want them to get together?

Okay so hear me out; I think Skoodge and Professor Membrane would be so obnoxious in the best way. And Gir, whenever his attention span lets him remember long enough to scream about it. But I think Membrane would be chipper about Gaz finding someone, even long before she admits she's even interested, and Skoodge would want Zim to be happy and is unconditionally supportive, especially when Zim is mopey whenever his advances are rebuffed.

4. Who felt romantic feelings first?

Honestly, I love a Zim simp, but I genuinely think it'd be Gaz. Zim is obviously a Defect capable of feeling a larger range of emotions than other Irkens, but he still didn't receive socialization that makes 'romantic rituals' in any way natural to him. So I think Gaz and him would buddy up platonically and casually, initially, until she realizes she likes his company a little too much and freaks out about it.

5. Did either of them try to resist their feelings?

Gaz does, 100%, and she's way more stubborn about it then Zim. I think Zim's denial is just that he doesn't "get" romance (see above) and what's going on with him, but once he understands he's fully down to bombard Gaz with affection, flirtations, and other over-the-top simp behavior until she stops pretending she's not gritting her teeth while fighting a blush.

6. If you had told one of them that the other would be their soulmate, what would they think?

Zim doesn't know what a soul is, but he does begin to understand the concept that they can be taken from human's in bargains. He becomes distracted by the topic. Bringing it up again later would have him largely dismissive.

Gaz would roll her eyes, and be extremely bitter about the idea that there is anyone 'made' for her. She's very independent, and I think someone with the sort of familial issues she does with no role model for a 'happy' family would be really resistant to being bound to someone in a way that would entitle them to her vulnerabilities. She'd be extremely resentful, dismissive, and irritable.

7. What would their lives be like if they had never met?

Really unfulfilled, listless. Without that companionship, they would never develop into people capable of meaningful relationships. I think both of them are very independent. Zim may claim he likes an audience, but there's an undeniable anxiety that he gets when faced with judgement. If it's anything but unwaveringly positive, he becomes delusional and creates a fantasy world in which everyone loves him, and the situation was just an initial misinterpretation. Gaz would have good friends, I think, but accepting Zim and his oddities and realizing she genuinely relates to someone who knows everything about her (via her brother + proximity + time) and is still here would mean a lot to her development.

GENERAL

1. Who initiated the relationship, and how did it go?

Zim, without a doubt. Gaz may like Zim first, but she's completely in denial about it and completely stubborn. Zim is oblivious, and also a big ass simp, so his persistence and patience eventually gets Gaz to let her guard down and accept that she has hormones, she has romantic inclinations, and apparently they've both decided Zim is it. Time to be a big girl and accept it.

2. Did they have an official first date? If so, what was it like?

Honestly, I don't think they're the 'date' type of couple. I am probably 100% projecting since my boyfriend and I did not have an official 'date' until like 6 months into our first relationship, where we paused, turned to each other and were like 'wait is this our first date?' because we're homebodies whose idea of fun is projects. I think Zim and Gaz would hang out regularly, but it wouldn't ever be like a formal 'we are going to Bloaty's/the movies/etc as a date,' but rather 'I am going here and you are coming with me so I guess we are going together' thing. Zim doesn't get the point of a date, because if a date is by definition doing an activity together, then aren't they perpetually on a date? And Gaz isn't really a 'let's go to dinner formally' kind of person. They hang out, they go places, but it's never really a 'thing.'

3. What was their first kiss like?

I firmly believes Gaz would have to walk Zim through every aspect of physical affectionate. Zim is really wary about it, but I do think there's an instinct towards good ol' copulation, as well as a longing for positive touch after so long getting his ass whooped in the Academy, that would make him frustrated trying to figure out what this desire is. I think their first kiss is Gaz explaining to Zim, after he asks her outright what else there is after tame stuff like cuddling and hand holding, and Gaz walks him through the concept, implications, and so on until he feels ready to bravely and firmly try it.

While that does sound pretty clinical, I think actually it'd be really emotional for both of them. Zim would be really overwhelmed by how much passion is in a kiss, and Gaz would be similarly overwhelmed since, going into the relationship, she probably never anticipated Zim being interested in anything sexual, so any physical affection he expresses interest in is a surprise to her.

4. Were they each other’s first anything (kiss, relationship, etc.)?

I think Gaz probably would try out a few brief relationships, but never anything substantial or dramatic. Zim's never been in a relationship, so Gaz is his first everything. I do think they'd be each other's first sexual relationship, but I think Gaz would have most of her more minimal firsts with other people prior to Zim.

5. What’s their height difference? Age difference?

Zim older. I normally write Zim as the same height as Gaz, or only a little taller. Neither of them are tall. I do respect you 'short king' stans though.

6. What’s their relationship with each other’s families?

Dib hates Zim, firmly and completely, at the beginning of their relationship. It takes a lot of self-reflection, meaningful sibling discussions, and probably a few screaming matches that eventually get to the real root of the issue (Dib's ingrained fear that something would happen to Gaz, and that it'd his fault) before he came around. Zim is a big petty bitch and would gleefully antagonize him. They would never stop sniping at each other, but they'd begrudgingly (sort of) behave for Gaz. They would eventually become frenemies and bros, but they'd die and also kill each other before admitting any sort of cordiality.

Professor Membrane adores Zim, and treats him like the son he never had/always wanted, the one who wants to have long discussions about science and can keep up with the theoreticals. Gaz hates it.

The Base and Gaz are cool. They have an understanding borne from two sentient creatures who have found themselves in the position of trying to keep Zim from killing himself, killing other people, or from coming to (too much) harm. Gaz initially hates Gir, but eventually she figures out how to get him to chill out when it's important. Minimoose and her are also cool, but he creeps Gaz out a little.

7. Who takes the lead in social situations?

Zim thinks he does, but it's really just Gaz slapping her hand over his mouth before he can say something stupid, or translating whatever nonsense just came out of his mouth when he's done talking.

8. Who gets jealous easier?

Zim. Not even a question.

9. Who whispers inappropriate things in the other’s ear?

Zim. Also not even a question.

LOVE

1. Who said “I love you” first?

Gaz. Zim doesn't know what it means until she explains it. It takes him awhile to internalize it and reciprocate verbally, but Gaz is okay with that. He shows her how much he cares in other ways.

2. What are their primary love languages?

Without a doubt, Zim's is touch. Once he gets used to it, he's really greedy and possessive about proximity. Just having Gaz bump his arm is sometimes enough to set the worst of his nerves at ease.

Gaz's is acts of service. She's fine with Zim being physically clingy, but it means a lot to her how unflinching he is about protecting her, anticipating her needs, and remembering things.

3. Who uses cheesy pick-up lines?

Zim. Gaz hates them, but she tolerates it. Sometimes.

4. How often do they cuddle/engage in PDA?

Cuddling is very frequent. Zim will just sort of shift in behind Gaz if she's playing a game and cling, and she'll just keep doing what she's doing until she's eventually done and reciprocates. Explicit PDA never happens, but Zim is very clingy and physically will plant himself between Gaz and people who he's distrustful towards.

5. Who initiates kisses?

Gaz. I think Zim would cling to her like a barnacle at every opportunity, but Zim would likely usually defer to Gaz for escalating intimacy.

6. Who’s the big and little spoon?

Zim big spoon. PAK too uncomfortable to let him be the little spoon.

7. What are their favorite things to do together?

I think just being around each other while they do projects, game, etc. would be their favorite thing to do. Sharing in hobbies without feeling pressured to be entertaining, but still feeling like their presence is valued and wanted by the other.

8. Who’s better at comforting the other?

Being a people, and having more emotional competency, Gaz is better. Zim does his best though.

9. Who’s more protective?

Zim, if we're talking about quantity. Gaz, however, if we're talking about quality. Zim screams at chihuahuas for looking at Gaz, and also does protect her from genuine threats, but he overreacts frequently. Gaz, however, would know when Zim's out of his depth and would break the spine of anything that's a threat to him.

10. Do they prefer verbal or physical affection?

Physical, for both. Neither of them is really used to verbal affection, whether it be giving or receiving. It's a lot more natural to be demonstrative.

11. What are some songs that apply to their relationship, in-universe or otherwise?

Me, cackling as I copy and paste this link that I imagine is from their mutual perspectives:

https://open.spotify.com/track/4nlT0Ch4qpqoS8O1RsdzjH?si=d6d8e1e19a7d4dc7

12. What kind of nicknames do they call each other?

There's lots, and I'm sure most of them are inside jokes, but the tops are Zimmothy + Little Gaz.

13. Who remembers the little things?

It's hard to say. Zim would retain an encyclopedic knowledge of all things Gaz, and tries to spoil her and accommodate her at every opportunity, but Gaz never forgets to pack an extra umbrella and a raincoat.

DOMESTIC LIFE

1. If they get married, who proposes?

Zim.

2. What’s the wedding like? Who attends?

No one but their mutual 'families.' A very small, intimate ceremony. The reception though is massive, courtesy of Professor Membrane who has no idea how to separate his personal life with his public one.

3. How many kids do they have, if any? What are they like?

0 kiddos. Cannot product viable, compatible DNA to produce a spawn.

4. Do they have any pets?

Does Gir count?

5. Who’s the stricter parent?

If Gir is the child, Zim. Gaz will let him get away with murder, both because she can't be bothered to control him, and also because she thinks it's funny how mad Zim gets when she lets him go wild.

6. Who worries the most?

Between Gaz "apathetic is my middle name" Membrane and Invader "I have perpetual anxiety" Zim? No idea.

7. Who kills the bugs in the house?

Gir. He eats them long before anyone can find them. But both Gaz and Zim will point out any he misses.

8. How do they celebrate holidays?

Zim fucking hates Christmas, so him and Membrane get down in a bunker for it while Dib and Gaz spend some sibling time somewhere, drinking cocoa and video chatting with the respective morons. Other holidays, they basically go wherever Professor Membrane is in the world with Dib to have a 'family' holiday.

9. Who’s more likely to convince the other to come back to sleep in the morning?

Zim doesn't sleep, but he likes the resting and the peacefulness of getting to curl around Gaz in her sleep without her leaving. So him by default.

10. Who’s the better cook?

Zim has a 'kiss the chef' apron and everything.

11. Who likes to dance?

Neither of them, but Zim does 'victory dances' compulsively.

#ZAGR #Invader Zim #asks #anaylsis #ship post #hella long #RavenFollower13 #fanfiction #Gaz #Zim #amyisherenowansweringyou

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bokutoslittlebird · 4 years

Note

Hii💫 I saw that your requests are still open soyou could pls do a headcanon/ scenario with Goshiki/ Tendou/Semi how they would react when they meet their s/os protective dad who just wants to makes sure that the boys aren't playing with his smoll babys heart 🐒

This is a very American ask lmao reminding me of the dad on the porch cleaning his shotgun down in Texas

S/O w/ Protective Father

Tendō

-> He’s not used to dating in general, so when he gets with you, he’s learning. He’s learning to be a good boyfriend. It’s a weekend when you’re going to go home since your sibling’s birthday party is that weekend, yay! Oh, Tendō’s invited.

-> At first, he’s ecstatic. He gets to meet your family! That’s a big step in a relationship! But when you tell him your father’s a bit protective, he gets worried. He’s not the best guy, he’s not at all what your family is expecting, so he’s nervous.

-> When the day finally comes, it’s full of you telling him to just be himself. He disagrees, having met himself. He knows he’s weird and a bit strange, so he tries to tone it down. His hair is even slicked back more professionally. It’s literally an 8 year old birthday party, but he’s dressed as if it’s prom.

-> Your mother greets you at the door, smiles and hugs as you’re welcomed back. When she sees Tendō, she’s more than happy to see him, complimenting his attire, hair, cologne, his height, everything. His face is red from the compliments, but you and her laugh it off. When he gets to the backyard of the house, that’s where he sees him. Your dad.

-> He’s watching your brother run around with his friends, playing tag, but the man might as well be sitting in an office chair in a quiet warehouse. When he sees you, he smiles and gets up, giving you a big ole bear hug. He glances at Tendō, raising an eyebrow as he notices how tall he is. Taller than him, even.

-> Tendō has to prove himself, he thinks. But no, he just needs to answer one question honestly. “Do you love my daughter?” Tendō blinks once or twice, even you hitting your father playfully and telling him to stop it. The man just looks at Tendō. He replies “yes, I love your daughter.”

-> Its short and sweet, but he smiles at you as you hide your face. You two hadn’t said those three words to each other yet, so it’s embarrassing. When your father watches the exchange between you two, he guffaws and claps Tendō on the back. “Welcome to the family,”

Goshiki

-> Nervous™️. Boy is probably pissing himself when you tell him lol I’m kidding, but he is nervous.

-> He’s never met your parents! What if they don’t like him? So he’s a bundle of nerves. When he gets nervous, he gets loud and chatty. It’s a problem. He’s also a dumbass, so he’s worried. You tell him there’s nothing to be worried about, but he can’t help feeling worried.

-> You go home on the weekend, Goshiki with you as he’s rigid as a board. You slap his back and tell him to relax, but it doesn’t help. When he meets your father, it’s like the thick tension and a butter knife. He stares at your father, your father stares back. You stare at them.

-> The day is a test for Goshiki, hawk-like eyes watching him. Your mother is ever so kind to him, but your father is gruff and kind of scary. You sigh, telling him it’s an act but he doesn’t think so. When your mother asks how you two meet, the ice melts away.

-> “Oh! Im the manager for the volleyball team. He’s the future ace of the team, you know. Got in with a scholarship,” you nudge Goshiki, his face tinged pink as he rubs his neck. Your father practically comes to life.

-> “Volleyball? You planning on going professional, son?” Goshiki vibrates when he says son, but nods energetically. “Yes, sir! I’m confident in my abilities to go professional.” Your father laughs, getting up and shaking his hand, then looks at you. “You found yourself a good young man, [Y/N],”

Semi

-> The best guy to take home, honestly. Well, as long as nobody pisses him off, that is. He aims to please, not to mention he’s average smarts with a scholarship in volleyball and is a setter/pinch server. He can definitely prove he’s worthy to be with you. Well, he can try.

-> Your mother isn’t home for the weekend, so it’s just your father and your sister. She’s only 5, so she’s asking questions about Semi rapid-fire, him answering every question. He has a sister, he understands. Your father is catching up with you, occasionally glancing at Semi who is playing with your sister. Playing Barbie dolls, that is.

-> Semi doesn’t have a problem with it, even changing his voice to voice different barbies. When it’s time for dinner, your father asks Semi to help him in the kitchen. He, of course, accepts and goes to help. You can hear them, but that’s not the point.

-> Now alone, your father asks Semi the question: “What do you expect out of my daughter?” Semi raises a brow in confusion, scanning his brain for an answer. He comes up with “love? Because I love her,” he says, nonchalantly. A few beats of silence as he panics until your father smiles, patting his back. “You’re a good man. Treat her right, okay?”

#haikyuu x reader #tendou x reader #goshiki x reader #semi x reader #Mr. Eita #Mr. Tsutomu #Mr. Satori #Tendō.hcs #Goshiki.hcs #Semi.hcs #BB.Requests

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mattzerella-sticks · 3 years

Text

Buddies, 7.3k words, T, (pre-Eddie/Buck, gay!Eddie, coming out)

(ao3)

After Eddie was shot, there were two big things he had to deal with - recovery, and the near-death realization that he was gay. The latter of which proved more difficult of the two. But as his recovery was aided by a physical therapist, Eddie also found someone to help him come to terms with his sexuality and find acceptance. Eddie wouldn't know where he'd be if Michael hadn't taken him under his wing.

However, the consequences of a failed date - encouraged by Michael - lead to something Eddie didn't think he'd be facing so soon. Coming out to his teammates. Will Eddie find the strength within himself to push through his fears? It shouldn't be too hard... right?

It’s too stifling for a fall morning in Los Angeles, Eddie thought, as he hopped out of the fire engine and sweat immediately dampened the collar of his jacket. He tugged on the fabric, huffing a tired breath through clenched teeth as he trotted after his teammates. Eddie soon fell into step beside Buck as Bobby began directing them where they were needed along the highway pileup. “Hen, Chim, attend to the drivers who are already outside their vehicles,” Bobby ordered, waving at the few bystanders leaning against cars and cradling different parts of their body, like arms and heads and one visibly bloody side with blood leaking through pale fingertips. Hen and Chimney immediately hurried there before the woman fainted from blood loss. Then, Bobby points at the two smoking cars fused together feet away. “Buck, Eddie, I want you to check on the drivers in each car and assess the damage. If you can get the occupants out safely, you have permission to do so.”

They nodded, Buck’s face stretching with a grin as he locked eyes with Eddie. “We got this, don’t we Eds?”

Eddie’s heart skipped at the nickname, and he blamed it on the weather. He blamed the warmth pooling in his cheeks, no doubt tinting his cheeks, on that, too. “Course we do.” He followed Buck towards the wreckage, asking, “Which one are you checking?”

“I’ll handle the Corvette,” Buck said, “always wanted to have my hands on one, anyway.”

“Guess that leaves me with the mini-van…”

Buck shrugged, splitting off wordlessly to inspect the red sports car that, in this moment, resembled an empty beer can littering the floor of a house party. You get what you pay for, in the end. Eddie stifled his giggle, sobering to a more serious expression as he rounds the other, less-damaged, car. He found a young girl behind the wheel, staring straight ahead while white knuckling the steering wheel. An older woman sat in the passenger seat, knocked unconscious by the collision. He wasn’t worried too much, however, aware of the deflated air bags blanketing their laps. Eddie knocked on the door, “LAFD! Are you able to lower the window?”

He startled the driver from her trance, shaky hands finally releasing the wheel and whipping to her face. She sobbed through her hands, a muffled sound that tugged on Eddie’s heartstrings.

Eddie knocked again, softer, until she looked at him. He tapped the window slowly, “Can you lower this?”

She choked on a breath, chest heaving underneath her safety strap as she did what Eddie asked.

“Hey,” he began, reaching inside to click the safety off, “my name is Eddie Diaz. What’s yours?”

“Ol-Olivia…” she stuttered, wiping at tears that continued to fall no matter how hard she scrubbed her eyes, “I’m… oh God, I’m so sorry.”

Eddie unbuckled her seatbelt, checking for any cuts or abrasions because of it. The skin around her neck seemed red and tender from impact, a possible burn, but that was the extent of the damage there. “It’s okay,” he assured her, cradling Olivia’s head in his hands to better assess her injuries. There were scrapes and bruises there, dried blood crusting around her nose. Nothing that screamed ‘emergency’. “Why don’t you tell me what happened?”

She sucked in a deep breath, then launched into her story. Eddie listened, running through a mental checklist while she rambled. “I’d gotten my learner’s permit a few months ago,” Olivia explained, “and I’m supposed to go for my driving test in a few months, for my birthday. In the meantime, I’ve been practicing all I can and I… and I thought I was ready for the highway. I mean, it’s not parallel parking, so I thought it couldn’t be that hard. But my mom thought I wasn’t ready and I… I didn’t listen and – oh, oh no! My mom -!”

“Is okay,” he told Olivia, keeping her eyes on him and preventing any further sudden movement. “I promise.” Eddie surreptitiously scanned Olivia’s mother between beats of her story, noting the subtle rise and fall of her chest. “Is that how you got into the accident? Fighting with your mom?”

“Well, partly,” Olivia explained, “I…” She hesitated, biting her lip and causing a few more blood droplets to leak past the cut there. Eddie waited, running his hands below the dashboard to check for any strain or damage from the crash that might make extraction difficult. There wasn’t any he felt. “It’s so embarrassing,” she muttered.

“It’s okay,” Eddie said, smiling, “You wouldn’t believe the kind of calls me and my team have rushed to. I’m sure whatever happened can’t be as embarrassing as a woman stuck in a window because she tried throwing her poop out when the toilet wouldn’t flush.”

That encouraged a tiny laugh from Olivia, and soon her earlier nerves from the crash disappeared. “I guess…” she sighed, dabbing at drying tear stains with her hoodie sleeve, “I was doing an okay job driving. Better than either I or my mom figured. But then this huge truck barreled by in such a rush that it shook the car and I freaked. I started screaming, and so did my mom, and I didn’t notice that we started drifting and… ugh, I felt like Cher, y’know? From that movie Clueless?”

Eddie blinked at her. “You know what Clueless is?”

“It’s a good movie,” she defended, “Plus that’s like… peak Paul Rudd. Although current Paul Rudd is also peak Paul Rudd… he’s really cute for an old guy.”

He mostly agreed with her, only offended by her closing remark. Paul Rudd isn’t old.

Paul’s ageless.

Eddie stood at his full height, backing away to give Olivia space. “You think you can step out of this vehicle on your own?” She shifted, slowly freeing one leg and then the other. Olivia tried exiting, except stumbled after the second foot left the car. Eddie caught her, easing her to the ground. From the corner of his eye, he saw Hen and Chimney approach. “You’re very lucky Olivia,” he said, “you had a great car that shielded you and your mom from some pretty serious damage. My friends are gonna help you two out now. You don’t have to tell them everything, but be sure to answer all their questions and if there’s any pain, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Good.” Eddie rose to greet Hen and Chimney, quickly combing through all he learned during his short time with Olivia, stressing the most important pieces of information. “I still have to get her mother out of the passenger side,” he said, jerking his thumb at the car, “once I do that I can carry her to the ambulance so you can do your thing –“

“Sorry Eddie,” Bobby interrupted, clapping him on the shoulder, “I’m gonna need your help with the other driver.”

“That bad?”

“It’s an older car, made with metal instead of plastic,” he said, “guy’s wedged in there pretty tight, cut up, too. And there’s a glass shard running right into his shoulder blade.” Bobby turned to Hen and Chimney, “Once you’re done here we’ll need you on standby to help us. No telling how much blood he’s lost so far, or if there’s any trauma below his waist.”

“No problem Cap,” Chimney said, “We’re almost done here. Hen, why don’t you go with Eddie and Bobby while I see to Olivia’s mom?”

“Sounds like a plan to me.”

“Great,” Bobby led them to the other side of the wreckage, Buck absent from the scene. “He’s getting the jaws,” he told Eddie and Hen. Then, once they’ve reached the Corvette’s driver’s side, Bobby yelled into the open, broken, window, “Sir? Sir, can you hear me? Are you still with us?”

The man groaned a few indecipherable syllables Eddie couldn’t hope to piece together. He exchanged a short glance with Hen, who appeared similarly unsure. Bobby, meanwhile, continued his one-sided conversation as they waited for Buck to arrive with the jaws.

“Coming in hot!” he yelled, lugging the jaws over his shoulders, “Where you want me, Cap?”

“Let’s start with the door,” he motioned Buck closer, pointing at the hinge. “Eddie, grab the middle. I’ll get this side. When Buck snips this free, we’ll gently lower it down and let Hen get in there.”

“Copy that.” Eddie readied himself, crouching into position. He laid his hands atop the car door, small glass shards crunching under his gloves as his fingers curled. Buck and Bobby talked over his head, working to line up the jaws correctly. During this, Eddie chanced a peek inside at the driver.

The face he saw, staring back at him, nearly knocked him off his feet.

Fitting, as that was how it felt when Michael showed him his picture while convincing Eddie to go on a blind date.

“He works with David at the hospital,” Michael told him, passing his phone over so Eddie would see what David’s co-worker, Dr. Brendan Carmichael, looked like. In the picture Michael found, a selfie from Instagram, Eddie learned more than he needed. That beside the bright, orange hair and freckles splattered across his face like someone flicked a paintbrush over his skin, he also maintained a very strict gym regimen which kept his abs in perfect condition. Eddie’s thumb hovered over the midsection Brendan revealed, careful not to like it on Michael’s account. “He broke up with his last boyfriend a few months ago, and only recently started talking about dating again,” he continued, Eddie tearing his gaze away from the phone to better listen, “David mentioned you, how you were wanting to date again, too, and Brendan’s interested in setting something up. Only question is… are you?”

It was something Eddie was working himself up to. After breaking things off with Ana during his recovery, and Buck’s focus divided further because of Taylor, Eddie found periods where he was all alone with only his thoughts as company. Because of this, it was harder and harder for him to ignore certain stuff he’d pushed to the back of his mind and crammed into a tiny closet. Namely, his utter sexual indifference to women.

Almost dying for the umpteenth time put Eddie’s life into perspective.

He wouldn’t know if the next near-death call might finally succeed where others hadn’t, and Eddie realized how awful it’d be to go without following his heart.

So he followed it all the way to Michael’s. Eddie knocked on his door late one evening, a fifth of whiskey in his veins dulling the voices shouting how this was stupid, how he and Michael were acquaintances at best and strangers at worst. Then, once Michael invited him inside his empty apartment, Eddie vomited his epiphanies until Michael set his shaking frame down on the couch and forced a glass of water down his throat.

Since then, Michael had taken on the role as Eddie’s gay sponsor. Michael guided Eddie to a point where he could see his reflection and say ‘gay’ while smiling. He also pushed at the fear that still clung to Eddie, urging him to experience new things, like with this blind-date.

“I don’t know,” he said, “he does look… really, really nice.” Admitting that never felt like pulling teeth with pliers anymore, thanks to Michael. “I’m just… not sure.”

“What aren’t you sure about?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged, “I… I guess it’s nerves. I’ve never done this before, you know. Is there anything I should know? That makes it different than a date with a woman?”

Michael shot him a flat look, snatching his phone back. “A date is a date. There’s nothing different about it because it’s with another man. Well… except for when the check comes, and you have to bare-knuckle brawl in the kitchen to decide who gets to pay.” Eddie returned the favor, brows leveling at his friend. Michael chuckled, “Seriously, it’s nothing you need to work yourself up about. Go into it like it was any other date. You’ll have fun – and I’m not laying it on. Brendan is a great guy, from what I’ve heard. He’s got charm and face, which is rare. You don’t find men like us in the wild every day.”

“Men like us?” Eddie parroted, cheeks straining as he fought against the smile threatening to appear.

“Me,” Michael clarified, grinning freely, “And Chris Hemsworth. That’s it though.”

“And this Brendan guy,” Eddie added, “if what you’re saying is true.”

It wasn’t, unfortunately.

The night started with Brendan arriving late to the restaurant he chose because of its proximity to the hospital, and only further plummeted as it went on. Brendan criticized his choice in dinner, goading him into ordering an even pricier dish that Eddie hadn’t even wanted. Which Eddie then paid for, although he almost was stuck with the entire bill as Brendan assumed Eddie would cover it. It almost made Eddie reconsider Michael’s earlier crack about brawling. And if that wasn’t bad enough, Brendan’s personality rubbed Eddie the wrong way. He was dismissive of Eddie’s career, unsubtly scrolled through his phone during parts of the evening, and seemed entirely uninterested in Christopher to the point that Brendan interrupted any story about him with an unconnected anecdote, derailing the entire conversation. As the waiter left with their credit cards, all Eddie wanted was to put this date in the rearview behind him.

Except Brendan’s phone died during dessert, and he didn’t drive himself. “If you could give me a ride?” Brendan suggested, slipping a hand behind Eddie’s button-down and petting his chest, “I’d be very grateful…”

Eddie wished he could say he drove Brendan home without anything happening, that he was a stronger man. But Eddie gave in to curious temptation. He let Brendan guide him to his apartment bed instead of racing back home to fall asleep in an empty house, Christopher staying over at Michael’s with Harry.

They jerked each other off in the end; a slight comfort over oral and miles above anal. Once Eddie came, he feigned exhaustion and settled in for a sleepless night. He laid in wait for the morning, where he snuck out of Brendan’s apartment as the rising sun filtered past drawn curtains without a word to his date. Eddie did leave a note, promising he would call soon.

He hadn’t and had no plan to, either.

Still, here Brendan was.

“Cutting in three, guys,” Buck yelled. He proceeded to count down; on one, Eddie heard the snip from the jaws and belatedly realized he needed to move. Bobby swung a second before Eddie, and the momentum of the door made Eddie stumble in his haste to lift the door.

“Eddie,” Bobby huffed, “You good?”

“Yeah… yeah,” he nodded, dropping the door on the street at the same time Bobby did. “No need to worry about me.”

Bobby didn’t believe him, but he stopped questioning Eddie in favor of looming over Hen’s shoulder as she worked on Brendan. Buck leaned against the roof, head ducked inside the cabin, too. Eddie stood apart from the scene as an outlier. He wasn’t sure if it was good to approach. Although, being fully removed meant he wouldn’t know what the other man might say in his condition.

Only three people knew of his sexuality – Michael, David, and Brendan. Eddie wasn’t ready for that circle to expand.

Eddie returned, joining the others. He entered to hear Hen finish her line of questioning, her last question prompting Brendan to speak. “The wound on my shoulder is superficial,” he said, gaze unwavering on the side of Eddie’s face. He felt the weight of it, Eddie turned to watch his co-workers instead of Brendan. Bobby’s focus didn’t waver from the crushed dashboard in Brendan’s lap, prodding it in different areas. Buck kept glancing between Eddie and Brendan. “It’s deep, but a clean cut. You can get to that later, because I’m pretty sure there’s something digging into my leg close to my femoral artery.”

“We’ll get right to it, then,” Hen assured him, “Sounds like you know your stuff, though. You a doctor?”

Eddie bit his tongue, swallowing his instinctual reply. “Yeah,” Brendan said, “I’m a doctor.”

“Then that saves us some time.” Hen reached into her bag for a neck brace, placing it around Brendan’s neck while Bobby muttered something to Buck. Buck’s eyes flicked to his briefly before he jogged towards the fire truck. “We’ll have you out of here in no time. Can you tell me where you were headed?”

“To lunch,” Brendan told her, “We had to push a surgery back a day, and my next one wasn’t until two so I… I thought I’d treat myself to something nice. I already had back-to-back operations this entire morning.”

“What were they?”

“Tumor removals,” he explained, “in the brain. Real delicate work. I’ve probably performed over a hundred by now, but I still can’t shake the jitters each time I enter the theater…” Eddie grimaced, hiding it behind his jacket collar. Yes, he knew about Brendan’s job. Hearing it in this context, on the field and not in a dimly lit restaurant, hit differently; like he cared about his patients and didn’t use his position as a point of status. This was not the Brendan he remembered. Regret churned in Eddie’s gut, mixing with the shame and embarrassment already present.

“I know what you mean,” Hen smiled. She rubbed around the shoulder wound, cleaning it of dried blood to better inspect it. “You can have it all down to a formula, but you will never be sure what might happen when the time comes.”

“Exactly.”

Buck hurried back with new tools in hands. He handed a saw to Bobby, “Where do you want me?”

“Other side,” Bobby said. He tapped Hen on the shoulder, silently urging her off Brendan. “Sir,” he started, “we’re going to be cutting the dashboard off shortly. Don’t be afraid to talk or shout if you feel any pain, okay?”

“I understand.”

“I’ll remove the wheel, first,” Bobby said, slipping a pair of goggles on, “don’t move.” He powered the saw on and, in seconds, removed the wheel. Brendan sagged somewhat, breathing stilted and ragged. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah...” He coughed, “Think my ribs might be bruised, possibly broken. I don’t… I think that’s it. Not sure.”

“You’re talking, so that’s a good sign.” Hen felt around his chest, then held her stethoscope to hear his lungs. “Nothing out of the ordinary here, Cap. Carry on.”

Bobby, and Buck now, brought their saws to the dashboard and continued cutting. Hen waited, kneeling, holding a bottle of solution and gauze for when it was her turn again. Meanwhile, Eddie uselessly hovered near her. There wasn’t much for him to do.

That wasn’t true for long.

Suddenly he was very much needed, Bobby calling for him and motioning Eddie with the saw. He tripped over his feet, “Coming! Coming!” Rushing to help Bobby remove the dashboard that, along with the glass shard, pinned Brendan to his seat. In doing this, Eddie glimpsed the red-stained leather under his leg. “Hen!” he said, “All you.”

Hen filled the space where the dashboard had been, attending to Brendan’s wound with practiced speed. As Eddie and Bobby returned, she fixed the tourniquet around his thigh and was partway done with wrapping his leg with gauze. And when Buck sidled towards them, she began removing the glass shard in his shoulder. It was much longer than a passing glance would make you believe. “Yikes,” Buck muttered, “You ever think a windshield could do that?”

“Old cars like these?” Bobby replied, “Anything’s possible.”

“He’s good for removal!” Hen yelled over her shoulder, kicking her bag a few feet back. She stands, dusting off her knees, “I’ll go get Chimney and the stretcher, be ready to help us set him down once we’re here.”

“Buck and Eddie’ll handle that,” Bobby said, “I’m gonna do a final sweep of the area, make sure we didn’t miss anything. Copy?”

“Understood.” Buck knocked shoulders with Eddie, nodding at the car, “Let’s go get the doctor ready for his ride back to work.”

Eddie bit his cheek, letting silence give a better response than he could at the moment. If Buck found it odd, like Bobby, he didn’t comment on it. They walked to Brendan’s car again, Eddie going through the motions to get him ready for transit. In that short span of seconds, Eddie hoped his luck might keep his secret safe. That Brendan wouldn’t mention their date.

He knelt down, waiting for Buck’s signal to lift his legs, when he made the mistake of finally meeting Brendan’s stare. Brendan offered him a tired smile. “This is so not how I expected we’d meet again.”

…Shit.

Buck stilled, his hands falling to their sides as he looked to Eddie. “You two know each other?”

Brendan sighed in the affirmative. “Very intimately.”

“What…” Buck’s face screwed itself into an expression of confusion, the rainbow wheel in his mind spinning endlessly while he processed Brendan’s innuendo.

Eddie pounced to fill the awkward silence. “We hung out, once,” he told Buck, “Like, a few days ago, I think? Super casual…”

“Oh –“

“Oh,” Brendan interjected, darker than earlier. He coughed, voice straining from the force of it, but he wasn’t deterred. “Oh, really? Hanging out… that’s what you’re calling it?”

“Uh…” Eddie, taken aback by such an unexpected call out, couldn’t produce more than a few mumbled phrases that didn’t move beyond one syllable nor, when strung together, were comprehensible. Instead he glanced between Brendan and Buck, wasting precious time with silence.

Brendan, however, formed complete sentences. “So tell me… since I have you, were you even planning on hanging out with me again, or do you leave all your buddies notes like that?”

In his anger, Brendan shifted and started angling himself towards Eddie. Buck snapped out of his stupor enough to lay a calming hand on Brendan’s shoulder, “Hey! Hey… sir, you need to keep still until we move you.”

“Sorry, sorry…” Brendan relaxed, albeit his glare was still focused on Eddie. Eddie flinched under the weight of it.

“I…” Eddie tried, very aware of the sound behind him, of wheels rolling over gravel and measured footsteps. “I was trying to be nice?”

“Nice?” Brendan spat, “Fuck you, Eddie.”

“Eddie,” Buck inched closer, drawing Eddie’s gaze from Brendan to him. He spoke softly, like Eddie were one of the many victims they attended to during their careers. Eddie also noted the sharp steeple Buck’s brows, drawn together as if he already filled in the missing gaps of Eddie and Brendan’s story. Shit. “Why don’t you let us handle this?”

“I…” Eddie found breathing as hard as speaking, managing enough foresight to sharply nod before standing and striding away from Brendan’s car. He passed a curious, concerned Bobby, but ignored his calls. Eddie kept himself tightly wound all the way to the engine. Once he entered, he fell apart. Eddie’s vision blurred, his lungs couldn’t hold enough air, and he melted inside his uniform. All he was able to do before completely shutting down was shoot a quick message to Michael.

Brendn in acidnt fine but h outd me what do

Eddie’s grip on his phone tightened considerably when he heard the engine doors open again. Buck slid inside, not meeting Eddie’s wide, panicked stare. There were more doors opening, Bobby and other firefighters climbing aboard. “Hen and Chim are taking that guy to the hospital,” Buck said, “Our work here’s done.” He paused, gnawing on his lip, considering saying more while Bobby slowly pulled them onto the road. “What he said…”

He missed the rest of Buck’s question. His voice dulled as a sharp ringing in Eddie’s head blocked out every sound around him. Eddie sunk into it, comforted in the simpleness of the noise. He pressed himself against the window, arms crossed over his chest, and watched the scenery blur during their drive to the station.

Then, when they arrived, Eddie flung the door open and his puddled mass in a jacket spilled free of the engine. He stripped off his uniform in a record-setting pace. And, as he finished, Eddie saw Buck steadily approach, Bobby like a shadow behind him. Both wore similar expressions that warned Eddie of conversations he was not ready for. Because of that, Eddie did something he regret. A course of action so damning it spoke louder than any mangled defense he might put together.

He hid.

“Stupid… stupid…” Eddie whacked his phone across his temple, curled into a tight ball outside the building. He snuck through a door in the back, smart enough to not go far but knowing that it’s so rare anyone used this area. It was set aside for the firefighters who smoked, Chimney explained. Those were always a small contingent, never more than one or two per squad. As the years went by, numbers dwindled, and a smoking firefighter became an endangered species. Now, hardly anyone uses this tiny alley that separates the fire house from its adjoining building. Except for Eddie. “I can’t believe I could have such shitty luck…”

He went to hit himself with his phone again, but a shrill ping cut into his spiraling. Eddie checked his messages – Can I call? It was Michael. He texted back a thumbs up he didn’t mean. Soon his phone shook in his hands.

Eddie answered, “Hey…”

“Hi Eddie,” Michael said, tone soft like Buck’s back at the scene. He hated it. Eddie hated how much he wilted because of it, how his nerves started inching away from the edge at the gentle, implied coaxing. “How are you feeling?”

Eddie barked a short, nasty laugh, wiping beads of sweat off his forehead. “I feel like I’m about to burst into flames.”

“If you do, at least you’re around people who’ll know what to do.”

“What if I don’t want them to save me,” Eddie groused, “should I make a break for it before the first spark catches?”

“Like they wouldn’t race after you…” Michael’s voice trailed, clearly tiptoeing around the words he chose next. “So,” he said, “you ran into Brendan again today?”

Eddie snorted. “More like some kid ran into his car…” He growled, kneading at his eye with the heel of his hand. “I can’t believe what happened, and how I… how I froze like that. Seriously, what were the odds?”

“Pretty fucking low,” Michael told him, “But that’s exactly what it was, shit luck. There’s nothing you could have done to not have what happened, happened.”

“That’s not true,” he sighed, “I could have not gone on that date with him. Or, at least, not let him talk me into his bed.”

“He’s a charmer.”

“I had nothing better going on,” Eddie said. He played his words back in his head, silently cursing how brusque they sounded. Was he really the bad guy in this scenario? Brendan hadn’t seem interested in a relationship during their dinner, and Eddie thought his own feelings were on display, too. Buck always said his poker face had more cracks in it than a busted sidewalk. Maybe the note was unnecessary, he can concede. Eddie can’t rewrite history and destroy it, though. “Besides,” he continued, swatting those past regrets away like flies, “Brendan wasn’t all that charming when he outed me, on top of cursing me out in front of the 118.”

“Man was in a car accident,” Michael reminded Eddie, “He probably had more to worry about than decorum.” Michael coughed across the line, clearing his throat. “That doesn’t excuse what he did.”

“Yeah,” he said, “I thought it was, like, gay brotherhood that you’re not supposed to out another gay person… or whatever.”

“I… don’t think he knew. That you weren’t out…” Michael hummed, the noise rattling inside Eddie’s chest. “You’re right, in a way. Any decent gay person wouldn’t out a person before they’re ready. I can’t remember if Derek mentioned your… situation, when setting up the date. I can text him but, Eddie –“ Michael’s sigh caused the line to crackle and break, Eddie shivering as it hit his ear “– Eddie, Brendan and what he might and might not have known isn’t important, isn’t why I called.” Eddie knew. Of course, he knew. “What are you planning on doing next?”

“That depends,” Eddie mumbled. His free hand tugged on his laces, loosening them slowly. “Do you want to hear what I want to do, or what I’m going to do.”

“What do you want to do?”

“Fake mine and Chris’s deaths,” he told Michael, “Start over somewhere new. Maybe on the East Coast, in a small fishing village where I can be a lighthouse keeper and never have to see another person ever again. Just me and Chris and the sea, until Chris leaves or I grow old and die. Whichever happens first.”

“That’s… dark.” Michael said, “And oddly specific.”

Eddie shrugged, “I watched the Lighthouse last night. Robert Pattinson jerked it to some mermaid doodle in it. Like… I could do that. Survive off of doodles of hunky mermen, or sailors. Hunky mermen getting it on with sailors… God knows the real thing didn’t work out.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“Well, what else can I do?”

“You can go inside and talk to your friends,” Michael reasoned, “Your team who cares about you, and are most definitely worried because of what happened and how it affected you. Your family, who is ready to accept you for who you are as they always will. But first, you need to trust them and let them in to see who that is.”

When Michael explained it, the obvious choice also seemed to be the easiest. The tiny seed of doubt, however, planted once Eddie accepted his heart’s leanings and blossomed into a strange bushel of roses with thorny roots strangling his chest, would not let him be. It poisoned his rationality, shredding any confidence Eddie built. “I trust them with my life,” he wondered, speaking barely above a whisper, “why is it so hard to trust them with this? Is it just me?”

“It’s not you, Eddie,” Michael said. His voice thundered with conviction, startling Eddie. “Believe me, you aren’t the first gay man to feel this way and, unfortunately, you won’t be the last.”

He sniffed, a wet chuckle escaping past his lips in a raspy breath. “That sucks.”

“It sure does,” Michael agreed.

“Does it ever go away?” he asked, “Or… get easier?”

“I… it’s not a cut-and-dry answer,” he told Eddie, “In some cases, yes. Others… no. It’s situational.” Eddie found this answer unsatisfying. He wasn’t the only one. “Listen,” Michael said, “this might seem scary now, but I, uh – remember that first night. That night you came to my place and confided in me. What did you say?”

“That I was gay.”

“Yes…” Michael sucked in a deep breath, hissing his next thought so pointedly it cut through those pesky roots. “Now, imagine you’re me, saying what you said to me, but instead of saying it to me you were saying it to my lovely ex-wife who, at the time, was still my wife, and all this after we’re both a few glasses of wine deep and the kids are asleep.”

Michael’s past helped put Eddie’s own troubles in perspective. He mentioned as such to him.

“I don’t want to come off like ‘I had worse’ blah blah,” Michael said, “My point is – you see how good the relationship between Athena and I is. She could have easily kicked me out and then never spoken to me again. But she didn’t. She had every reason to hate me, but she didn’t. Athena loved me when she thought I was straight and continued after learning I was gay. It’s a different sort of love now, and yes, it might have wavered at times, but she stuck by my side like I stuck to hers. Yes, I was scared to tell her, just like you were when you came and told me. Just like you are now. But because I pushed through my fear, I freed us both from being unhappy. Her and Bobby… me and Derek… neither would have happened if I decided to keep my feelings to myself.”

“Yeah… your life did change…” Eddie rested his head against his knees, remnants of adrenaline from earlier fully fading leaving an exhaustion that set deep into his bones. “I guess that’s what I’m really afraid of. How… acknowledging who I really am, and owning it, how everything will change after.”

“Eddie, will being gay affect your job?”

“What?” Eddie yelped, head rising again, neck aching from the whiplash Michael’s unrelated question caused. “No –“

“Will you being out really make you a completely different, unrecognizable person?”

“Uh… I – I don’t… no?”

“Then it sounds like nothing will actually change.” Michael’s tone relaxed and, finally, Eddie let himself do the same. The other man’s speech wrapped around him like a warm blanket. “You didn’t wake up one morning and decide to be gay. It’s something that’s always been a part of you. It’s been there during every call you went out on. You’ll still be Eddie… just a happier Eddie, because you’re allowing yourself to be happy and honest with who you are. That’s what’s important here. Coming out isn’t about other people, it’s about you. You, opening yourself to others to see this part of you, and letting them share in the joy of who you are. And the 118, your friends, will still love you because this… this gay Eddie you have in your mind, is just Eddie. That’s it.”

Eddie didn’t cry. He wouldn’t be able to hide it, once he went back inside to confront his friends. If they asked, Eddie might mumble a few broken words about allergies then move on. Because he didn’t let his tears fall. “Thanks, Michael,” Eddie said, “I… I’m really grateful for you, being my friend. And that you didn’t turn me away like you should have done when I showed up at your apartment.”

“I was less afraid of what you’d do,” Michael laughed, “and more afraid what you might do if I didn’t.”

They ended the call soon enough, with Eddie exchanging a few final pleasantries while Michael’s goodbye was laced with encouragement.

Eddie stood, riding the aches of pain that came from unfurling his back out of the tight coil he forced it into. He stretched his arms, pointed high towards the sky. Eddie leaned onto his toes, and even lifted his face to better feel the sun shining above.

Much too warm for fall.

Despite the heat and his fears, Eddie returned to the firehouse. He slowly crept inside, alert, gaze bouncing around for a sign of his friends. When he didn’t find them on the first floor, not hovering by the truck and newly returned ambulance or biding time in the gym, Eddie passed faceless co-workers on his way to the stairs. Each step Eddie took sounded like beats from a heavy drum, sounding a funeral march. Eddie kept up the tempo.

As he climbed higher, his head peeked out and Eddie caught a glimpse of the second floor. Like always, his eyes were drawn immediately to Buck. He, along with Bobby, Hen, and Chim, were huddled around the kitchen island. Eddie watched them converse quietly, briefly, the discussion cutting off because Buck, the one currently speaking, turned and saw Eddie. Buck straightened, body taut and tense like Christopher got after Eddie caught him misbehaving. Eddie wasn’t foolish enough to think they were talking about anything other than him. Buck’s face flickers, flipping through emotions like pages in a book too fast so Eddie can’t read. It settled on a steely façade of determination, Buck readying to move. Before he can, Bobby stopped Buck with one hand on his shoulder. He understood.

Let Eddie come to them.

He did, slowly, at his own pace. Eddie settled between Hen and Chimney, both firefighters creating a space for him.

There’s a beat of silence, the air above the kitchen island so weighty Eddie’s shoulders drooped. He fought against it, taking a deep breath. “Hey.”

“Eddie,” Bobby spoke first, “how are you doing?”

Michael advised honesty. That’s what Eddie gave. “I’m a little scared,” he admitted with a laugh, staring intently at a divot in the island’s counter, and how his finger repeatedly traced it. “Okay. A lot of scared.”

“We’re here for you Eddie,” Bobby said, “Whatever it is.” On either side, his friends reached for him. Hen laid her hand over Eddie’s, crushing it in a loving grip, while Chimney soothingly rubbed his back. Eddie glanced at the men in front of him, Bobby looking encouraging at him while Buck…

Eddie still can’t decipher what it is Buck tries to show.

If he thought about it too long, he’d lose all the confidence he gathered to arrive at this point. Eddie swallowed past the lump in his throat, attempting to smile. “Thank you,” he said, “really.” Then, without fanfare, Eddie shrugged and told his friends, “I’m gay.”

Like that, the next breath Eddie took felt lighter. It was unbelievable. No one said anything, but their love and acceptance were visible in other ways. Eddie was almost brought to tears because of them. He reigned his emotions in, maintaining control. If they stayed like this, however, he’s sure to break.

Eddie cleared his throat, “That’s all. So if we could…”

“Not so fast,” Chimney said, smirk tainting their tender moment. His hand slunk across Eddie’s back to his shoulder, clamping down and chaining Eddie there at his side. “There’s still the doctor of it all that’s been unaccounted for…”

“Chim,” Bobby warned lightly, trying his best to play boss.

Hen waved him off. “Eddie should have his chance to explain,” she argued, “tell us his side of the story. Lord knows Chim and I got an earful about what that man thought of you, Eddie. Filled the entire drive from the wreck to the hospital.”

“He had a lot of opinions,” Chimney added.

Eddie sighed. He expected they might have questions, especially about Brendan. He wasn’t unprepared for this. “I went on one date with the man,” he explained, “something Michael set up –“

“Michael?” Bobby interrupted, tapping his chest, “My Michael?”

“He’s not just your friend,” Eddie said, “He… he’s been helping me deal with… with all this. This… being gay, stuff.” He shifted, bending forward to press his chest on the counter. “It was Michael’s idea I go on a date with Brendan, sort of like practice. To get more comfortable being… out, in public, with another man. Personally, I didn’t think the date was that special. Brendan was… he had a lot of personality.”

“Sure was flexing that… personality, despite all those injuries,” Hen agreed, “Kept going on about this – this note you wrote? What was that about?” Hen might have asked coyly, but it was obvious to Eddie she knew.

He still answered her. “I was going for nice,” he muttered, “I didn’t want to up and abandon him after we… after he invited me over for the night, and we…” They were at work. Eddie couldn’t say more.

Nothing else needed saying. Even Buck understood, if his rapidly flushing cheeks meant anything. “Oh,” he said, “so you and him… you two…” His pointer fingers on either hand were extended, slapping each other with wide sweeps.

Hen choked on a snort, shoving Buck’s hands apart. “They weren’t sword-fighting, Buck.”

“Yeah, I knew that…” Because of his bashful pout, followed by Buck tucking his head into his chest, Eddie didn’t buy his excuse.

“Okay,” Bobby steered the conversation elsewhere, “besides us and… Michael… have you told anyone else?”

Eddie shook his head. “Really?” Buck asked, “Not even Chris?”

“Especially not Chris…” Some of that earlier fear returned, roosting in his chest like a bird returned north from winter. “I never… I don’t know how I would explain it to him or… how much I would have to explain? Like, if I was a single dad from the start, I’m sure it would be easier. But most of his memories are with me and his mom, and I – I haven’t figured out a way to tell him while also not invalidating mine and Shannon’s marriage, y’know?” Eddie agonized over that near constantly. He loved Shannon, truly, and wanted their marriage to work despite not being attracted to her in the way that mattered. Christopher needed her in his life. If that meant Eddie gave Shannon what she wanted, what Eddie pretended he wanted to, it would have been worth it.

But, in the end, she still went ahead with the divorce. Shannon was more perceptive than he ever gave her credit for.

“And then there’s the Ana of it all…” Eddie threw out, offhandedly.

“Wait,” Buck said, “was that why you broke it off with her? When you told me…”

Eddie’s breath hitched slightly, and he drummed his fingers against the counterspace. “No,” he said, “I… I didn’t have the realization then. I meant it, about us not clicking and… her being another try at giving Chris a mom. Although, being gay would definitely have played a factor in us not clicking.”

“That’s for sure.”

Another wave of silence washed over them, this the most awkward of them all. “If that’s it for questions…” Eddie extricated himself from the group, final shreds of adrenaline fading and leaving him exhausted. His mind already set a course for the bunks, planning a lengthy nap as a reward for his vulnerability.

“Of course,” Bobby rounded the island, moving closer to Eddie. Buck was on his heels, but hung back on the fringes of the group, a few inches behind Hen and Chimney. “I want you to know how proud I am of you, though. I can’t imagine any of what you had to deal with was easy, and if you need anything from us – keeping this information to ourselves or whatever… let us know. We’ll follow your lead.” He then opened himself for a hug, giving Eddie the option to accept or refuse.

Eddie sagged into Bobby’s embrace, grateful. “Thank you.” Hen and Chimney joined them, squeezing Eddie tighter and tighter. Only Buck kept his distance. Eddie opened his eyes and noticed the younger man watching them, a glint in his eye that struck Eddie’s nerve. Once the others released him, Eddie confronted Buck. “Hey, are you…”

“Hmm?” Buck blinked, and what Eddie saw earlier disappeared. It vanished like it never existed. Maybe Eddie imagined it? Regardless, Buck smiled in his usual, too-large-for-his-face way and swept Eddie in a giant hug of his own. “I’m proud, too,” he whispered, “And what Bobby said goes double for me. Anything you need, ask… and I’ll be there.”

Eddie caught himself before he spoke without thinking. Instead, he returned the hug. He rested his cheek against Buck’s shoulder, humming in acknowledgment of Buck’s promise.

Buck would do anything for Eddie, as much as he would do anything for Christopher.

Anything… except what Eddie truly desired from him.

While baring his soul to the group about his sexuality was one matter, confessing to all his secrets was an entirely different sort he hadn’t felt ready for. He doubted he ever will be. Because if he told Buck the reason why he stopped running from the truth, why he couldn’t deny his feelings after being content in doing so for years, Eddie feared Buck would prove the sickening voices in his head right by leaving him.

Really, Eddie thought, what else was there to do when you learn your best friend is in love with you?

So he ignored how Buck’s touch skimmed his lower back, the gentle swaying dance they began by hugging longer than necessary, and, as they drew apart, the struck-match feeling of Buck’s lips brushing the outer edge of his ear.

There was nothing to read into, he reminded himself. He and Buck were friends. Best friends. Best buddies. Buck had Taylor, and Eddie…

Eddie had hope. Hope, emboldened by his bout of honesty, that there will come a day he found a man he truly loved to share his life with.

Even if they weren’t Buck.

#buddie #9-1-1 on fox #post-4x14 #eddie diaz #gay eddie diaz #eddie diaz comes out #9-1-1 s5 spec fic #evan 'buck' buckley #buck x eddie #pining eddie diaz #bobby nash #henrietta 'hen' wilson #howard 'chimney' han #michael grant #less about the getting together and more about the character study of eddie if they decided to go through with the gay route

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pinktatertots99 · 3 years

Note

PLEASE WRITE KANKRI HITTING ON RUFIOH THROUGH AN ELABORATE THESIS ITD BE SO FUNNY

nonnie...i would be so honored. THIS ONES FOR YOU and all my like, five rufkri shippers out there.

basically kinda sorta more a love confession but ey its kinda flirty with wha he talks about.

also for some who need the helps: rufioh uses 1′s for i’s, kankri uses 6′s for B’s, and he uses 9′s for O’s -ye i’m adding this just incase, we all need reminders cause kankri’s can be a fucking headache of a quirk-

-COUGHS- my archiveofourown link to this fic -COUGHS-

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your name is rufioh nitram and your taking a breath for yourself for once. you find yourself in a dream bubble you re-imagined as your old lost boy's location: tall blue and pink tree's with red cherry colored petals on them and littered at their tops various treehives connected via bridge's, stair cases, the gist.

you lay back on one of them that was your's, a big blocky one that has a couple windmills on top of it laying on the ledge that covered the top of your front door. kicking your leg absentmindedly as ol nostalgia rings through you, you barely get this kinda alone time but talk bout the advantage's of dream bubbles and damara's nice descendant escorting you.

until you hear the grass crunch from under you. you could just ignore it, finally steal some time for yourself but that’s not how your gears work; damn rogue bullcrap. you open your colorless eyes and move to look over your left where your sitting and spot a blob of red and feel a weird sense of relief.

its none other then your groupies lead spokesman kankri vantas walkin around trying to find you from how he keeps looking to his sides. kankri’s...something alright. sure everyone complains bout how much he babbles on bout half baked facts, preachy, pushy, an angry lil firecracker; actually maybe that’s why he’s so angry.

oddly though your not around alot for those, you’ll eyeroll at somethings but otherwise he’s pretty chill around you. bonus he’s celibate so you finally have someone who won’t try hitting on you every time you breathe in their direction. also your a mutant like him so mutant bro’s unite you’d think, it was cool finding you weren’t the only ‘cullbait’ of the gang honestly.

you go to get up and stretch your wings and back a bit. you may aswell make a sick entrance. you go run two steps and jump, your falling for a few seconds and it has your adrenaline pump before your wings pick up their flapping and have you flying downward slowly.

you saw kankri see you with near panic but pretty neutral look, dude barely had any sorta reactions but that was alright if it meant you could spot the teeniest moment he’d be thrown off as you land on the grass softly five steps away from him.

“9h.” he replies as you snicker. “pretty s1ck r1ght?” “in y9ur ling9 yes 6ut i advice y9u t9 please try n9t t9 use it s9 l99sely especially ar9und th9se in medically unwell situati9ns.”

you rub behind your neck. “sorry. anyways wha’ up? pass1n by?” you notice a pile of papers in his arms, maybe he’s gonna go preaching to some of those new human ghosts maybe? your betting the dude with the pointy glasses will be a conflict to him if he does.

“9h n9 actually i came t9 find y9u.” he states and you perk up a bit. find you? “megid9′s descendant was kind en9ugh t9 esc9rt me here.” ah her, you really should’ve figured. you take a step or two closer lookin down to see him cause dude’s fuckin short. “yeah? uhhh alr1ght, well what’s up?”

he looks back to his papers almost, hesitant? kankri vantas nervous? tarnish the thought till he looks back up clearing his throat. “genetical uniqueness.” ...what? “what?” you ask as he continues. “genetical uniqueness in 9ne’s self is a kn9wn fact9r 9ne sees in an9ther that is a small step to a gr9wing infatuati9n in said individual whether it 6e aesthetical, physical or pers9nality wise.”

...you...you don’t know what’s going on. is he giving a lecture? seminar? on genetics? oh gog messiah’s dangit kankri may be your boy as you’ve called him before (not around him you know better) but man there’s only so much of him you can chill with until it starts getting to well, this point. you don’t stop him though cause kankri vantas never stops until he’s finished.

“s9me f9rms 9f genetical uniqueness c9uld c9me fr9m all 9f th9se and m9re. f9r example, an unc9mm9n s9cietal genetic that while n9t unc9mm9n can 6e seen as a f9rm of interest to s9me9ne and unique. whether freckles, hatchmarks or, wings perhaps.” your wings flap at that.

“9f c9urse t9 t9uch 9n the first three f9rms 9f attraction i mentioned if y9u d9n’t mind my reference 6ack t9 the su6jects at hand, an aesthetical attracti9n t9 certain f9rms 9f attire and style that differ’s fr9m 9ne’s 9wn can 6e an9ther. 9f c9urse this is entirely su6jective as n9 indivudals are the same 9n this manner h9wever 9pp9site’s attract seem t9 have m9re likelih99d t9 find 69nds in a multitude 9f ways. examples 9f this kind 9f su6ject is perhaps a rebel-esque design that c9rrelates t9 s9me a resistance t9 a c9nf9rma6le s9ciety with it’s 9wn strict regulati9ns and laws. s9mething like rigid and ripped attire 9r sharp disc9l9red hair c9uld 6e examples that 9ne wh9 while n9t p9ssibly sharing th9se designs with them finds inspiring t9 l99k t9.”

you look at your ripped jeans and vest. you...kinda still dont know what he’s going on about, but you keep listening.

“the sec9nd aspect, physical is 9n a similar subjectivity as while 9ne finds a physical aspect 9f s9me9ne attractive an9ther will n9t. h9wever physical attracti9n inv9lves s9me f9rm 9f the 9ther individuals 69dy they deem as p9tentiality t9 perhaps engage in a quadranted arrangement with said individual whether h9rns, fangs, a smile that gives a pleasant crease to their facial structure, their 69dy language when shy 9r excited, perhaps even height as acc9unta6le as studies sh9w a pred9minant interest in a taller partner for feelings of pr9tecti9n, sta6ility, 9r an9ther f9rm 9f 9pp9site’s attracting if the 9ther party isn’t their perceived interest’s 9wn height.”

you rub the back of your neck...nervously. your not dumb your getting some serious implications. you don’t wanna believe them, nah no way kankri’s celibate maybe he’s talking bout someone else? alotta their team has nice smiles and taller then him or dress ‘rebelistic’ as he calls it.

“lastly there’s attraction to pers9nality. m9st w9uld like a pers9nality they find in s9me f9rm similar t9 their 9wn t9 gain n9t 9nly m9re in c9mm9n t9 create a 69nd 6ut als9 as a starting part f9r c9mm9nality t9 make it easier t9 take the necessary steps. s9me h9wever may find attracti9n t9 a pers9nality that differs fr9m their 9wn. why is dependa6le 9n certain pers9nal aspects but m9st are 9ut of jeal9usy f9r seeing s9me9ne they are n9t, 9r perhaps admirati9n t9 have what they have 6ut cann9t 9r are una6le t9 yet due t9 their 9wn pers9nal reas9ns and s9 they try finding a partner wh9 has s9me 9f th9se aspects they cann9t harness. n9t in a c9ntr9lling way mind y9u n9r t9 use them 6ut due t9 a f9rm 9f admirati9n and interest.”

you nod as he perks up. “ah, ap9l9gies h9wever menti9ning quadrants earlier. they have a varying r9le in these f9rms 9f attracti9n 6ut i failed t9 reitterate this 6eing m9re 9pen t9 interpretati9n 9n any f9rm 9f quadrants i’m referring t9 as many 9f these examples in this thesis can 6e f9r any quadrant. als9 ap9l9gies f9r the menti9n 9f this su6ject due t9 y9ur recent 6reak fr9m y9ur matesprit i didn’t mean f9r any kind 9f harm t9 y9u 9n it.” “nah 1t’s okay 1 get 1t. 1′m f1ne.”

he nods going back to his papers, least it looks like he’s almost done. “thank y9u. n9w where was i? right. n9w many examples 9f pers9nality attracti9n vary fr9m pers9n t9 pers9n 6ut i shall use a hyp9thetical and keep in mind it’s 9nly hyp9thetical. perhaps s9me9ne is rather una6le to s9cialize with any f9rm 9f 9ther parties due t9 varying 9pp9site interests or 9stracizati9n fr9m said gr9up. perhaps they meet s9me9ne wh9, perhaps shares s9me f9rm 9f genetical uniqueness t9 them, perhaps als9 having similar experiences t9 what their shared s9ciety 9r even different s9cieties share similarities t9. b9th gr9w and act very differently due t9 h9w they react and are raised in said s9ciatal climate. while the first hyp9thetical partner gr9ws t9 6e m9re f9refr9nt and 9pen t9 their 9wn th9ughts that s9me find c9ntr9versial the sec9nd partner is pers9nally flexible with an exteri9r design and m9re positive pers9nality s9me find m9re likely t9 fl9ck t9 them m9re.”

he’s hiding behind his papers but you swear you saw those cheeks turning a tint of red. your blushing too but you don’t know if its the same as his. your pumpbiscuit is beating hard but you don’t know if its infatuation or anxiety.

“perhaps, when the first pers9n sees this they find themselves just as infatuated to make themself kn9wn t9 this pers9n due t9 their 9pen relia6ility. perhaps they als9 feel a f9rm 9f jeal9usy that they are unable t9 have the same people-friendly exteri9r t9 them and, wish they had that ability t9 d9 s9. may6e the 9ther seems, at least t9 the first individual, 9pen t9 them and what they have t9 say 9r are fine with spending time with them that has the first individual to sl9wly c9me t9 terms with their 9wn feelings 9n this pers9n. even, s9 far as t9 admit even with their 9wn pers9nal views 9f themselves and their 9wn 6eliefs, they may find them, expenda6le t9wards this individual.”

okay no the beating is anxiety now, this is WAY too much you see it all now and your...scared. your really scared now. he sighs and clears his throat again. “in c9nclusi9n i 6elieve these f9ur fact9r’s are likely c9mp9nants t9 6uild a f9rm 9f r9mantic attracti9n 9ne may find in an9ther. s9, what did y9u think 9f it?”

your horrified, your rubbing your arm nervously and trying to put on a smile for him. “1t’s...pretty good yeah. real conv1nc1ng.” you feel like such a douchebag right now getting nervous. your recent break with horrus was, okay shitty to say, but it was nice having a break from romance.

you know you know that’s really shitty, but you feel the need to put all you can in it and you get drained and can’t keep going sometimes. its like the break charges you up so then your back to giving him your all and it repeats. it sucks, but he loves you and you feel even more douchy at the idea of telling him you can’t do it anymore, ever, after yanking his chain for this long.

you...don’t want that for kankri. your at a 50% charge right now on romancing least flushed wise, you never tried the other quad’s before. what if he wants flushed? you can’t do that you’d lose him if you pulled what you do to horrus on him cause you really kinda, don’t know how to stop or talk about it.

even then you don’t even know if your both broken up for good or what, you could end up with him again and then it’d be a damara situation and you don’t want kankri to be your next damara he keeps grudges way longer then her (which your surprised she tolerates you enough even with her grudge but you digress).

even then all he talked about felt, surface level. like everyone’s crush’s on you; except meenah which guess this means she’s the only one never to flirt with you now. damn it. still though he doesn’t even really know you, sure he could learn but, do you really want him to? learn about how much of a fraud you are? how all this is an act and you honestly have no fucking clue why anyone likes you? how you can’t be your own troll? gog he’d be so disappointed he goes on about trolls equalizing and needing their own rights to be their own troll but you can’t do that; not even for him probably.

point is: your shit at flushed and you don’t want kankri involved. you wanna give him those free feelings your classpect is supposed to do. hard part is, how’re you gonna let him down?

before you can think further he speaks up. “i’m glad y9u think s9. y9ur an excellent listener rufi9h i d9 genuinely appreciate it.” you see a twitch at the end of his lip and it pains you the fact he almost smiled. “perhaps we can have m9re 9f these meetups next time?” he asks taking a step to leave.

your surprised but kinda relieved too, least he’s not asking you out, but then again he’s also coming back sometime. meaning he might get more and more confident to actually pop the question your not ready to burst his bubble with your response with yet.

you smile though and wave at him. “ahah, sure sure 1′ll be here for 1t. or, we can meetup here?” he nods moving to look away as he walks off. “i will make n9te 9f that f9r 9ur next c9nversati9n. take care nitram.” he states, you watch as he gets more distant and vanishes in the forest.

you sigh long and relieved and go to fly back to your spot, moving to lay down on it though as you let it all soak in. your rufioh nitram and you just got flirted with by the kankri celibate vantas himself.

#homestuck #hs #home stuck #fanfiction #rufkri #rufioh x kankri #kankri x rufioh #rufioh nitram x kankri vantas #kankri vantas x rufioh nitram #i made this

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timextoxhajima · 4 years

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*SHORT SERIES

Part 1: I Never Wanna See You Again

Member: *screaming* Lee JuyeON

Genre: angst, fluff, romance, chaebol/lawyer juyeon, and... smut????

Links to other parts:

I Never Wanna See You Again

Love Somebody (light smut)

Play With Fire (smut)

“you’re a fucking lawyer.”

a soft chuckle escapes your ceo’s lips as he turns away, signalling to a staff you didn’t even notice standing in the corner of the living room.

“can i get two cups of tea please? thank you.”

you look at him, completely stunned and at a loss of words.

all this time, you just thought he was making you do all the work while he hid in the office. sunwoo and eric even made jokes about him jerking off in his big ol’ fancy chair...

when he was working on parts of the case that even you were blind to.

everything you did and researched on were just the basic facts and details he needed before he could pull out any more in-depth information and evidence to help you win the case.

and it hurt to know that there was no way you could’ve done it.

“do tell me when you’re done being surprised. we’ve got a lot to discuss about this case,” he comments emptily, not even looking at you while he pulls your file over for him to read.

“i’m sorry, but what the fuck?” you blurt out, completely forgetting that you were sitting right in front of the man who could fire you instantly. you should’ve shut up after the first time you called him a ‘fucking lawyer’, but you nearly regret it the moment you cursed again.

“you really need to work on your people’s skills,” he smirks, eyes still focused on the files. “you may be capable of clearing cases, especially for a newbie, but if you go off cursing in every line that comes out of your mouth, it becomes a valid reason for me to fire you. i can’t have you spitting those curse words in court.”

shut up or ask him again?

shut up or ask him why he hasn’t showed up in office for the last six months?

shut up or ask him why he hasn’t told anybody he’s a lawyer when the entire office is scared shitless of him and has no clue who he even i--

“what the fuck?”

your ceo sighs and drops his head a little, his hold on the sheets of paper loosening as he looks at you through the corners of his eyes.

“you know the entire office is either scared of you or hates you because everybody thinks you’re just...” you aggressively flail your hand around. “doing nothing.”

“aaaand may i know who exactly is ‘scared of me or hates me’?” he raises a brow.

“i don’t know-- like every newbie is afraid to ask about you. i asked lee jaehyun and he shooed me away--”

“ah, that man kept his word.”

you frown, your confusion reaching a new height you never thought was possible.

“damn, now i owe him a trip to japan.”

“a trip to jap-- it was a bet?!” you nearly yell, but the staff arriving with your tea urges you to collect yourself for the umpteenth time today.

and it wasn’t even 10 yet.

“finally a sentence without a curse word,” he says while nodding at the staff member.

“what did you bet on?! whether he could keep his mouth shut about who you really are?! it doesn’t answer anything about why you’ve never stepped foot into the office, or why you act like an ass, or why you don’t even mention the fact that you’re a lawyer yourself--”

“whoa, whoa, whoa.”

you calm down from your high, not noticing that your voice was gradually getting louder. you couldn’t believe it. you felt so played by this man that you had nothing to say.

it’s not like he did anything that actually hurt you or anything, but the fact that the entire office was so terrified of him or that nobody has said anything about him... when it was all a lie?

“need i remind you, again, that i can fire you?” he leans back into his seat, hand holding the tea cup and you suddenly take note of how small the china looks in his hand.

you swallow your saliva, noticing that your throat was dry and your heart was pounding in your chest.

“if you must know, lee jaehyun was my senior when we were in law school. so yes, i had a bet with him to say that he wouldn’t be able to keep it to himself. my real identity, of course. he begged everyone else in the office whom i’ve met before to keep quiet about it. he would win once a newbie figures out that i’m a lawyer, which i guess he did.”

you could feel multiple question marks ascend from the top of your head.

that was one problem down, but what about him MIA-ing for six months? what about him being such an asshole?

“now, can we get back to the case? i got my cousin to get you here to discuss more about the case, not to let you remind me that i lost a bet to jaehyun hyung.”

his what--

“yes, your manager is my cousin. now get a hold of yourself and let’s get this done with, please?”

you were so not used to him saying please after the last conversation you had with him was him asking you to get out of his office with his eyes.

you try your best to wipe away all the questions that were being scribbled across the whiteboard in your head while he begins discussing the case with you. he points out little details and facts that linked in ways you never could’ve thought of.

you were scribbling and writing notes in your own notebook while your ceo talks you through the whole ordeal. you throw out some ideas for defense and he does the same. you wonder if you’d ever have these in-depth discussions about a difficult case with sunwoo or chanhee or eric, ever.

you were so absorbed in the case that you found yourself barefooted now, toes digging into the rug and you were now seated on the soft material between the sofa and the table. you don’t even notice until a staff member comes by your ceo and looks at you strangely.

the staff bows and announces that lunch is ready as you struggle to your feet, embarrassed that you’ve completely made yourself at home in the middle of his living room.

“oooh, what’s for lunch?” your ceo looks up at the staff member with puppy eyes, and it makes your gut churn. who is this man and what did he do with my ceo?

“three course meal, including ribeye steak with mushroom sauce and lobster, mr lee.”

you shoot your ceo a look of shock at the sound of the menu.

“done by mrs jung, i assume?” he raises a brow, now standing up and patting down his black blazer, buttoning the base of his clothes. you fit your heels onto your feet, and you couldn’t help but wonder if the lunch had been catered for you, or he was going to kick you out of his penthouse.

you liked the first option, though the second would be more realistic and at least it’ll tell you that your ceo hasn’t been kidnapped and replaced by aliens.

“yes, mr lee. she also prepared a red for you to pair with the steak, but she’s aware that you have a guest and you tend to be more particular about it when you do.”

your ceo turns to look at you, and you swore a small smile appeared on his lips at the sight of you awkwardly sitting on the sofa.

“open the 1950 Chateau Latour,” he instructs the staff member, leaning forward to the table and carefully gathering the sheets of paper. he looks at you again, looking like he was making a decision in his head.

“and get me a pair of house slippers for her. i don’t want her heels making noises all around the house.”

you let everything go with the flow, and soon you found your heels being taken away into some secret storage room near the lift. your feet were then presented with a pair of cotton slippers you’ve never felt so comfortable in. you were so happily engrossed in the attention of the house staff that were helping you that you don’t realise your ceo already ran off to somewhere else in the penthouse.

you were aggressively thanking the staff for giving you the most comfortable slippers ever when you see him emerge from a hallway behind the kitchen you didn’t even notice from before. he was leaning against the corner of the wall, head resting on the brown surface as he watched you awkwardly bow to the staff members and childishly slide your way over to him.

you had no clue how you were so comfortable in his house. maybe it was the difference in the way he treated his own staff, and maybe it was the way they treated you that made you feel so at home.

sure, you weren’t used to such a pampered lifestyle, but you expected worse.

“i thought i was going to need a microphone to get you to come eat,” your ceo pushes himself off the wall and keeps his arms folded across his chest. standing right next to him made you feel kind of short, now that you weren’t wearing your heels. you back up a little, suddenly letting the fact that you were in your ceo’s house get to your head.

“sorry.”

you hear him offer a tiny laugh under his breath, and you watch as his feet turn away and walk down the hallway. you trail after him, now only noticing that there was a single pair of doors to the right, between two family portraits.

you try to make out the faces under the dim, amber lighting now that you were away from the glass window, but he pushes the door open to a dining room. beyond the large table was a similar glass panel, but right above your heads hung a gorgeous chandelier with the light from outside reflecting off the crystals and painting diamonds on the walls.

your ceo strolls in, and you follow closely behind, eyes still adjusting to all the details in the dining area.

“you really didn’t need to be so extravagant with lunch and all--” you try to show your appreciation as the staff pulls out the chairs for the two of you and lay a napkin in your lap.

“save it,” he interrupts. again, he wasn’t looking at you, but nodding at the staff members for helping him with the chair and the napkin. “i don’t have people over often because i don’t like it. today was just an exception because i had an important call to make and other things to attend to that i couldn’t do in office without losing my bet.”

an awkward pause.

“and i feel bad for making you leave office just to accommodate me, so take this as a token of appreciation or gratitude or whatever you want to believe it is.”

you stifle a smile, but fail miserably.

maybe an alien really kidnapped your boss, but you liked this version better anyway.

you expected lunch to be boring and quiet, but all he does is call out for different staff members and offer them bits and pieces of his food, even asking mrs jung, the chef, to whip up snacks and dishes for them to eat.

you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t heartwarming to see this side of him.

you see him laugh and smile while communicating with his staff members, and they genuinely looked happy to be here. you’d totally expect them to be scared or worried about making a mistake, but never does your boss once falter even when one of the staff member nearly drops a plate while clearing them off the table.

you were finally done with dessert and you could feel your pants tighten around your waist as you sit up. your boss was just calmly wiping his mouth with the napkin before politely handing it over to a staff member to clear.

soon, you found yourself back in his living room, tummy filled and heart satisfied. your boss was nowhere to be seen, and you assume he was off chit-chatting with the staff members. the food coma was slowly sinking in and the warmth from the wine was making you more comfortable, when the same staff from before you gave you the slippers showed up next to the sofa with a set of clothes.

“miss?”

you jerk at the call, and you immediately sit up.

“uh...” you blink, confused at the sight. you were starting to think this was all a dream and that none of it was real. maybe the coffee you had a little off was wonky and now you’re just hallucinating--

“i told mr lee that you looked uncomfortable... so i asked him if it was okay that we got you a more comfortable set.”

“oh!” you exclaim in surprise. you hop to your feet, unsure if you should take the clothes. “i... wouldn’t it be strange if i did...?”

“it’ll be worse if he catches you being uncomfortable, trust me.” she smiles at you, kindly stretching the clothes out to you.

it was so strange, and you don’t think the word “strange” would’ve cut it.

the clothes fit you almost perfectly, the staff were working around you like you lived here, and your boss was nowhere in sight.

it’s almost like you walked into an alternate dimension and you were just living a life that you could only dream of.

you walk out of the over-sized walk-in wardrobe and bathroom after the staff makes sure you’re comfortable and return to the living room, the case files still strewn about and his stacked nicely. a staff was waiting by the sofa, so you could only guess that he must’ve had some kind of message from your boss.

“mr lee will be stuck in his office for most of his day. he has requested for you to stay for as long as you need before you finish whatever you need to do with the case files. here’s a note that he told me to pass to you.”

the information and the rest of the ideas you need to connect the dots and wrap up the case are all already in the file. whatever you told me this morning made sense so i trust that you’ll be able to finish up on your own.

i’ve already informed mrs jung of your possible stay for dinner, so stay if you work past 8pm.

if you live too far away and you’re uncomfortable with taking public transport home, you can stay over for the night if you need to as well.

my staff and chauffeurs get off work at 6pm so i’m not going to ask them to send you home.

you look up at the staff member, for the umpteenth time today, wondering: what the fuck?

you sigh to yourself as the staff member leaves you with all the work on the table. the obligation to finish whatever you could today washes over you as you realise what you were really here to do.

he never wanted to take credit for your work. instead, he was letting you take his. as you scan through all his notes and research, you realise that it was more than enough to help you close the case, even if you didn’t win it.

there was no name on any of his research papers, compared to your worksheets that he made you write your name on every day. so if you were to compile all the information yourself, he was giving you the green light of finishing the case on your own.

you couldn’t help but to let the guilt grow inside you, as you realise that you had been so easily fooled by the way he treated you. though it made no sense that he was such a horrible boss on first sight, you come to terms with the fact that maybe he wasn’t that bad after all.

LATER THAT EVENING

you jerk awake at one of those strange sensations of falling in your sleep, then it hits you.

you fell asleep.

your neck was aching, and you pull away from the table, the sheets of paper stuck to your arms as you shift yourself from the horrible sleeping position. the sky outside was darkening, leaving only red and orange streaks across the sky. you look down at your work, letting the satisfaction fill your lungs once you realised that you were done with the case.

even if you lost, it was because the stupid company thought doing whatever it did was a good idea.

but with your boss’ workings, you might actually have a shot at winning the case.

you struggle to your feet, noticing the lack of commotion around the house. you search for a clock somewhere, and it was already past 6.15pm, which meant all the house staff were gone.

the house was so quiet, and you couldn’t help but wonder if he ever felt lonely living here on his own.

such a big space, but for one person only.

you remember the portraits outside the dining hall, so you don’t hesitate to stride over in your comfy cotton slippers, in your warm clothes provided by him to check out the portraits.

you squint your eyes, the terrible lighting ridding you of any ability to actually see anything constructive out of the portraits. you didn’t want to turn on the lights because you didn’t want to get caught snooping around in his house, but the light flickers on anyway, and you raise your arm in a bid to shield your eyes from the sudden illumination.

“had a nice nap?” you look to your left where the living room area was, and he was changed out of his black fitting, now in a more comfortable blazer and cotton shirt and what looked like... joggers?

“thank you...” you quietly say, your hands fiddling with each other on your stomach. “for your workings and pointers.”

he tilts his head upwards a little at your display of gratitude, his eyes travelling from you to the portraits that he had caught you staring at just moments ago.

“you want to know why i wasn’t in office for the last six months since he handed me the law firm?”

you look up at his question, taken aback that he would even bring it up.

“it’s because i didn’t want it. he gave it to me without telling me, but i was ready to run off a live a life for myself. i’ve already arranged for myself to go overseas and do charity work for the next year at the point of time he said he wanted to let go of the firm. i said, ‘no, you’ve worked so hard for it’. and the next day, he signs everything to me.”

you listen carefully, hearing an unfamiliar tone in his voice. he went from slightly spiteful, to sad, to obligatory, and you could tell just how mixed his emotions were. you turn to look at the portraits, and you now see that they were portraits of him and his family.

“after he gave me the firm, i moved out here alone. i couldn’t stand the sight of him because he just went ahead and did something he knew i didn’t want to do. he knew i just wanted to do charity and work on that, not take over his law firm. in the end, i left and i was away in countries like cambodia, myanmar and other countries helping to build schools and hospitals.”

you return your attention to him, failing to notice that he was now only about a metre away from you. your hands hug your torso as you search his face for any more emotion than the one he had plastered on for the last few minutes.

“so you spent six months away, doing charity work... and you came back because of obligation.”

your words seem to strike a chord in him, because he immediately looks away, almost like he realised he had been seen through.

he sucks in a deep breath, running his hand through his now soft, un-waxed hair.

“i’m sorry, for being such an ass when we first met,” he looks at you with the same movement as he always does: looking at your through the corners of his eyes. “i was just angry and frustrated at how things turned out, and now i’m stuck with this stupid law firm just ‘cause i said he worked so hard for it.”

you offer him a weak smile, reaching out carefully to pat him on the shoulder. it was awkward, but you could only hope it brought him comfort.

what you don’t prepare yourself for was when he shifts forward, suddenly connecting his lips to yours.

you shiver upon the contact, pulling away in surprise as your eyes scan his for any sign of remorse or regret.

your heart was racing and you’ve got absolutely no clue why.

was it the way his eyes were digging your soul out of your body? was it the way you felt so comfortable around him today, despite him being a mean shit to you the day you met him?

but almost instinctively, you reach up and wrap your hands around the back of his neck to pull him in again, this time shutting your eyes as you tasted him.

he shoves you against the wall, hand behind your head so you don’t injure yourself and he picks you up, using the wall as support to keep your legs wrapped around his waist.

the kisses were sharp, harsh, hungry.

never in a million years were you expecting this.

his fingers dig into your hips and trails them along your legs, pushing them inwards so they were securely wrapped around his waist as he walks the both of you to the living room.

you wonder how he was able to gently lay you on the sofa despite your body weight clinging to his torso, but he does it anyway and every thought disappears from your head when he plants soft kisses on your neck. his hands were roaming your stomach and looking for your hips, holding them up as he set his pelvis between your thighs.

you could feel his bulge growing under the material as he kissed and nibbled on the skin of your neck, careful not to leave any marks.

“if you’re not okay with this, please tell me.” he whispers into your ear, stopping for a moment.

“i’m fine. i’m just... surprised, that’s all.”

he pulls back and looks at you with eyes that you’d be afraid of two weeks ago, but now all they do is create more butterflies in your stomach.

“i just... it’s been so long since someone’s seen through me like this. after sang yeon told me about you working till late... and that you look tired even at work but you never once fall asleep... it reminded me of me when i first became a lawyer.”

your heart shatters at his little speech, and your hand reaches up to brush his cheek.

“watching you work reminded me of why i even became a lawyer. you... you’re my restart button, and you make me want to work again.”

a smile breaks out on your lips and tears threaten to collect in your eyes. the sincerity in his voice was what told you that this man was vulnerable after all. you offer him comfort by pulling his face down and kissing him, letting fate decide whatever should happen next...

you were jerked awake for the second time that evening, but this time you were in juyeon’s arms, skin against skin under the blanket that you don’t even remember seeing even while he fucked you mindlessly against his expensive couch.

you let the sound process in your brain, when you realise your phone was going off in your suitcase.

juyeon wakes up from his lazy slumber too, grabbing his bottoms and pulling them on carelessly while he heads for your suitcase. his eyes were still closed when he picks up the call, and you couldn’t help but admire his back muscles.

“hello? oh, yeah. no, she’s not kidnapped, she’s still with me. yeah... no... yes, it’s your boss...”

your eyes widen once you realise who was on the other end of the line. you wrap the blanket around yourself and surge forward to snatch the phone away from juyeon and you press the phone to your ear without thinking twice.

“chanhee...”

“okay... WHAT THE FUCK?!”

Part 3: Love Somebody

#timetohajima #timetohajima playlist feels #screamed a little #cant write smut #juyeon smut #the boyz smut #juyeon fanfic #juyeon au #lee juyeon #juyeon #im sorry #idk what im doing anymore

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