#this was supposed to be a shit post. hi mini fic
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Blow by Blow | 0.5 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader au
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Synopsis: Bradley’s washed up before his career has even really begun. He doesn’t want to fill his father’s shoes and he doesn’t want someone else to either. Stuck in limbo, living the same way he always has, the opportunity to step up wanders through the door of his gym in a mini dress and heels that are a size too big. Boxing au.
Warnings: unspecified age gap, violence, probs boxing inaccuracies somewhere along the line, blood and injuries throughout the fic but will be specified in the warnings of the chapter. Smut and other 18+ content, minors dni, no warnings in particular for this one
…
“Okay, um — no, no,” Natasha winces, shaking her head at you. She grabs your knee and pushes it back down. “No legs — no kicking.”
Jake snorts at the other side of the gym, leaning his head back, then remembering he’s supposed to be spotting Javy, who’s failing out of a bench press. “Oh shit.”
He catches the bar and helps his friend lift it back onto the rack.
“But… I saw on TV—“
“Different sport, kid.” Payback chuckles from the side of the ring, leaning against the ropes. Your lips part slightly, confused. Bradley leans against the doorframe to the office, arms folded over his chest.
You nod slowly as Natasha guides you back into the correct stance. You squint at the heavy bag, readying yourself to go again.
In the month since you’ve moved in, you’ve gotten better at this — but there’s still a lot you don’t know. Still, Natasha has enjoyed seeing you come out of your shell.
Interviewing each of the staff members for the website really helped. Sitting down with each of them for a couple of hours and doing a video interview with them to post on the About section of the website, just a friendly Q&A to make people feel more comfortable coming in and meeting the team.
If it helped you warm up to the idea of training here, then it would help others too.
Bradley is the only one that you haven’t managed to pin down for an interview yet, but he has been busy — he has the most clients around here because he’s been around the longest
Maverick has been loving your ideas so far. He thinks you’re a tech genius for some basic website design and creative ideas.
This entire month has been like a dream that you’re just waiting to wake up from. Even that evening, after hours spent at a local bar — you’re on cloud nine.
Maybe a couple too many drinks, maybe it’s just because you’re so happy, but you’ve been laughing all night.
“You sure you don’t want me to drop you off at home? — It’s on my way.” Payback offers, dangling his keys from his index finger. He’s got a fight coming up and he has cut out all alcohol, but he just has a tiny little sports car that won’t fit everyone. Bradley lives closest.
“Well, yeah — I’m not going to let her walk home on her own,” Bradley answers as he shoots a quick look over to you, grinning with Bob and Mickey as the three of you make plans for the weekend coming. “Besides, it’s not that far out of my way.”
Jake nods his head and pats Bradley’s shoulder, taking Bradley’s spot in that tiny little sports car, “Alright, we’ll see you tomorrow then. Don’t forget you agreed to take care of my eight a.m. session.”
Bradley calls out an agreement and waves the two of them off as he walks over to you.
“You ready?” He asks gently.
“Oh — yeah. Okay, bye guys, I’ll see you both tomorrow.” You stick your arms out and they hug a side of you each, then call out their goodnights to the each of you.
“What did you guys end up deciding to do this weekend?” Bradley asks, reaching past you and curling his fingers around the empty glass in your hand. He takes it and sets it onto the table beside you, then catches hold of your hand and turns you towards the door.
You comply wordlessly, letting him steer you towards the exit. He drops your hand and lets you walk ahead of him.
“Bob knows this hiking trail that has some really great views, and I’ve never been on a real hike, so we’re all going to take Tank with us.”
He hums behind you to show that he’s listening, stepping outside into the night right behind you. “Sounds like fun.”
“Do you want to come?” You offer, turning your head to look at him, your features soft and expectant. Not quite hopeful. Rooster shakes his head.
“Can’t, I’m working this weekend.” Bradley answers. It’s not a lie, he should be working this weekend, but he’s also kind of the boss and hasn’t ever taken notice of the hours that he’s supposed to be working.
You inhale softly, not bothering to argue with him about it. You kind of don’t want him there, anyway. Being all brooding and weird — it would be more fun without him there. That feels mean. It’s not that you don’t like Bradley, it’s just that he’s kind of a dick sometimes.
“You alright? — you’ve gone all quiet, all of a sudden.” Bradley nudges his hand into the back of your bicep as you walk ahead of him. You turn and look over your shoulder once more.
Maybe it’s all the fresh air, but you feel a thousand times more buzzed out here than you had in there.
“Could we walk back along the marina?” You slow down so that you’re at his side. Bradley nods his head, it’ll only add an extra ten minutes to the walk, and sometimes it’s nice down there at night time.
You walk ahead as he pushes his hands into his pockets and watches you. Bradley trained with Jett for a couple of years, he had known from the first session that Jett was an asshole — he just hadn’t realised that it went further than that. Maybe he could have done something earlier.
Your skin cools quickly with the ocean air, goosebumps rising on your skin from the sudden change in temperature.
Finally, you round the path and grow close enough to see the boats, the lights of the city and right out over the bay. You slow down to take notice of it.
“So, do you live near here?” You ask Bradley without looking back to him, gaze turned out over the water. Bradley watches you walk in front of him, his eyes on your legs as you narrowly miss each crack in the pavement. Inches from stumbling, somehow staying on your feet.
“Near Little Italy.” He answers you.
You scrunch your brows and turn quickly towards him, walking backwards without slowing. His features tighten, eyes on your heels — there’s a rock on the path, your shoe lands centimetres from it and you escape breaking your ankle.
“This is out of your way, then.” You realise.
Bradley lifts his gaze, looking at you with the faintest hint of amusement on his face. He nods slowly. “Yeah. But it’s alright.”
“I didn’t say thank you.” You remind him, lips quirking up into a playful smile. His mouth toys at a smirk. He likes it when you forget yourself around him, leave all of that worrying and quietness behind. He can see why the others like you so much when you’re like this.
He pushes his hands into the pockets of his jeans and nods again. He smirks back at you, “That’s alright too.”
You laugh and roll your eyes at him. “If I keep training with Nat, pretty soon you’ll be asking me to walk you home.”
He chuckles lowly. “Is that right?”
You nod your head and slow down, letting him catch up to you. He slows, standing in front of you, brows scrunching. He opens his mouth to question your motives, then stops as you turn your head and look out over the water.
Salty sea air, fuzzy bright lights around the harbour, warm skin as you lean forwards into him. It’s a half-intentional move, you want to be closer but you’re also just tipsy and not that steady on your feet.
Bradley’s hands find your waist, unfazed as you tip your chin to look at him. Maybe it’s the liquid courage, but you aren’t in the slightest bit bashful about staring at him.
He lets you, glancing down at the patterned florals on your dress as his fingers lay still over the material. As his eyes meet yours again, they’re especially dark in this light, almost black. Nothing like the golden hue from this evening’s sunset.
He inhales slowly. Pomegranate, vanilla violet, mahogany wood and amber. His fingers smooth softly over your waist, eyes not faltering from yours.
You press closer into him, palm splayed out open on his chest, warm muscle under your fingertips. He stares at you, for a second questioning whether or not you’re about to do what he thinks you’re going to do. He leans into your touch, letting your lips press softly into his.
His breath stops in his airways. You mouth on his, just for a moment. As you go to pull back, his lips chase yours. You hum softly into him, meeting him with another gentle kiss. His bottom lip slotted between yours as his fingers curl into the fabric of your dress.
Pulling back slowly, you look up at him through your lashes and take one step back. Bradley loosens his hold on you, then drops his arms back to his sides.
You turn away from him and continue ahead.
“What was that for?” Bradley’s brows scrunch. You take a deep breath and sigh contentedly as you continue along the path, walking ahead of him once again.
“I just thought it would be a good spot for a first kiss.”
Your cheeks are warm, your hands cold as you trail along the path at the side of the marina. Bradley walks just a pace behind you, his hands pushed deep into the front pockets of his jeans.
Just when he thinks he’s got you figured out, you’re off ahead of him again. He shakes his head softly. A good spot for a first kiss.
He squints at the back of your head — that implies that there will be more kisses to come, is he meant to kiss you again?
Your heels clack across the parking lot, around the side of the building. As you near the base of the metal steps up to your apartment, you turn back around to say goodnight.
His hands press into your hips, curling into the fabric of your dress as he walks you back — your breath hitches in your throat — a soft sound is knocked from you as your back hits into the red brick of Bradshaw’s exterior.
Rooster takes a second, looking you over, searching your features for a sign of doubt before he leans forwards and presses his weight into you. You swallow softly.
He lifts one hand, curling it around your jaw, turning your chin upwards and pressing his lips against yours. It’s soft at first, tender like yours had been. Then, he presses himself harder into you, sliding his hand around to the back of your neck, pulling you harder into him.
A surprised hum slips out against Bradley’s mouth, but as he urges his tongue past your lips, the sound is followed by a delightfully contented moan.
Your hands slide up his chest, coming to rest against his ribs, almost like you’re going to push him off. You’ve got no intentions of stopping this just yet. Bradley pushes himself forwards, needing to be closer.
Bradley uses his height against you, crowding you against the wall, pressing the entire length of his body into yours and slotting his thick, denim-clad thigh between your legs. Your dress bunches up out of his way, not hindering his access in the slightest.
He squeezes your hip and slides his arm around your back, grinding himself forwards into you. You’re supposed to be shy, always so quiet. Now, you rock yourself onto his thigh, fingers curling into his t-shirt.
Lifting your leg to graze it against his thigh, your heel knocks gently into the bottom step. He presses you harder into the wall, caressing his tongue into yours. The ding of your heel against the metal step is soft enough to have not disturbed you. The loud bark that comes from upstairs following that gentle ding, though — that makes you flinch.
You pull apart, lips parted. Staring up at him, breathing heavily. Your skin burns as you realise who you’re with and what just happened — and where you are.
“Um… I should,” You breathe out, blinking at him, “I should go and let him out.”
Bradley nods his head. It’s a couple of seconds before his brain catches up and he finally lets you go, stepping back and freeing you from being trapped against the wall.
“Okay.” He nods, wetting his lips with his tongue. He thinks back to the conversation he had with Natasha. Whatever happened between you and Jett. It was probably a bad idea to—
“Do you want to come up?”
He stares at you for a second, lips quirking up at the sides. He exhales softly, wetting his lips with his tongue. “Sure.”
You aren’t even sure why you asked him, it seems like a bad idea before you’ve even said it — it seems like an even worse idea when he’s headed up the steps behind you.
“You have to stay here and let Tank sniff you or he’s going to freak out.”
Rooster nods his head. It can’t be that bad, he has learnt his lesson from last time. He waits outside whilst you go in and calm Tank down, clipping him into his leash to let him out.
Once Tank has sniffed him, you allow Rooster to wait inside while you get Tank settled. He’s waiting by the counter with his arms folded over his chest by the time you’re done. It doesn’t feel the same.
Maybe the moment has passed. You swallow softly, shifting uncomfortably as Tank settles down into his spot on the couch. Glancing across, you open your mouth to comment on how Tank is finally warming up to him. Tank growls lowly, a warning for Bradley to stay where he is.
He presses his tongue to the inside of his cheek and hums, “Maybe I should go.”
“But…” You start out softly.
He steps towards you and Tank growls again. You swallow softly and shoot a look to your dog. Bradley takes one more step towards you, and Tank is silent. The second that Bradley reaches out for you, he growls again.
This has got to be some kind of divine intervention from Natasha. He shouldn’t be here, doing this.
“Alright, Bambi — I’m going to head home. I’ll see you in the morning.” He breathes out, shaking his head softly. You open your mouth to protest. He pats your shoulder platonically and heads for the door. You close it again quickly.
You’ve already embarrassed yourself enough. This really hot guy, who you have to see every day, who just rejected you. You close your eyes for a second and sigh. You let him leave without a word.
…
#bradley rooster bradshaw#bradley bradshaw#miles teller#bradley bradshaw smut#rooster x you#rooster bradshaw imagine#top gun smut#blow by blow#bradley bradshaw au#bradley bradshaw x reader
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Fic: Somewhere That’s Green
[based on a post I made about Eddie’s future]
It’s a hole in the wall just off the main drag, the kind of place you can’t find unless you know to look. In a previous life it had been a pizzeria, which explained the bright green vinyl awning Eddie had no intention of replacing. He’d kept the pick-up window, too, used it to host “office hours.” (“Office hours” was supposed to mean “deliver personalized music recommendations to interested passers-by.” Now it means “help harried, double-parked parents reschedule music lessons.”)
He’d also kept the apartment upstairs. They have a house now—a nice one, with a wrap-around porch and a big backyard and a cluster of hedges Steve always insists are “a mess”—but when Eddie trips into an inventory hole and loses track of time, it’s nice to have a place to crash. If it’s not a school night sometimes Steve joins him, and they’ll relive the halcyon days of their early twenties, buoyed by cheap beer, diner curly fries, and giddy infatuation. (The infatuation has only grown and flourished even as his tolerance for salty food has withered. Acid reflux is a bitch.)
He’s happy they kept the apartment. He happy knowing that if someone needs it—someone scared, broke, desperate for a lifeline and a scrap of no-strings-attached kindness—it’s something he can provide.
Initial plans had been to focus on music, just music. It was supposed to be the utopic all-metal record store of Eddie’s nightmares. But as he started to build stock, he remembered how hard it had been to find merch for the things he liked. How a pin or a patch or poster he’d dug up at a garage sale four towns over made him feel more seen than anything on offer at the local mini-mall. How he wanted to be a hub for the weird shit not everyone liked, but the people who did loved. His horrible little magpie brain fluttered from shiny thing to shiny thing, and by the time opening day rolled around the store was a one-stop shop for all things music, merch and whatever wacky knick-knacks tickled Eddie’s fancy. Or horrified Steve. Or both. Both was best.
The Corroded Coffin guys slotted in easily. Francis always liked doing promo for their gigs, was good at it, too. But by the early 2000s, his methods were apparently so outdated his daughter begged to let her take over. (“He’s stapling fliers to telephone poles, Uncle Eddie. You don’t even have a website.”
“What is a telephone pole covered in fliers if not the working man’s web-ed site?”
“Oh my God give me your credit card I’m buying you a domain name.”
“A what?”)
Jeff got his CPA and took over the financials, reeling Eddie in whenever he was struck by the urge to make a impulsive, outlandish purchase. (“I genuinely don’t understand how you make money.”
“It’s cause I don’t do my taxes.”
“I do your taxes. At a great personal expense.”)
Gareth was instrumental (heh…) in building up the music program—soundproofing the basement and hiring instructors and coordinating concerts and organizing payment plans, all the nitty-gritty non-music stuff that made Eddie’s head spin. At some point it just made the most sense for Eddie to cede control, let him operate it however he saw fit. (“This is your baby, dude. It’s a baby that took form within my own, much larger baby. But it’s yours.”
“I’m touched by your words and appalled by your phrasing.”
“That’s the only way I could have said it.”)
(Gareth also once described the store as an “Elevated Hot Topic.” Eddie still hasn’t decided when he’s going to kick his ass.)
Momentum grew. Ideas compounded ideas. A kid asked how to sew a patch to his backpack and it snowballed into the Build Your Own Battlevest Workshop. Wayne suggested knocking out the connecting wall between the walk-in freezer and the pantry, and now thrice weekly Eddie runs table-top games for varying age-sets and skill-levels. (At Steve’s request, the elementary school group is called H-E-DOUBLE HOCKEY STICKS FIRE CLUB. Not because he thinks it needs to be censored. He just thinks it’s funny.) (He’s right.)
It was supposed to be a record store but now it’s so much more. Now there are listening parties and movie screenings and little league teams with his store’s name on the back of their jerseys and and and—
Eddie used to think, if he got lucky, he’d last a year. Now he’s closing in on 30. He was profiled by the local newspaper. They called him “a pillar of the community.”
Wild.
It’s a warm, sunny April morning. He’s sitting at the takeout window, sipping coffee from the bottom half of a teapot-teacup combo that reads, in a menacing blood-red font, THIS FREAK DRINKS TEA. His hair is gathered in a loose braid, the ends still damp from his post-run shower. (Sometime in their mid-thirties Steve tricked him into maintaining a consistent cardio routine, and now he’s the type of person who gets out of bed at the crack of dawn to knock out an “easy three.” He’s a monster, a husk of his former self. A husk with a much-improved lung capacity and thighs that can juice a watermelon but nonetheless HUSK.) The middle school is about a half mile from the shop; he pulls faces at all the students filtering past. (Steve’s kids, current and former, refer to Eddie exclusively as Mr. Munson’s Husband. It never fails to thrill him.)
He’s leaning back to flip the record piping through the store’s speakers (“Dustin I don’t care if it’s ‘easier’ to ‘create a Spotify account,’ whatever that means. We play vinyl only! Let me be pretentious about this one thing!”) when he hears a meek, polite cough coming from just beneath the window. He peers out and on the sidewalk stands a girl. She’s small, too little to be one of Steve’s. She clutches the strap of her backpack, blue eyes huge with nerves and determination.
“Hail and well met, weary traveler!” He’s speaking in what Steve calls his Dork Voice, the slightly tuned-down version he uses to put shy kids at ease. “How might I be of assistance?”
The girl purses her lips, sets her shoulders, shakes her shaggy bangs out of her face. Eddie thinks suddenly of Nancy and Robin and his heart clenches.
“Do you like games?” She asks.
He smiles softly. Drops the act.
“Yeah.” He rests his scarred cheek in the cradle of his palm. “I like games. Do you like games?”
The dam breaks.
“Yes!” She replies at once, breathless with enthusiasm. “My family plays a lot of board games, like Game of Life and Monopoly, and they’re okay but kind of boring, but my brother taught me how to play Settlers of Catan and I really liked that, and my friends and I played Werewolf at a sleepover but we made up a bunch of extra rules to make it harder, and my cousin showed me this video game where the ending changes based on what choices you make and that’s so cool—”
“Alright, slugger.” Eddie can’t help but laugh. “What game are you looking to play?”
The girl collects herself. “Okay,” she says. “Okay, so. So I like it in games where there are rules, but also you can make stuff up? And you can do something weird that might ruin everything but also might pay off? And sometimes you have to work with other people to accomplish your goal, but alliances can break?”
Eddie nods.
“So there’s this one game. It sounds like so much fun, but nobody I know plays it. They play it on this show I like, well, okay, it’s not really a show, it’s, uh, okay do you know what a podcast is?”
Eddie beams.
Steve swapped study hall coverage so he could pop in for lunch. Tonight is parent-teacher conferences, which means Steve’ll be home late, which means Eddie will get absorbed in a project and either crash upstairs or stumble home well after Steve’s gone to bed, which means they’ve got to snatch the time together they can get. They split a sandwich, a salmon burger from Costco Eddie threw in the air fryer and smashed up with avocado and grilled poblano pepper. (”It’s heart healthy!”
“You’re heart healthy.”
“Aw.”
“I meant that as an insult.”
“I’m not taking it as one, mwah mwah mwah.”)
Eddie eats too fast, as he often does, and drags his nails over the veins of Steve’s forearm to distract himself from his gastrointestinal tract turning inside out.
“🎶Myyyy babyyyy myyyyyy babyyyyyy,” he hums against the shell of Steve’s ear. “You’reeee my babyyyyy sayyyy it to meeeeee🎶.”
“Alright,” he huffs, tapping his fingers to the knobby bone of Eddie’s wrist. He presses a kiss to the underside of Eddie’s jaw and rises. “I gotta get back.”
He slings his messenger bag over his shoulder, gathers the papers he’d promised he’d grade but didn’t. Eddie watches him readjust, watches him smooth down the salt-and-pepper hairs dusting his temples, watches him push his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He catches Eddie watching and asks, slyly, “What?”
Eddie wants to say, I love you. He wants to say, you’ve made me happier than I ever thought I could be. He wants to say, I’m so grateful I built this life with you.
But he’s still himself, so what he says is, “Those khakis make your ass look great.”
Steve scoffs, and with a bitchy eye roll he sinks his weight onto his back foot and says, “I KNOW,” and there he is. There’s the man he married.
He looks over his shoulder before he leaves, his honey-warm eyes liquifying Eddie’s spine.
“Hey,” he murmurs. “I love you too.”
Eddie kisses him and kisses him and kisses him.
Pretty good life.
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I'm almost certain that MC would introduce the brothers to human world holidays and they would try their best to emulate it with what they have. That being said, have a mini fic!!
!! Fluff, wholesome, thanksgiving themes, shit postish, gender neutral MC !!
Also, I'm basing the food and traditions off of my personal experience so sorry if you don't see your faves mentioned in the foods
MC had been hanging out with Asmodeus and Mammon in the common room gossiping about both human world and Devildom social media. The three were scrolling and laughing when a certain human world post caught MC's eye.
"Oh! I didn't realize today was Thanksgiving. Damn, it's really almost December." They sighed. Their tone was no longer as happy as it was before and their expression had switched to a slightly somber one.
"What's wrong, honey?" Asmo asked causing Mam to pay more attention too.
"Sorry. I didn't mean to kill the mood." MC smiled slightly only for Mammon to roll his eyes.
"No. Stop that. What's going on with ya? What happened, MC? Do I need to get Beel to fight someone?" Mammon asked getting closer to comfort them.
"I just realized that today is Thanksgiving. In the human world, it's a holiday where you're supposed to remember the native people killed by European settlers in order to take their land by having a huge feast and sharing what you're grateful for with your friends and family. My family would make a lot of different foods, desserts, drinks, and watch movies all afternoon until night and then we'd all go home and sleep of we were at someone else's house. We always made so much that we would be eating the same thing for at least a week!" MC smiled nostalgically. They sighed in contentment before shaking their head and looking back up at the two demons with them.
"Oh, honey that sounds like a... wonderful little tradition! I'm sorry we don't have anything like that here." Asmo said gently and placed a hand on MC's leg.
"Hey, how about I try to make ya feel better, huh?" Mammon asked excitedly.
"How?"
"We'll all go out! Even if we just walk around and window shop, all of us will go out on the town!" Mammon suggested. MC thought about it for a moment, then nodded their head and smiled gently.
"Alright. I'll ask the others if they want to go with us." MC said and stood up to go talk to the others.
"Don't worry about it, MC. Asmo and I will take care of that. I'll even let you wear my lucky ring today, okay?" Mammon said and helped MC up off of the couch. He kissed their forehead and shooed them off to get ready.
"Okay. Thanks Mam. Asmo, can I use your tub, please?"
"Help yourself to anything you need, gorgeous!" Asmo smiled and watched MC walk out of the room. "Mammon what are you planning?" He asked more seriously.
"We're gonna throw them a Devildom style thanksgiving! C'mon! They'll love it and it'll make em happy! It only makes sense, right?"
"Wow, Mammon, that was actually a good idea. You tell the twins and Satan and I'll tell Luci and Levi." Asmo smiled and pat his older brother on the shoulder as if to say, 'good job'.
A few hours later, all eight residents were out and about. They spent the whole day laughing and joking around with MC to make them feel better. By the early evening, Lucifer, Satan, Levi and Asmo went back to the house while Mam, Beel, Belphie, and MC stayed out a little longer. The four of them walked around a park for a while until Mammon looked down at his D.D.D and quickly spoke up.
"I'm pooped. Let's go back to the house." The white-haired demon suggested.
"Fine with me, I'm hungry and Belphie looks like he can barely hold his eyes open anymore." MC chuckled and peeked over at Belphie who was leaning on Beel and almost asleep.
"I think Lucifer's cooking tonight, so dinner should be ready by the time we get home." Beel said happily and the four of them made their way back to the House of Lamentation.
MC opened the front door and was immediately hit with a cacophony of familiar smells. They looked back toward the three brothers they were with who were smiling at them excitedly. MC immediately walked straight into the dining room and gasped in pure shock and awe.
"Happy thanksgiving, MC!" The crowd yelled in glee. The rest of the brothers, the angels, Solomon, Lord Diavolo, Barbatos, Mephieso, and Thirteen lined the sides of the room. In front of them was a giant spread laid out expertly across the huge dining table. There were dinner rolls, ham, macaroni and cheese, sweet potatoes, fresh collard greens, redxred apple pie, wicked cupcakes, demonus, and so much more across the table.
"You guys! You didn't have to do this for me! It's just one little human world holiday!" MC gushed holding back their tears.
"Well, we heard how sad you sounded, and we wanted to do something nice for you." Solomon said. Being human too, he understood missing little things like a holiday.
"Thank you all so much! I'm so glad that I came to the Devildom. My life has never been more exciting." MC said happily.
"It was Mammon's idea. You should thank him the most." Lucifer piped up. Mammon blushed as every eye in the room turned to him.
"Aww, Mammon! Thank you so much! I love you so much!" MC ran to Mammon and hugged him with everything they had in them. Mammon blushed even more and stuttered out an 'of course' in response.
The rest of the night was spent full of laughing, delicious food, jealous glared thrown and Mammon, and lots and lots of good memories. Solomon even pulled some strings and got MC's favorite alcohol so they could get a bit "silly" just like everyone else.
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* IRON HAND, VELVET GLOVE / IRON GLOVE, VELVET HAND 🃏
sharing to tumblr a fic that i posted to ao3 a little while ago! i adore it very much still. COLD WAR RUSAME CALLS TO ME... pls heed the content tags!
➹ contents: historical hetalia, cold war, top russia, bottom america, hatefucking, gun kink, voice kink, masturbation, edging, phone sex, general toxic yaoi shenanigans
rusame (russia/america)
2,084 words
1960s/1980s (and related geopolitics of the era)
preview:
1961 — Washington, D.C., United States
The black rotary phone click, clink, clanked right back into place, the abandoned number not fully dialed.
The Soviets had shot their cosmonaut up into orbit today, and now Alfred holed himself up in his private office in the White House — more than a little bit pissed off.
His boss had sent him, hours after the news, to go issue a few congratulatory words to Russia, just as he’d soon be doing to Russia’s boss. Politics — they were such fickle matters. Even when they were supposed to be sworn enemies, there still had to be some degree of politeness, if only to keep up the illusion of ‘peace.’
And so, Alfred tried another time… pushing his fingertip into the circle holes for each digit, clenching his teeth. The rotary clicked and clacked methodically, until the dial tone started, and he leaned back into his swivel chair — swallowing his bruised ego.
Sputnik had already been a hit to his pride, and now it was the first man in outer space…?
Ring, ring, ring.
Alfred prayed he wouldn’t answer — he kicked his legs onto his desk-top and rested them there.
Ring.
He adjusted his glasses, and began distracting himself with twisting up the curly landline cord between his fingers.
Brrring-brrring.
The other line finally flared to life:
“Have you come to grovel in shame, Alfred~?”
[...]
1981 — Kabul, Afghanistan
“You are not supposed to be here, Alfred~ ♪”
No shit he wasn’t. “No shit.”
The Afghan sun and sandstorms have given him absolutely no reprieve — and now dusk loomed, with the promise of desert cold that’s worse than the burning heat of day, somehow.
It was even more unfortunate how the lone cluster of stone shacks off the side of a random road, that he’d gone inside of to hide and rest, just so happened to be a Soviet mini-outpost. Empty, except for one—
The last time he’d actually seen Ivan in person…ah, it’d been too long, but also not long enough. Not since the multiple shitshows in Cuba, and the very massive one in Vietnam, both of which he’d rather pretend never happened.
“I was hoping you could keep a secret,” he joked. Alfred already had his M1911 drawn before entering, and now he steadied his aim with the iron-sights on Ivan, whose back was to the door.
He was sitting, creaking in an old wooden chair tucked into an old wooden table, the top of which had marked maps and manilla folders, and a lantern with a dying flame. Alfred wasn’t even entirely sure how Ivan had known it was him without looking, or even moving — maybe it was the unique sound of his footsteps, or the way he smelled, or just a sixth sense about each other that all the nations seemed to possess.
It didn’t matter, anyhow. Ivan stood up carefully, glancing over his shoulder with a cheery look. “Secret? I am no good at keeping those ♪”
America was not, officially, supposed to be in Afghanistan. The CIA was not supposed to be involved in the war here, training and funding the rebels as they fought off the occupation of the Soviet Union. It was already bad enough that this was a not-so-well-kept secret to the rest of the world, but now he was face-to-face with Ivan…
͟͟͞☆ FULL WORK HERE
#bunnie's coffeehouse#hetalia#rusame#aph america#aph russia#aph rusame#alfred f jones#ivan braginsky#hws america#hws russia#fanfiction#hello fellow rusame enjoyers......#/ long post#/ wfsn
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FIC REC WEEK 12 – OTHER MARVEL SHIPS
SAM/BUCKY
just won't do right by glittercake
Pairing: Sam/Bucky
Rating: G
Words: 7,521
Tags: Jealous Bucky, Idiots in Love, Oblivious Sam
Summary: Sam's eyebrows go up, impressed, and he reaches over to squeeze Torres' shoulder, "This is amazing, kid. Thanks, really."
Bucky sits and watches in utter horror as the pink darkens on Torres' cheeks.
Oh, he realizes. Oh. Fuck.
Reasons why I love it:
Jealous Bucky is just the best. And I love Torres, so having him be the catalyst for some good old Sam-Bucky angsting is fantastic. Sarah is amazing in this too, I love all of their characterizations honestly. This fic is super sweet, and if you haven't already, I hope you check it out for yourself!
Subtlety Not Our Strong Point by copperbadge
Pairing: Sam/Bucky
Rating: T
Words: 2,944
Tags: Alternate Universe, Engagement, Brunch
Summary: Bucky is not good at proposing, but once he managed, he and Sam were going to let people find out organically. Unfortunately, Tony Stark has never done anything organically in his life.
Reasons why I love it:
Whelp, say what you want, but you can't deny it – Bucky's way has its merits. I love this one, Sam and Bucky are so in love, and Tony crashing their plans without even meaning to is fucking hilarious. This fic is really sweet, and I hope you go and check it out for yourself!
show me if you want me (and i will be your friend) by notcaycepollard
Pairing: Sam/Bucky
Rating: E
Words: 3,027
Tags: Casual Sex, Friends With Benefits, Porn With Feelings
Summary: Bucky's gotta give it to the future for this: they've turned casual sex into a goddamn art.
What is a friend with benefits, he types into Google, and spends the next two hours reading about the distinctions between booty calls and friends with benefits and fuck buddies. It’s extremely informative. He’s gonna put it to good use, like, pretty much immediately.
Reasons why I love it:
Jesus Christ, this fic is so hot, holy shit. And just as the cherry on top, there are feelings all over it, good, mushy feelings, fuck yes. I love how Bucky ambushes Sam in the beginning and how Sam just goes with it. It's so fun and so sweet and oh my god, you need to read this if you haven't, it's so good!
three words that became hard to say by suzukiblu
Pairing: Sam/Bucky
Rating: G
Words: 1,924
Tags: Male Friendship, Fluff, Bucky Needs a Hug
Summary: “I wanna step out with Wilson,” Bucky says, audibly traumatized. Steve blinks again, and lowers the shield.
“Uh,” he says. “Come again?”
Reasons why I love it:
Their voices in this are so perfect, that old-timey forties Brooklyn drawl. I love Steve and Bucky's friendship here, and Steve's need to protect Bucky and keep him happy always is so heartwarming. Plus, Bucky's crush on Sam is the cutest thing ever. I love this fic to bits, and I bet you will too!
what i like about you baby (is how you annoy me daily) by notcaycepollard
Pairing: Sam/Bucky
Rating: M
Words: 8,951
Tags: Post-Civil War, Bickering, Roommates
Summary: “I’m not sharing my room,” Sam mutters, knowing as he says it that it sounds exactly like he’s a fucking ten year old facing a new sibling. Steve hastily makes what Sam thinks is supposed to be an understanding face.
“Of course not,” he says soothingly. “He can bunk in with me, it’s not like we haven’t done it before. It's a twin room, anyway, there's already a spare bed.”
Sam guesses a bigger house is out of the question. Whatever; the three of them have spent eight hours crammed in a Mini, it can’t be that bad.
It’s not that bad. It’s worse.
Reasons why I love it:
Sam and Bucky being asshole roommates while Steve despairs at them from the sidelines is something I never knew I needed. This fic is so fucking good, funny and heartfelt and adorable in turns, with fantastic dialogue and characterization. I love it so much, and I hope you go and read it for yourself, because it's amazing!
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“What’s so Special About the Moon?”
Jamil Viper x MC(insert character Mac)
(Ch. 1) – Ch. 2 – Ch. 3 – Ch. 4 – Next – Previous
This was originally supposed to be, like, a single chapter hurt/comfort before my OC (Mac) and Jamil as a song fic where they berate him and then sing a song referencing the moon… but then I had feelings and it’s becoming a more in depth character study between the two. Don’t worry! By the end of this mini series, there will be song lyrics and more sappiness… it’s just now that I’ve finished both Book 4 and Book 5, I need to reorganize the events and specific and whatnot. Some quick housekeeping as always: I tried to make Jamil to encompass both his dark & mysterious villain persona ALONG WITH him practically being a fucking child so that’s why I wrote him like *this* so yeah… I’m moving around the timeline so that Yuu/MC (aka Mac) has the weekend to GET THEIR SHIT TOGETHER LOL, Mac is about 19-20 (haven’t decided yet) and uses mixed pronouns as a heads up, Ch. 2 has a 1st draft written put still needs to be typed up and edited. If you see a typo NO YOU DIDN’T!!! This one of my first times trying a different writing doc that isn’t Google (cuz fuck Google) and it’s a little weird to get used to and edit stuff. It’s beta-d in the sense that licking the spatula while your mom bakes cookies and claiming that you helped… literally only a few paragraphs were checked over y’all.
Quick shout-out to @krenenbaker and @twst-beam for inspiring my writing thus far (and sorry for taking so long to post this lol!)
I’ll be releasing some type of overview of my OC eventually, but take these snippets as they go while I fall back in love with writing. You’ll meet Mac in full when xey are good and ready… anyway, please enjoy Chapter 1 of my new fanfiction, “What’s So Special About the Moon?”
“Here. You can use this one,” Jamil directed towards the plain (compared to the rest of the dorm) laundry… mat? There were several industrial sized washer and dryers, a couple moderate-sized one’s that would fit a regular apartment complex, and a long wall designated area for hand washed items. Jamil was keeping the door prompt open with his hips; his slight frown of concentration and the flick of his Magic Pen were the only signs of the current spell he had going. Turning around, MC was slightly surprised by the massive piles of fabric that was being corralled in via multiple a massive sheet tied to multiple brooms. They still couldn’t fully grasp the concept (and power) of magic and seeing it so casually performed on a day-to-day basis was kinda daunting.
“Thanks again for letting us use the space along with showing me how to properly clean all these fancy duds and whatnot.” the Ramshackle Perfect awkwardly trailed off. Their focus was split between stealing peaks at the Scarabia Vice Warden, not wanting to bother the already busy Sophomore, and surveying over the dusty, damaged antique pieces the two stripped from the halls of the previously abandoned dorm. Rugs, carpets, curtains, furniture covers (in varying state of disrepair) dulled of their once rich and vibrant color. The patterns were a mix of stuffy academia and the quiet comfort of a grandparents cottage living room. Both extravagant, yet understated. It’s a style lost to time, but not quite a revived ancient aesthetic.
At this point MC was fully lost in thought; they desperately needed to clean, fix, organize and decorate the dorm in preparation to host so many guests. Even with his limited memories, they had a feeling they’d never hear the end of it from his parents.
“Don’t worry about it much.” Jamil said, interrupting their musings. “Honestly, I’m doing this as much for myself as I am helping you.
With a flick of his wrist, Jamil organized the seemingly random crumbled piles of fabric by condition, color and use. His movements while cleaning were quick, smart, and efficient-- all while patiently showing Mac which order to start in along with the best way to clean them.
“Ya’ know…” MC broke the relative quietness between the two workers, “Even with everything thing that happened over break, I understand why Kalim still trusts you; I almost can believe that you’re not that bad of a guy.” Jamil gave xem a startled (and exasperated) look, but they continued before he could respond: “I fail to see how helping the person who ruined your ‘world domination’ plans—”
“They were hardly World Domination level!” He quickly snapped. His embarrassment led to him tugging his hood further down his face, teeth slightly clenched, and dilated eyes as MC continued listing all the ways he’s “helped” them out.
The magic-less Perfect laughed to themselves the more conflicting emotions flew across Jamil’s face. Eventually those same emotions were compressed behind a cold, smooth mask. Limestone slabs and stiff mud brick walls were swiftly constructed between the two working-class students. Something about it didn’t sit right with Mac.
“Hey I’m not saying what you pulled wasn’t a dick move! But you’re also not the first overly-traumatized teen boy I’ve had to deal with… and between what you’ve said about yourself, plus thing’s I’ve heard and seen, I’m starting to think you’re not nearly as complicated as you think you are.” The longer they argued *to* him, the more Jamil’s mask began to crack; there were a few holes in his walls he didn’t account for. Xe’s a tad more observant than I remember, but weirdly just as persistent, Jamil internally rolled his eyes.
“I could still change my mind and send you back to deal with the Pomefiore Wrath(tm),” He mumbled while gracefully lugging the newly cleaned (and damp) furniture coverings into an empty drier. Despite his harsh threat, MC still remembered him assuring the other this laundry room was only ever used by him after Kalim’s parties.
The large machines and larger working space was specifically added for the servant to clean and repair any decor or Asim Family Treasures when Kalim’s recklessness caused a larger mess than usual. This meant that Mac and Grim (who was originally supposed to be helping… where the hell was he anyway?) could do as many loads needed without worry. On top of the borrowed space, the Housewarden himself had cheerily has assured them, his Oasis Maker would replace all the water used ten times over!
Mac’s thoughts were interrupted once again as Jamil relented, “I told you, I’m doing this to help me.” After receiving an unconvinced eyebrow raise, Jamil began to explain, “Kalim might’ve announced us as equals but I still have a job to do. If he got sick while spending Allah knows how long in a dusty, dirty, shabby condemned building like Ramshackle I’ll never hear the end of it.”
“It’s not nearly that bad anymore!” the sole-human resident of said dorm argued, but was quickly shut up with a tired gesture towards the untouched loads of laundry left to be done.
“On top of that,” Jamil smirked “Even a common peasant like myself wouldn’t sleep in a rundown garbage heap if I can help it.” His smirk slowly slide off his face from his face as the insulted Perfect almost ripped the handful of soapy doilies, that they were previously scrubbing by hand, as xey prepared a retaliation.
“OK, first of all! This whole Inferior-Superior shtick isn’t going to prove your point. If I’m being totally honest, I’m pretty used to the bratty, arrogant attitude of teenagers by now (even if I wasn’t Leona is a thousand times worse).” They turned their full body to face the 2nd year boy before continuing the assault. “Secondly, even just doing the bare minimum would’ve been fine, considering I’ve slowly been deep cleaning them place room by room. This is just last minute cleaning considering I wasn’t expected to host six extra people in two days.”
The shock of Mac’s care and attention to detail couldn’t win over Jamil’s newfound freedom to be right… and sassy while doing it. “Keep in mind you wouldn’t be the only one having to deal with Vil. His expectations are much higher than my personal standards—”
“Getting there!” MC interrupted again. “It’s not like Vil and whoever else couldn’t magic things better or get things done over at Pomefiore.” However, their fire started to die down with their obvious lack of understanding of magic. Not that Xeir level of intellect ever stopped them from talking out of their ass during debates… even if this wasn’t exactly shaping up to be anything like Debate Club back home.
“Not the point!” Mac built back their steam after thoughtlessly shaking off any internal distractions. “Third of all,” Jamil groaned not-so-quietly, “third of all, you didn’t have to show me how to do it. Nor did you have to continue helping me. There’s only so much I could pay you back in favors and it’s not like you’ll make back the time and energy spent. You’re obviously a bit of a piece of shit but I don’t totally blame…”
Jamil suddenly gave Mac his full attention. He smoothed any emotional tells from his face and readied himself to actively dissect what ever left xeir mouth and any messages in between the lines. The silence prompted Mac to drip extra sincerity as they begin to ramble without thinking.
“… I get why you did what you did. You’re not totally forgiven, but it’s not like I’ll hold a grudge over you forever. Whenever I joke about Winter Break I thought you knew it was just that: a joke.”
The two stared at one another for a few beats. Jamil betrayed nothing that he was thinking, but Mac could practically feel the exasperation flooding off of him in great waves. The disbelief pushing and pulling off of him, despite remaining stone cold to zeir admission. So, of course, they continued with slight for fever:
“Yeah, okay, you held us all prisoner, enslaved via hypnosis your entire dorm, and nearly killed multiple students. Twice.” Mac cringed at their own blunt statement, “… But why would you go as far as you did, if you didn’t care! What your parents, and more specifically your culture, put you through wasn’t fair—but you obviously still love and cherish them!”
At this, he seemed to get even more guarded. It felt patronizing to be hold how he supposedly felt or why he should feel a specific way. They hadn’t been there. They hadn’t grown up as a Viper in the Desert, constantly reminded by Kalim’s Mirage of wealth what he could never have. They didn’t know the FIRST thing about the Scalding Sands—!
“… How do you know anything about my parents? Did Kalim--?!” He choked out infuriated at the mere implication.
“Relax Viper! It’s all in the Secret of The Ooze™”
“What?”
“Never mind…”
The usual absurdity of MC’s references (much to xeir chagrin that no one seemed to understand them) Jamil allowed himself a shadow of a smirk. Right about now they’d drop what they were saying and instead empathize with him over terrible bosses. They’d both fall back into a familiar pattern of quiet understanding while making playful small talk; maybe Xe’d make a remark over how “hellish” the desert temperature is and moan about being “a poor Northern forced into the sun” before dragging them both off to grab an abominably sweet drink that Kalim would still put sugar in. Xe had always been could at mediating with the other students at NCR.
However, they didn’t drop it. They continued to push him… especially when they realized that he expected the conversation to have ended and started to relax. Xey pushed and pushed and pushed. Finally, they had circled back to him rebelling from his status.
“What? You think I’d be Happier staying a lowly servant?! I’d rather cut my own tongue out than remain bending to Kalim’s will for the rest of my days.” He huffed, still not stopping his assault on the pile of laundry in front of him.
A frustrated sigh left Mac as Xey tried to get their point across, “THAT’S NOT WHAT I’M SAYING!… Obviously, you don’t love being forced into child labor or having to pretend to be something you’re not, but that doesn’t mean you’re totally being honest with yourself either. Rebelling adolescents often do a complete 180 of who they once presented as in an extreme action to feel validated.”
Jamil scoffed in indignation at the impromptu therapy session he’d been forced into.
“Just because you were forced to lie sometimes as ‘Servant Jamil’ doesn’t mean those memories or feelings weren’t authentic!”
“My Childhood, my Pride, my ENTIRE LIFE was stolen from me before I could even open my eyes, Mac! Who could cherish that sort of future?”
“I’m not disputing that! I’m not trying, in any way, to imply that what you went through didn’t fucking suck. But just because you’ve started saying the quiet part out loud doesn’t mean you’re being totally honest either. Switching one mask for another just means nothing has changed but your ability to bitch about-it to the kid you literally Grew Up With, Jamil.” A tired resignation was growing in their eyes as they headed to the end of xeir rant.
It was clear MC was starting to speak in circles and xey weren’t going to be able to get through to them. A heavy weight sunk deep in their chest, slowly sliding to xeir stomach the more he misunderstood the magic-less student. I saw him drown in the depths of his own helplessness and self-pity, but even after he’s been pulled out it’s like he can’t help but dive back in for a swim. It was a suffocating thought while Mac watched as Jamil once again went stone-faced… Like what he was about to say would be his final shield before walking away. It’s a shame that the Ramshackle Resident had become too used to throwing bombs over walls and blowing verbal shields to smithereens after months of being stuck in Twisted Wonderland.
“I’m not sugarcoating or bowing down to anyone anymore. I won’t bite my tongue. I won’t put on a Happy Face to Kalim’s idiotic, half-thought out ideas again. I’m slowly gaining my freedom, something you clearly don’t understand. Just because you’re as blind as he is doesn’t mean anything! What more could you want from me?!” He hissed his final insult before finally stepping away from his station. Not leaving the room, he aggressively got himself a cup of water from one of the sink and gulped the unfiltered water down.
“Just because you’re not hiding your bitter, knee-jerk reaction from an unfair world doesn’t mean you aren’t still hiding away and lying about your more vulnerable emotions.” Mac whispered in an emotionless tone. “Cutting a part of your past off and pretending it was never there is doing yourself a disservice and lying to those that still care about you… And there sure-as-shit isn’t much that I hate more than a Fucking Liar.”
. . . . . .
The lacy doilies sat in a sudsy basin, left forgotten as the two students stood a mere paces from each other—both maintaining an uncomfortably intense eye contact. The sloshing thump of the washers and stirring hum of driers harmonizing were the only song to accompany the two’s stare down. A short hiccup as Mac took a drawn out breath was the only reaction between the two of them. The combined heat of Scarabia’s sun (barely past 10am) and the humidity of continued use of machinery didn’t help the suffocating air in the wide laundry room. Not to mention the loud, stifling silence to boot.
MC usually held back such honest commentary (not that they weren’t blunt) unless Xe deemed it necessary: think high stakes and a sense of urgent drama. But something about Jamil and Kalim’s situation reminded them of himself. The two’s intertwined dance of class, history, loyalty and betrayal, friendship and loss, and such overwhelming guilt reminded the dimension hoping stranger of home. Whatever that meant.
But this was no time to get lost in their own problems and Trauma’s. They’d went too far (again) and that means xey should be the bigger person (again) and deescalate the situation before he hated them (AGAIN). Which means, MC would be the one to break the silence and run away again.
“Ya’ know what? Grim’s probably burned the school down already. Don’t worry about,” Ze gestured blindly to the numerous stations they’d started, “this mess. I’ll rope my little Rat Gremlin and the Freshies into finishing this up. Hell, I could probably convince Rugs to pitch in for lunch or something. Bully the Music Club with helping in exchange of random sheet music I still remember from home.”
Their rambles became more spastic as they noticed Mr. Sugar, Spice and Not-So-Nice break out of his own trance and try to reply. “Seriously! Just enjoy the break… Not that it’s my place or responsibility to be butting in anyway. I will be back in, like, 10 minutes and from here-on-out minding my own damn business. Sorry. Whatever. See you sometime after Sunday, I guess?” Their entire monoluge Mac was slowly backing out of the room before turning around in xeir spot and just short of sprinting their way out of the dorm. A few passerby Scarabia students stopped to eavesdrop on xeir muttering… watch them leave.
Without getting a word in Jamil stood unmoving, watching the Ramshackle Perfect leave swifter than the desert wind shifting the dunes. Almost on auto-pilot, he simply left to go back to his room and do as he was told; enjoy his break. His day off. The day he could do what he liked and didn’t necessarily have to prioritize work. A day he spent working to help and assist the pitiful, magic-less loser that was dropped-kicked into another reality and forced to play nice with a University filled with overpowered and hormonal teenagers while having no way home… And in return was insulted, psychoanalyzed, and thrown aside before he could get a word in edgewise.
“Son of a STREET RAT!!!!!” It was clear he’d need a few hours to calm down before he could even think of trying to enjoy the rest of his Saturday off.
#Aim's Writing Library 💜#twisted wonderland#disney twst#disney twisted wonderland#twst#jamil viper#writing#twst jamil#twst jamil viper#jamil viper x reader#twst oc#twisted wonderland oc#Mac (twst)#twst oc Mac#jamil x mc#jamil x oc#WSSATM#WSSATM ch 1#part 1#twisted wonderland fic#post Book 4#early Book 5
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FOR MAEL -
13. If you could draw effortlessly and as much as you wanted, what scene (s) would you draw for this character?
27. Do you like to ship this character with other characters or do you prefer not to?
50. Link your fav song, playlist, aesthetic board, fan-fiction, reference pile, personal artwork, analysis post, meme, headcanon, or quote for this character. Whichever one (s) you are most comfortable with!
If you could draw effortlessly and as much as you wanted, what scene (s) would you draw for this character?
I see what you did there Kacy 😅
If I could draw the way I imagine things in my head and I had enough time to draw like that, I would draw so much Mael, girl. Mael and Marius in the tavern. Mael in his stupid lil cowboy outfit from QotD. Mael with Jesse, Mael with Maharet, Mael with Jesse and Maharet. Avicus braiding Mael's hair. MAEL!!!!!
Do you like to ship this character with other characters or do you prefer not to?
I used to say it was a joke thing but I think I've tricked myself into genuinely shipping Marius and Mael 😅 I also ship Maharet/Mael/Jesse and Avicus/Mael, but I unfortunately don't often get a lot of coherent ideas for them though =T him with Jesse in QotD makes me so feral though!!!!!
Link your fav song, playlist, aesthetic board, fan-fiction, reference pile, personal artwork, analysis post, meme, headcanon, or quote for this character. Whichever one (s) you are most comfortable with!
Idk about fic bc like I'm responsible for around a third of his character tag on AO3 🥲 but I love @nasnyys's Mael!
A headcanon I have about him is that after going in the sun at the end of Memnoch he's just been chilling having a Big Vampire Dirt Nap to sleep it all off; he woke up, saw that Vampire Court shit with Marius and Mini-Marius in charge, and went back to sleep. I'm also partial to Mael Is Filled With Rage: a Compilation
I suppose that counts as a quote but I also want to share one of the many moments in QotD that makes me absolutely fucking feral every time:
The getting so horny for Jesse he accidentally explodes a vase with is mind is a close second place, but I just love this entire exchange. Maharet yeets him off the terrace to stop him drinking Jesse's blood, then he just gets up and BLOWS HER A FUCKING KISS!!! I'm throwing a fucking fit
I'm lovem him
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I Don't Say What's On My Mind Quite As Much As You'd Like Me To
Part five of my mini-fic series is here! @julybreakbingo
Bingo Prompt: “You should be with someone that respects you.”
Fandom: My Hero Academia
Ships: Kaminari Denki/Shinsou Hitoshi, Aizawa Shouta/Yamada Hizashi
Content Warning: Explicit Language
Tags: Shinsou Hitoshi is an Insomniac, Adopted Shinsou Hitoshi, Adopted Eri, Married Aizawa Shouta/Yamada Hizashi, Class 1-A, Established Relationships, Shinsou Hitoshi replaces Mineta Minoru, Shinsou Hitoshi has Social Anxiety, Kaminari Denki has ADHD, Pansexual Kaminari Denki, Bisexual Jirou Kyouka, Gay Shinsou Hitoshi, Late Night Conversations, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Stargazing, Latino Sero Hanta, Bakugou Katsuki Swears A Lot, Bakugou Katsuki is a good friend.
Side Note: This is cross-platformed on AO3. What? Two posts within a few days of each other? Shocker. Anyway, welcome (or welcome back), here's part five! I hope you all enjoy <3
P.S: Also, translation for Sero:
"Aye, date un respiro, hombre." = "Aye, take a break, man."
"Ok, guapo." = "Ok, handsome."
I apologize if those aren't the correct translations, I used Google Translate for Sero's spanish.
Masterlist
Summary: “... You should be with someone that respects you, Kaminari, not someone who’s gonna make you question if what you said or did was wrong or make you feel like shit for something you can’t help.”
“Like who?”
Me.
Hitoshi has officially been in Class 1-A for a full month now.
For the most part, everything was just about the same as before he was transferred into the Hero Course, with the addition of training and his new acquaintances (not friends, not yet). He still had his normal classes like English and Mathematics, but now he also has the addition of Heroics with All Might and afternoon training in Gym Gemma. He’s gotten better at changing the pitch of his voice changer at a faster speed mid fight. He’s even succeeded in capturing Bakugou mid-fight, and that in itself is a win considering how tough of an opponent he can be.
And he no longer stays in his room, sure there are days where he separates himself from his class to recharge his social battery, but he finds himself joining everyone downstairs more often than not, especially if Kaminari is around.
Speaking of, he supposed that he has him to thank for that little change.
He still finds being around his classmates for longer than a few hours after classes have ended to be a pain, but he finds it more bearable when Kaminari is around. Maybe it’s because the blond knows how to steer a conversation, forcing the attention onto him rather than the insomniac. Either way, it helps him feel more comfortable when there’s more than just the two of them in the room.
He still wouldn’t admit it out loud if you confronted him, but he actually enjoys Kaminari’s company. More than he thought he would. Ever since that one Sunday night a few weeks back, he finds himself wanting to be around Kaminari more.
A part of him doesn’t like it, mostly because it’s weird to have a friend who doesn’t make comments about his Quirk and doesn’t imply all of the villainous acts he could do with it, it’s new. But that’s also why he does like it. Kaminari isn’t like everyone else.
And he likes to think that because they’ve been hanging out so much, and that Hitoshi actually enjoys his company, that he has gotten to know the blond well enough to know when something is wrong.
Like now, for instance.
Everyone in the class could sense that something was off with Kaminari and Jirou’s dynamic. Though the dark-haired girl wasn’t affectionate like her counterpart, she did joke around with Kaminari, even though some of the jokes she made something in Hitoshi’s stomach churn. And Kaminari knows she doesn’t like public displays of affection, so he finds other ways to swoon her during class; little gifts like snacks would find their way onto the corner of her desk at random hours of the day, an extra pen in case she forgot hers, offering to carry her bag when going to their next class, stuff like that.
But for the past couple of days, there has been none of that. They wouldn’t even look at each other for more than a few seconds.
Everyone knows something happened, they were all at the ramen shop last Friday, they all saw her storm out with Momo trailing after her, eventually watching Kaminari follow after them both. Hitoshi saw the concern and worry on Kaminari’s face that night, but mostly an expression of pure confusion.
But it was Sunday morning that he knew something went wrong between them.
Hitoshi had spent Saturday night at the family apartment on campus for diner, he and Eri had stayed up until it was close to midnight watching movies before Shouta had shooed them off to bed for the night, Hitoshi found it a bit hypocritical how he shooed them off to bed only to stay up to grade papers until Hizashi had come down to collect him.
The next morning, Hitoshi had made his way to the kitchen, following the smell of freshly cooked bacon. He knew his Dad wouldn’t be there, he hosted tutoring sessions in the mornings on the weekends, and knew that if he wasn’t in the kitchen, that he was at the school for one of his tutoring sessions.
Half way through breakfast, his Pops spoke up.
“Are you heading back to the dorms soon?” Hizashi asked, making Hitoshi look up from his plate.
The purple-haired teen nodded, “Yeah, probably once we’re done eating. I left my homework at my dorm, and I need to see if Midoriya will let me borrow his notes again.”
“Can you do me a favor and take your father his lunch, please?”
“Won’t he be done by lunch?” Hitoshi asked.
Hizashi reaches over to pick up his glass, “Yeah, he’ll be done tutoring by then, but he has a meeting with a detective for a case. You know he won’t take care of himself if I don’t send him something to eat.”
So that’s how he found himself wandering the halls of the main school building until he reached his father’s classroom, a bento box in one hand, and his phone in the other while he looked at the news.
“Another sighting of the villain known at Dabi has been spotted down at the port last night, our sources tell us that he as well as the League of Villains are connected to the recent explosion in downtown Tokyo. Police are still refusing to make any statements, but are continuing their investigation–”
Hitoshi had shut off his screen, deciding that it was best to not read any more of that article.
For all of his hopes to follow in his parents’ footsteps, there were days where he wished that they weren’t in the Hero business, especially when he reads news like that. What the hell would they be in Tokyo for anyway?
Hitoshi had stopped outside his father’s classroom, raising a hand to knock when he heard two voices from the otherside.
“It’s B.”
“It’s A.” He hears his father correct.
There is a grumble from the otherside. “This is hopeless…”
A pause, followed by the sound of footsteps. “It may not seem like much, but you have improved since last weekend.” Hitoshi hears a scoff. “... Are you alright?”
“What do you mean?”
“To put it lightly? You look like shit, kid.” Hitoshi smirked at that.
He hears a laugh. He recognizes that laugh, and he smiles at the sound without realizing it. “It’s nothing to worry about.” A pause, followed by a sigh. “Really, Sensei, I’m fine. I just…” He hears him trail off. He sounded tired. “Why numbers? I understand letters like the back of my hand, but numbers? What maniac came to the conclusion that math was a necessity? Who?”
Hitoshi knocks, “Dad?” he calls out, sliding the door open. He’s met with the sight of Kaminari hunched over his desk, and his father leaning back against the podium. He stops and examines Kaminari.
Kaminari did look like shit.
Normally, the blond greets him with a smile, a grin, a fucking smirk, his lips would be turned upwards no matter what. But he was met with a frown instead.
Hitoshi clears his throat, tearing his eyes away and holds up the bento. “Pops asked me to bring you lunch. And to remind you to take your meds.”
“Of course he did.” Shouta pushes off from the podium, hiding the small smile creeping its way onto his face with his scarf. “Thank you.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Kaminari looking at him, but when he goes to return the look, the blond looks away.
Weird.
That night, Hitoshi texts Kaminari first.
I’m hopping on mc, you joining?
He was met with the thumbs-down emoji, followed by; can’t. homework.
This makes Hitoshi frown. Kaminari normally sends him a paragraph for a reply. Are you okay?
Three dots. i’m fine. He didn’t even capitalize the I. Before Hitoshi could think of a response, Kaminari adds, i’ll text you later. The purple-haired teen stared at his phone for a moment, reading over Kaminari’s responses before he eventually shuts off his screen and goes to log onto Minecraft, expecting that follow up he was promised.
But that follow up never came. And it doesn’t for a few days.
From an outside perspective, Kaminari probably seems like his normal self. Cracking jokes, poking fun with his classmates, holding conversations with Sero and Mina over the most random of subjects that have zero context or meaning. Kaminari did seem fine.
Hitoshi knew he wasn’t. From his perspective, Kaminari was mimicking him and his sleep schedule, as the blond seemed exhausted, quieter in the past week alone. And he wondered if the rest of his friend’s squad had noticed too (he says “his friend’s” as he doesn’t see himself as a part of their group yet), and just hasn’t said anything.
Hitoshi sees the way he’s sluggish during training, how his response time is off by a few seconds. And he’s definitely noticed the way he avoids Jirou at all costs, and the looks Jirou gives him in return. Speaking of the earjack hero in training, he noticed how she has simmered down in the past week, the daggers in her eyes were more like dull blades used for show now.
It all comes to a head Thursday morning.
Hitoshi had walked into class, rubbing away the remaining sleep from his eyes. As usual, he walks into the endless chatter of his classmates, some still waking themselves to pay attention to today’s lesson plan, others engaging in conversations that either have zero meaning behind it or are discussing homework or something along those lines.
As he sits down, he looks to his right and sees the hyperactive blond being not so hyperactive. Kaminari had his arms folded across his desk and was currently resting his forehead on top of his folded arms, he looked as though he was half-way to being asleep.
Hitoshi thought about reaching over, giving him a shake and asking to see if he was okay. But he already knows that he’s not okay, he hasn’t been okay for the past week, ever since that night in the ramen shop. What good would asking him do if he already knew the answer?
“Hey, Ji. How are you holding up?”
Behind him, he hears Hagakure. Casting Kaminari a subtle but concerned look, he peaks over his shoulder to see the invisible girl talking to Jirou.
Now that he’s giving her a good look over, she was almost as bad as Kaminari, but her eyes weren’t as puffy as his. The girl shrugs, “I’m fine.”
Hitoshi almost scoffs. Why does everyone keep saying that when they clearly aren’t fine?
If he could see the invisible girl’s face, he would probably see a frown. “Have you spoken to him since the break up?”
Hitoshi snaps his head forward, eyes wide in shock. “No… We decided to give each other some space for a bit.” He hears Jirou say. He looks over to his right, seeing Kaminari peeking over his arms, eyes trained on the back of Ojiro’s chair. Did he hear them too?
Apparently the whole class heard.
“Wait what?” Uraraka spoke up, Hitoshi looked and saw her looking directly at the girls. “You and Kaminari broke up?” Looking past the three of them, he could see Momo staring at them blankly, like she was already expecting this reaction. She already knew.
But Uraraka’s question stirred up the entire class.
“What? Kami, why didn’t you say anything?” Mina frowned at the electric blond, who only shrugged in response and buried his head further into his arms.
Bakugou’s frown (one that is practically tattooed on his face) deepened, and reached back and across to poke at Kaminari. “Oi,” He was quiet. “Pikachu?”
“I’m fine.” They hear him mutter. Behind them, most of the class was asking Jirou the questions. Only those from their group (minus Jirou, obviously) were checking in on Kaminari.
The commotion hadn’t died down when Shouta had walked into the classroom. Even Iida hadn’t bothered telling everyone to get to their seats when he noticed the teacher walking in.
For that half an hour, the classroom was tense. If Hitoshi was paying attention to his dad, he would have seen him casting a questioning look in his direction. But Hitoshi didn’t pay attention, he kept his attention on Kaminari instead.
Throughout the entire day, Hitoshi noticed how Kaminari seemed distant from everyone. The blond kept his head down during classes, and he hadn’t even shown up for lunch, Bakugou had to go and drag him into the cafeteria just to make sure he ate.
In between classes, Kaminari would walk with a notebook and pen in his hand, scribbling things down. Hitoshi had peaked over his shoulder out of curiosity and saw that it was one of his extra assignments. He’s worse than Midoriya. And the green-haired boy would be switching between three assignments while maintaining a conversation with Todoroki in between his unnatural muttering.
“Aye, date un respiro, hombre.” Sero clasps a hand on the blond’s shoulder, slightly shaking him from his thoughts before switching back to Japanese. “Seriously, don’t stress yourself. We’re doing a study group at Bakugou’s tonight so just join us.”
Kaminari looked as though he was giving it some thought before shaking his head. “No, it’s fine. I kind of want to get it done before Ectoplasm’s class.”
I don’t want to be around people, right now. Was what Hitoshi heard. He’s well rehearsed in avoiding people, and that was the oldest line in the book. And judging by the look Sero was giving him, he didn’t believe him either.
Sero gives him a small smile, giving his shoulder a light squeeze. “Ok, guapo. If you change your mind, we’ll be in Bakugou’s room until seven.”
Kaminari nods before speeding away from the black-haired teen. Sero frowned as he watched him walk away, and so did Hitoshi.
When afternoon training came, Kaminari had been excused from the class and was given a permission slip to head back to the dorms early. He knew his father noticed Kaminari’s exhaustion, he was practically mimicking Hitoshi even if he didn’t mean to.
So during practice, Hitoshi was paired with Bakugou, who he quickly learned was hard of hearing due to his Quirk. About halfway through the round, Hitoshi had to switch to sign-language (something he had picked up for his Pops, who also was hard of hearing as a result of his Quirk), which took the angry teen by surprise.
Hiding around the corner to avoid Tokoyami and Dark Shadow, the two of them had a silent conversation.
“Which should we go after first?” Hitoshi signed, ignoring the wide-eyed look on Bakugou’s face.
“Since when can you fucking sign?” Bakugou asked.
Hitoshi shrugged. “Does it matter?”
Bakugou didn't reply right away, instead, he grabbed Hitoshi by the wrist and moved them until they were higher up with an advantage. Hitoshi felt a tap on his shoulder, he looked over in time to make out Bakugou’s question. “Have you spoken to Pikachu today?”
With furrowed brows, Hitoshi looked between Bakugou and Tokoyami below them. “No. Have you?” He was met with a shake of the head. “How long were they together?”
“A couple of months. Not sure what happened though.” Bakugou pauses. “... Don’t say anything, but I’m glad they broke up.”
“Why?”
Bakugou scoffs. “Because they don’t work well as a couple.” He replies. “You should talk to him.”
Before Hitoshi could question him further, acid was sprayed in their direction.
Unfortunately for Tokoyami and Mina, they had fallen for Hitoshi’s voice changer, and were deemed subdued, leaving him and Bakugou as the winner of this training match.
Mina was pouting all the way back to the entrance of Ground Beta. “No fair, how we’re we supposed to tell if that was you or one of us?” She questioned.
But Hitoshi hadn’t been paying attention to the pink-haired girl, so Bakugou responded for him, “That was the point, Racoon Eyes.” The angry teen rolled his eyes. “You guys aren’t meant to know if it’s him or not. That’s what makes him fucking better.”
Mina stopped, mouth gaping at Bakugou. “Did… Did you just compliment someone that wasn’t you or Kiri?”
“Go to hell!” Bakugou sped up, but not before the rush of red colored his cheeks. Mina kept up her teasing while they made their way back.
Hitoshi didn’t speak up again until they were in the locker room. Their match was the last one for the day, and as a result, they were the last ones in the locker room. Tokoyami left first, Dark Shadow peeking out to say goodbye before leaving them alone.
As Hitoshi pulled his shirt down over his head, he looked in Bakugou’s direction, watching as he reached for a pair of hearing aids. Once his shirt was one, he started signing again.
“I thought you got your hearing back when you were talking to Mina?”
Bakugou shook his head. “I can read lips, as long as they’re not moving too fast.”
Hitoshi nods, and waits for Bakugou to put in his hearing aids before he speaks. “What did you mean earlier?” Bakugou gives him a questioning look. “About Kaminari and Jirou not working as a couple.”
“Tsk.” The blond reaches for his bag, pulling the strap onto his shoulder. “Ears had a tendency to take her shitty jokes too far. Pikachu may seem laid back and doesn’t fucking care about what people say about him, but he does.”
“Why didn’t-”
“-He fucking say anything?”
“Or any of you?”
Bakugou shrugs, “We’ve tried. She came into our group not too long after they started dating, so we had a little more time to know what was okay to joke about and what he didn’t want us to talk about. But whenever one of us would try to fucking correct her, Pikachu would shrug it off, saying that it was a shitty joke.” He explained.
“Why me?” Confused, Hitoshi asked, “You said that I should talk to him, but shouldn’t one of you do that? You’ve known him longer.”
“That’s why it should be you.” Still clearly confused, Bakugou sighed and continued. “He has a tendency to fucking brush shit off, if one of us tried to talk to him, he’d fucking plaster a smile on his face and throw a joke or two. He won’t fucking talk.”
“That doesn’t explain why I should be the one to talk to him. What good could I do if the people he’s known longer can’t get him to open up.”
“Damn, you really are dense.” Bakugou mutters, shaking his head. “It’s different with you. ‘No clue why, but he’s taken a fucking liking to you. He’ll talk to you. I know it.”
When they had gotten back to the dorms, there was no sign of the electric blond. When Bakugou had asked (to know how much to cook for dinner), Kirishima had told them that he was still in his room. Hitoshi confirms this when walking into his room, hearing the sound of music coming through the door across the hall.
The music stays on until it gets closer to midnight, 11:43 shining in red LED tells him the time. Hitoshi had finished his homework a while ago, and he was back on his Switch playing Mario Kart, trying to beat his best speed when he heard the music cut off abruptly.
The teen looks up from the device and looks toward his door. He waits, expecting the music to come back on with a change in song, but the noise never comes.
“What good could I do if the people he’s known longer can’t get him to open up.”
“He’ll talk to you. I know it.” Just what the hell did he mean by that?
Out of curiosity, Hitoshi disregards his Switch and reaches for his phone, unlocking it and opening his chat with the blond.
What are we listening to tonight?
Instead of seeing the three dots dancing at the bottom of the screen, he sees the grayed-out check mark underneath his message turn green, indicating that it had been seen. But he receives no response.
Hitoshi frowns, laying on his back as he stares at the screen, still expecting those three dots to appear at any moment.
So Hitoshi starts typing again. Any chance I can make a request? We could be the dorm’s personal radio show. He jokes. But the only indication that Kaminari has seen his text is that green checkmark underneath his message.
He sighs, shutting off his screen. Clearly Kaminari didn’t want to talk. Then again, he could have not even been looking at his phone, he could just have their chat open and that’s why they were being marked as read.
No, that’s a stupid explanation. Besides, if their messages were open, that would mean Kaminari was planning on texting him back, so why hasn’t he?
“What good could I do if the people he’s known longer can’t get him to open up.”
“He’ll talk to you. I know it.”
He opens his eyes to the sound of his phone ringing. When did he even close them?
Hitoshi raises his phone, eyes widening slightly when he sees Kaminari’s name on his screen. Without thinking, he immediately swipes his thumb right to answer. “Hey-”
“Step into the hallway.” Hitoshi almost drops his phone from how rough Kaminari sounded.
Curiously (and more so out of concern), he does as told. Swinging open his door and stepping out, frowning at the sight of an empty hallway. “Where are you?”
“Across from Iida’s room.” Kaminari tells him, Hitoshi walks until he’s standing in front of Iida’s room, and across from his door is an open window.
The purple-haired teen hangs up and immediately climbs through it, leading him to the roof that connects both wings of Height Alliance. His feet (thankfully covered by the fluffy socks that Eri had picked out for him at the mall) hit the asphalt, and ahead of him, Kaminari is lowering his phone from his ear.
The blond was laying on his back, his knees drawn up as he looked up at the sky. Tonight, the skies were clear, the school was high enough away from the rest of the city that looking up from here, they could see stars shining brightly.
Hitoshi is hesitant to move at first, unsure as to why Kaminari was out here, let alone inviting him out here with him. But he finds himself moving toward him anyway, eventually sitting down next to the other teen, drawing up his knees to rest his arms on.
Neither of them say anything at first. But neither of them seemed to mind the silence, it was a comfortable silence that greeted them, aside from the sound of crickets that echoed in the grass below, and the familiar commotion of their classmates getting ready for bed (unless you were Bakugou, then you were already asleep).
“Did you know that electricity has a sound?” Hitoshi looks behind him, looking down at Kaminari, who hadn’t looked to meet his gaze. “Most people don’t even notice that there’s a sound until it’s been cut off. It’s quiet, barely noticeable in general. But when the power cuts off, you can hear the silence. It’s kind of nerve racking.” Kaminari explains.
“Is that why you’re out here?”
The question makes Kaminari bend his head to look at Hitoshi. But he nods. “It’s too loud. Most of the time, I can ignore it. But with my Quirk… it’s hard to sometimes.”
“Can’t you still hear it out here though?”
Kaminari shrugs. “Yeah, it's not as bad though.”
Another round of silence falls over them for a minute. Kaminari looks back up at the sky, and Hitoshi lies down next to him to do the same.
“What did you mean earlier? About Kaminari and Jirou not working as a couple.”
His conversation with Bakugou rang in his ears again, nagging at him. He finds himself turning his head to look at the blond laying next to him, Bakugou talking in his ear again.
“Tsk. Ears had a tendency to take her shitty jokes too far. Pikachu may seem laid back and doesn’t fucking care about what people say about him, but he does.”
He couldn’t help but to think that there was some truth in Bakugou’s words.
“She came into our group not too long after they started dating, so we had a little more time to know what was okay to joke about and what he didn’t want us to talk about. But whenever one of us would try to fucking correct her, Pikachu would shrug it off, saying that it was a shitty joke.”
He bites back a sigh. Just how many times had you shrugged shit off, Kaminari? He wanted to ask him. But he knows better. If the roles were reversed, he wouldn’t want to explain it either. Besides, for the most part, he and Jirou seemed to really have liked each other.
“... I’m sorry to hear about the break up.” He thought that was a good way to start. “How are you holding up?”
“I’m fine.”
It sounded forced. So Hitoshi pressed. “Okay, now the truth this time.” He found himself repeating the same words his Pops’ used on him a while back, keeping his voice soft in hopes of making Kaminari comfortable enough to talk.
The blond didn’t say anything at first, Hitoshi thinks he wasn’t going to say anything at all. He doesn’t blame him though.
But then Kaminari sighs, his eyes squeezing shut as he brings his hands up to cover his face. “Not fine.” He groans, clearly not wanting to talk about it.
“What happened with you two, anyway?” Hitoshi presses, hearing him sigh again. “I’m not going to force you to talk about it but… it’s not good to bottle things up-”
“What would you know?” There was a snap in the blond’s voice, who dropped his hands from his face in favor of sending him a glare. “You’ve never been in a relationship before, remember?”
“No, but I have experience with heartbreak.” He kept his voice even. He watches Kaminari deflate a little. “And I know first hand the consequences of bottling things up. Eventually, that bottle cracks, and it keeps cracking until you’re saying all the things you didn’t want to say anyway. So, let it out.”
Kaminari goes quiet, just like he has been over the past week. But Hitoshi doesn’t push anymore, he wants him to open up on his own.
It’s kind of funny when you look at this, he’s using the same tactics Hizashi and Shouta had used on him when he came to live with them a little over a year ago. Even though the situations are different, it feels like the right move. It’s hard to describe.
“... I fucked up.” Hitoshi looks toward the blond again, finding a look of guilt on his face. “And I didn’t even realize how much I had fucked up until it was over.”
“What do you mean?”
“She was jealous-” He cuts himself off, closing his eyes to think. “I um, I talked to Momo after homeroom, and I asked her how Ky- Jirou was doing,” Hitoshi could tell that it was hard to call her by her family name after getting so used to using her given name. “And I know she’s just looking out for her, I do. But she called me out for not being there when I should’ve been.”
He knew it wasn’t the full story. And he knew that he probably wouldn’t get it, at least, not anytime soon. So Hitoshi nods, processing what he was told, Bakugou’s words from earlier ringing in his ears. “You know… she wasn’t…” He trails off, unsure how to word this. “I noticed how she treated you,” He starts, which as a reward, Kaminari turns to look at him. “I noticed the comments she makes, how you just laugh them off when no one else does-”
“She was only joking when she called me dumb.”
“Bullshit.” Kaminari’s eyes lock with his. “You don’t call someone you care about an idiot or make fun of them for how their Quirk affects them, especially when they have no control over it.”
“I wasn’t exactly the perfect boyfriend-”
“Well maybe she wasn’t the perfect girlfriend, either.” Disbelief crosses the blond’s face. “Jirou is a nice girl, and she’s a good friend. That I don’t doubt… But-”
“But what?”
“I think you two were a bit toxic with each other, not on purpose, but you brought out different sides to each other that weren’t healthy.”
Kaminari is quiet again. Hitoshi sighs, looking up at the sky. Above them, he can see the blinking lights of an airplane in the darkness.
“... You should be with someone that respects you, Kaminari, not someone who’s gonna make you question if what you said or did was wrong or make you feel like shit for something you can’t help.”
“Like who?”
Me. Hitoshi freezes, but says nothing in response to Kaminari’s question. Nope. No. I’m not doing this. “Someone…” Me. “Someone like Sero, or Mina?”
Kaminari blinks at him before a laugh leaves his lips. And if that laugh did not make something in his chest flip… “Oh please. First of all, they’re into each other and are in denial.”
Hitoshi huffs out a laugh of his own. “And secondly?”
Kaminari holds his breath, wetting his lips. “... I- They’re practically family.”
“Maybe you can ask Mina to set you up with Aoyama.”
“Dude, that’s mean.” He turns his head in time to watch Kaminari laugh at the sky above them. He swallows, but doesn’t say anything. “Hey,” The blond looks toward him again, a grin on his face. “Denki.”
“Uh?”
“Call me Denki.”
Hitoshi looks confused. “Why?”
“You tell everyone to call you by your given name, it’s only fair that someone lets you call them by theirs, right?” He looks more relaxed now, genuinely carefree. I like it.
Hitoshi breathes out, “Nice to meet you, Denki.”
A gentle breeze cuts through them, reminding them both that it was autumn, almost winter. Hitoshi watches Kami- Denki, shiver, making him notice that he was only wearing sweats and a t-shirt.
“We should go inside.” He tells him, sitting up on his elbows.
Denki sits up, shaking his head. “No,” He drags out.
“We’re not even supposed to be out here. And just because I’m the teacher’s kid, doesn’t mean I get special privileges.”
Then he pouts. Denki Kaminari was pouting, it made Hitoshi crack a smile as he stood up. “Boo.” Denki huffs, moving to stand up. He wobbles, and out of reflex, Hitoshi moves to steady him, his hands on his waist.
How he manages to bite down the blush that threatened to show itself, he doesn’t know. But Denki wasn’t as lucky. The blond looks up at him, a grin on his lips and a taunt in his eyes. “Damn, I just got out of a relationship, ‘Toshi. Patience.” He laughs.
Hitoshi doesn’t respond, his grip on Denki’s hips were loose, he could easily slip away from him but he didn’t. Now, it was no longer Bakugou’s voice echoing in his ear, but Denki’s.
“Like who?”
Me.
“Hitoshi?” Denki looks up at him, brows furrowed. He brings Hitoshi out of his thoughts long enough for him to notice Denki’s hands hovering over his chest. Fucking hell…
Hitoshi drops his hands and steps back, biting down the gulp. “Right, sorry. Come on,” He nods toward the window they crawled out of. “If we don’t freeze, my dad will definitely give us detention.”
Denki stares at him for a moment, before rolling his eyes and begins making his way toward the window. “I’m pretty sure your dad would stick us in a freezer for detention just to make a point.”
“If only you knew how much of a softy he actually is.”
Once they made their way back inside, and Hitoshi had closed the window behind them, they made their way back to their rooms. Both stopped in front of their doors, and Hitoshi finally had a clearer look now that they were in the light, he frowned at the sight of the growing eyebags under his eyes.
Yeah, nope.
As Denki opened his door, Hitoshi slid past him, and the purple-haired boy immediately went to the mess of papers that lay scattered around his bed. Denki watched as he picked up his papers, confused.
“What are you doing?”
“Making sure you don’t pass out in class tomorrow.” Hitoshi told him, grabbing an empty folding (which he assumed was where these papers were from) to store his homework. “This is coming with me and-” He adds as Denki opens his mouth to argue. “- I will help you finish it or fix it before class tomorrow. Okay?”
“Hypocrite.” Hitoshi raises a brow at him. “I know damn well that you don’t sleep either.”
“I’m better than I used to be.” He admits, a bit shyly at that. “But just because I do it, doesn’t mean I’m gonna let you do the same shit. Now go to bed.”
Denki scoffs, playfully rolling his eyes to add to the dramatics. “Fine, dad. I’m going to sleep.”
And just to play along, Hitoshi pats Denki on the head, telling him “goodnight” before heading back to his room across the hall.
As the door shuts, he leans back against the wood and looks down at the folder in his hands.
“... You should be with someone that respects you, Kaminari, not someone who’s gonna make you question if what you said or did was wrong or make you feel like shit for something you can’t help.”
“Like who?”
Me.
A sigh leaves him. Hitoshi sets the folder down on the corner of his desk before jumping into bed. I’m not dealing with this.
#aizawa shouta#denki kaminari#eraserhead#erasermic#eri#present mic#yamada hizashi#denki x shinsou#adopted shinsou hitoshi#shinsou hitoshi#hitoshi shinsou#shinkami#kaminari denki#bakugou katsuki#kirishima ejirou#iida tenya#mina ashido#momo yaoyorozu#jirou kyouka#izuku midoriya#todoroki shouto#bakusquad#july break bingo 2023#july break bingo
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Hey all! Just wanted to give everyone a bit of a content update.
I apologize for the lack of content for the past… year. I’ve been working through some stuff, and it’s been hard for me to find the motivation or inspiration to write. It comes in short bursts, meaning I’ve been (very) slowly chipping away at multiple projects at once. I just thought I’d update everyone on how things are going and make a list (partly for myself) of what I have in the works, what still needs to be done, and what you can expect from me in the future. Admittedly these are mostly obey me fics but I DO have other things tumbling about in my brain, I promise.
Opposite Day: 2/5 chapters finished, the rest 100% planned and around 30-40% written.
I’ve been sitting on an unfinished chapter 3 for almost a year now, and have written good portions of the other chapters in the meantime. This is the project I’m most excited to finish, and I feel bad for abandoning it for so long. Rest assured, I *am* still working on it, and am extremely happy it’s been so well received.
Untitled Simeon Comfort Fic: 75% finished.
Originally I wanted this written for his birthday (which was in February lmao) but as you can see that did not happen. I’ve got the beginning and end all written out, I sort of went off the script at the end with fun purgatory hall family fluff so the only thing I don’t have written is… actually the eating part. This will probably be the first fic I actually post, seeing as it’s the closest to completion.
“A series of Obey Me Vore Headcanons” Re-Write (Title Very WIP) 2.5/7 chapters re-written
This one I don’t think I’ve mentioned on here yet. I’ve grown increasingly unsatisfied with my original obey me headcanons list that I posted last year when I first got into the fandom. A. Because I hadn’t gotten very far into the story when I wrote it and didn’t get the full scope of the characters yet and B. (Most importantly) I feel like I really didn’t do the characters justice.
Since I originally posted it, there’s been a healthy amount of discussion on depth and nuance in vore media and reducing characters to tropes, etc. I’d like to re-write this series to focus less on physical aspects and “how they eat you” but rather more of an emotional and story driven story of why they eat you and their emotions and struggles that come with it. The obey me brothers are incredibly interesting characters, and I’d like to explore them in more depth and show you how interesting they can really be and why I love them so much.
This one might take a while to complete, but it’s gonna happen at some point. I‘ll keep up the original half-finished version in the meantime since I don’t want to delete it and ao3 doesn’t allow privating fics without orphaning them. I know it’s ugly in it’s current state, just know I’m working on it and the rest of those chapters will be overhauled eventually.
“Miss Em”: 80% written (kind of)
I’ve had this one sitting in my drafts for a while now. Originally I had plans to start another multi-chapter series but then Opposite Day sort of went to shit so I scrapped it knowing it was way too ambitious. But now I still have a mostly written Mammon fic in my notes app just sitting there and it would be a shame to just…leave it. I’m not sure what I’m gonna do with this one, Maybe I’ll write the Beel companion piece to it that I had planned and just leave it as a 2-parter. Who knows. It’s really cute, and I want to share it at some point.
Untitled Obey Me mini-drabbles: 60% written
Honestly this wasn’t supposed to be a whole thing. I started randomly writing one day on a burst of inspiration and it turned into little mini “scenario slices” for all the characters and I really like how it turned out. I still need to write for two of the characters and polish up some others, but it’s a fun low-stress thing to work on in between projects. Also excited to share it possibly soon since they’re fairly short and shouldn’t take long to finish (but you know me…)
An unspecified ITWOM fanfic: 0% written, 50% planned
For those who aren’t familiar, “In the World of Monsters” is an amazing novel authored by @vore-toast that just recently received a fantastic ending and epilogue (Please read it! It’s fantastic!) And I really would like to write a little something for it to show my appreciation. I have an idea planned out, but details would involve spoilers so I can’t say much. I’d need to ask for guidance on what exactly to include since the things I would like to write about haven’t exactly *happened yet* but I’ve said too much already… hee hee. I don’t know when this fic is gonna happen, but I swear to you it will. And if my original idea doesn’t work out, it’ll be something. I WILL be writing for this series, mark my words.
Heroes Off-Duty. 0% written, ??% planned
Huh? That’s weird... That one’s not supposed to be there. Ah well, It’s not relevant anyway. Carry on.
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A Simple Kindness
YOI Snz Fic #1:
I finally sat down and decided to post some of my kink fics from over the years. Starting off with a bang:
Phichit my beloved, be still my beating heart I had to write for my boy. I love him so much, this was one of the first fics I wrote for this fandom. I hope you like it.
Fetish!Yuuri and a sneezy!Phichit because I’m horny and can’t help myself. Also Yuuri being a fuckin disaster is vibe okay!?!
Phichit 🥰⛸️
Just a little fyi I caught a pretty nasty cold ☹️🤧🤒
😬 IDK if you want to kick me out of the dorm.
I get it if you do.
I’ll try to keep my germs to myself! Promise.
😷
Yuuri reads the string of texts no less than thirteen times after receiving them. Because first of all, who gave emojis the right to be so lewd? And second… how the fuck is he supposed to keep it together if Phichit has a cold?
Their dorm is basically the size of a glorified closet there’s no way Yuuri can ahem… keep things to himself… Perhaps he should be more worried about Phichit potentially spreading some kind of virus to him but really that’s not so much a concern, per say… Also, is it wrong to be completely turned on by your friend’s cold and maybe lowkey hoping you catch it yourself?
Moral quandary aside, Yuuri does manage to text back.
I’m sorry to hear that! Of course I’m not kicking you out, you must be exhausted. When does your flight get in?
Yuuri tries to turn his attention back to business ethics but his mind is well and truly in the gutter now. Besides, the professor could not be more dull as he drones on about nothing and Yuuri’s a little busy hyper fixating on the emojis Phichit used.
As he sits there nervously bobbing his leg, Yuuri’s mind wanders to Phichit’s performance at the Cup of China just a day or so ago. He had looked a bit shaky with his jumps in the free skate and Yuuri knows Phichit’s triples are solid. Perhaps he wasn’t feeling well then too? Maybe that’s why he hadn’t placed well and that thought breaks Yuuri’s heart a bit.
Our flight leaves in about half an hour, I should be back around 5.
I’m so tired. Send help 😩
Grimacing at his phone again Yuuri tosses his notebook into his bag.
Do you need anything from the store? I’m going after class.
Yuuri taps his pen nervously on the edge of his desk as the professor’s conclusion slide pops up on the screen. Their midterm essay is due instead of class on Wednesday, which of course, Yuuri has already completed and sent in.
Just as he’s walking out the door, he gets a text that sends a rush of warmth between his legs.
Get lots of tissues and probably some of those disposable face masks. I’m really sneezy. 🤧 🤧 🤧
Like I haven’t really stopped sneezing since we landed in LA. 😩
People are staring at me lol.
Shit… Shit.
How is he even supposed to respond to that?! What does one say when their best friend says something that should be simple conversation but instead is giving Yuuri a new fantasy?
Is there anything else I can grab you?
It’s lame and stupid but holy shit he’s a little busy being jealous of all the people in LAX staring at Phichit…
Just some juice? You’re the best Yuuri! 💖💕💖
While Yuuri definitely disagrees with that sentiment he manages to smother his feelings (salacious and otherwise) long enough to get to the store. He gets four boxes of tissues, a pack of disposable masks, and a few small bottles of juice to put in their mini fridge. There’s a moment where he considers not grabbing disinfectant wipes and hand sanitizer, but he decides that he shouldn’t actively try to catch whatever Phichit is bringing with him.
He does his best not to think about his roommate’s condition until he’s back in the dorm. It takes a minute to put away his groceries and another five to feed the hamsters before he throws himself onto his bed. Only then does he let his mind (and okay, yes, his hand too. Sue him) wander. It’s not like he hasn’t seen Phichit sick before, they’ve been rooming together for two years now and they travel internationally. Illness is common, normal for them, even.
Turns out his dick didn’t get that memo, however, and still gets all tingly at the idea of a runny nose. Such is life, he supposes.
Once he’s handled himself, he turns to his schoolwork, the monotony of his assignments. The mundane task does the trick and he feels more in control of himself now. And yeah, okay, jerking off can do that too, crazy world.
He checks his syllabuses to placate his nerves; his history professor is notoriously strict and for a second he’s convinced himself he did his whole mid-term in the wrong citation style. However, his nerves only settle for a minute or two before they bundle up again. This time because his ears catch the sound of a very congested sneeze from down the hall.
Yuuri’s mouth dries a bit as he fidgets on his bed, lord have mercy here we go.
The door opens and Yuuri’s heart instantly beats a bit faster.
Phichit looks terrible even with half his face covered. His eyes are red and watery, his complexion is nearly grey, and there’s a wet spot sitting right in the middle of his face mask.
“Hey. How’s it going?” Phichit asks, his voice is drenched in congestion and the question is punctuated with a harsh sniff.
“I’m alright. I thought you weren’t supposed to land until five.” Yuuri closes his laptop and sets it aside.
“We got- hhin early.” Phichit’s eyes squint up towards the industrial light above. His chest rises sporadically but ultimately leaves him without the satisfaction of a sneeze. “Ciao Ciao took me to the Student Health Center. On the bright side, it’s not the flu.”
“That’s good.” Yuuri manages to nod as Phichit drops his bag at the foot of his bed.
“So how… how wa-was… ahh…” An unnecessary hand raises up to cover his face, though Yuuri wonders if maybe it is necessary considering the sodden material. “He-tchuh! Tishuh!.. heh… heh eh-Psheh!”
“Bless you.” Yuuri forces himself to look away as his roommate wipes his eyes.
“Thank you… snif!” Phichit sighs as he squeezes his eyes shut. “How was your week?”
“Oh, it was fine. Business as usual. It was nice to have practices by myself.” Yuuri watches Phichit deflate into his bed. “Did the health center give you anything?”
“Yeah… but I don’t think I can take it… you know how the ISU is about medication. Don’t wanna risk it.”
“I’m sure your cold medicine isn’t banned.” Yuuri tries to reason.
“Ciao Ciao offered to call the hotline to find something I could take. I told him not to bother… it’s just a cold.” Phichit shrugs out of his coat. Yuuri swears he can see the goosebumps rise on Phichit’s skin when the coat falls to the floor.
“Yeah but… you look pretty-”
“Et-chuh!”
“Bless you… miserable.” Yuuri bites back the undignified sound he wants to make.
“I’ll be fine.” Phichit sniffs a few times, “Ugh, sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Yuuri bites his lip as he shuffles off the bed. “I got your tissues and juice.”
“Tha-hank chuh!... thank you.”
Yuuri opens one of the boxes, then he decides to just bring the trash can with him as he returns to the beds.
“Here.”
He places the bin near the head of Phichit’s bed, when he turns back to his friend he has to bite down hard to keep his jaw from dropping.
Phichit has removed his soiled face mask revealing the mess beneath. His nose is a bright warning label shade of red and its glistens with thin strands of mucous. He sits just on the precipice of a testy sneeze, his eyes half closed, his nostrils flaring dramatically, and of course, the jittery gasps that all culminate in what has to be a hugely reliving release.
“Hep-Tshu! He-Tcha! God.” He groans.
“Bless you.”
Phichit snuffles into no less than six tissues to clean up what must be hours of mess. Between the flight and the drive back to the university… god why does Yuuri sort of wish he were a face mask? What the fuck even…
“You don’t have to keep blessing me… I’m gonna be sneezy all night.” Phichit tosses the wad of tissues into the bin. “Do you want me to wear a mask?”
“Uh, no, you don’t have to. You’re the sick one and you’ve flown halfway across the world today. Just try to get comfortable, okay?”
Phichit looks up at him gratefully, “Maybe you should wear one then? Trust me, you don’t want to catch this.”
Well, that’s just patently untrue… Regardless, Yuuri plucks one of the disposable masks out of the box and throws it on. At least now he can hide his blushing, right? Especially because Phichit sneezes twice more while Yuuri’s back is turned.
“The nurse says it’s just a head cold but Ciao Ciao isn’t letting me skate for at least a week.” Phichit slumps further into his bed, a thin cough escaping his lungs. “I mean, isn’t getting last place punishment enough?”
“I don’t think you’re being punished.” Yuuri says grabbing a bottle of juice from the mini fridge.
“No, it’s punishment… He’s upset because I went out there and did my free skate while I had a fever.”
Yuuri swallows thickly as he puts the drink on the nightstand. “Oh, well, in that case… I guess you’re being punished.”
“What was I supposed to do? I went all the way to China to skate so I-… huh… I skha-ate… skated… uhuh… ehh…” Phichit’s hand raises lethargically in front of his face. He takes four deep inhales clearly trying to entice the sneeze forward and failing to do so.
“Yeah but… You should remember that Celestino is in charge of us, especially when we’re abroad. He wants you to take care of yourself, that’s all.”
“You’re one to talk.” Phichit snorts, the grimace he gives afterwards indicates the action hurts at least a little bit.
“Well… it’s easy to say when I’m not the one in trouble.” Yuuri chuckles nervously.
Phichit squints again, a shaky sigh rattling his chest. “Ehhh… ahh-ha-… huh… come on… Heptshah! Hatchu! Etsha-ETCHOO!”
Yuuri has to really focus on not paying attention to his groin after that particular display. Holy shit, why does his roommate – his best friend no less – have to be the perfect picture of a head cold?
“Bless you.” Yuuri can’t help himself from commenting as Phichit mops up his nose.
“Thank you…”
“You don’t have any mid-terms coming up do you?” Yuuri asks settling back into his own bed.
“No, thank god.” Phichit looks up from blowing his nose, “Did them all before I left. If I can’t skate there’s no way I’m going to class.”
“That’s good then, you have time to rest.” Yuuri tries in vain to return to his assignment but it’s incredibly difficult considering the circumstances. Phichit really is sneezing every five to ten minutes which is starting to wear on Yuuri’s resolve. Between blowing, sniffling, and sneezing he’s basically living in the type of universe his wildest wet dreams could only imagine.
It’s a relief when Ciao Ciao calls him.
“How are you Yuuri?” He asks, perfectly unaware of how ridiculous that question sounds to him.
“I’m alright…”
“Great, can you do me a favor? I got Phichit some medication for his cold can you come get it from my office?”
“Sure thing coach, I’ll be there in a bit.” Yuuri nearly runs out of the room. Part of him is a bit embarrassed to do so. The last thing he wants is Phichit thinking he finds his cold disgusting, but damnit he has a great excuse now to get his shit together. He throws his mask away the second he sees a trash bin and instantly takes a deep breath. The world is certainly testing his resolve today.
The walk to Celestino’s office is blissfully calm and the cool evening air does the trick. By the time he arrives, Yuuri feels like himself again and he’s not being manhandled by his dick, thank god. Ciao Ciao corrals him into a conversation about the Grand Prix Final coming up in December before handing off the medication.
Yuuri strolls back to the dorms at a leisurely pace, his head swirling with an ocean of thoughts. Between the Final, schoolwork, and the intrusive thoughts about Phichit’s cold; his brain is overrun with activity.
When he pushes into their room he finds the lights are still on but Phichit is dead to the world. Still, he tries to rouse his friend from his slumber.
“Phichit? Celestino got you some medicine.” Yuuri says softly putting a hand on his shoulder to shake him. There’s a moment where Yuuri can’t help himself. He finds his hand creeping up to Phichit’s forehead to check for temperature. He’s warm but not to such a degree that Yuuri is concerned.
Phichit’s eyes crack open just the slightest bit.
“Hey, Ciao Ciao got you-”
“Het-chu!” Phichit’s eyes shut as he jolts forward with the sneeze.
Yuuri pulls his hand back and closes his gaping mouth. Holy shit, holy shit, Phichit just sneezed on him. Any resolve he might have gained on his little walk around campus instantly leaves his body as he takes a step back.
Phichit, however, hasn’t seemed to notice at all as he rears back for another sneeze.
Yuuri pushes the tissue box a fraction closer to his friend. Phichit buries his face into the offered tissues and sneezes two more times before he seems to be aware of the world around him.
“Ugh… Hey, how… how long have you been gone?” Phichit asks pulling another tissue out of the box to blow his nose.
“About an hour. Ciao Ciao got you some ISU approved medicine.” Yuuri holds out the box to him, still reeling from what has just happened. His legs feel weak and he’s incredibly warm inside.
“And you… Aw, Yuuri that’s so nice of you to go get it for me. Thank you.”
“It was no trouble.” Yuuri tries to hide the furious blush overtaking his features.
“I’d hug you but I don’t think either of us want that.” Phichit sniffs to prove the point.
Yuuri turns back to his bed while Phichit downs a dose. When Yuuri turns around he sees the familiar sight of Phichit scrolling through his phone.
“You don’t want to get back to sleep?”
“I’m making sure Chris yelled at Viktor for me.” Phichit wipes his nose with the heel of his hand.
Yuuri sputters out a few incomprehensible sounds before eventually settling on a: “Huh!?”
“Oh, yeah. Viktor was patient zero.” Phichit rolls his eyes, “I’m pretty sure that he either doesn’t know how to cover his mouth or he was conspiring against us. The man was a walking biohazard during our practice days.”
It’s official, Yuuri no longer exists. Not on this Earth and maybe not even the next. Phichit has Viktor King-of-the-Ice Nikiforov’s cold. Phichit got to witness Viktor having the head cold from hell for days, and he apparently never covered his mouth. And now Yuuri has been infected. With Viktor’s cold. Viktor’s sneezy drippy cold. What a world.
The next few days are going to be quite the adventure. And Yuuri has some internet sleuthing to do to see if anyone recorded the Cup of China practice…
#yoi#snzblr#snz kink#snz fic#fetish!yuuri#sneezy!Phichit#my writing#snz fan fic#cold#mess#cw mess#cw contagion
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ohhh for the wip game I’m v curious about ghost ptsd and fog-splatter
Send me one of my wip titles and I'll tell you about it
Ghost PTSD
Originally a phight fic that I didn't continue. The premise was that a random GIW runs into a teenager in Amity Park and recognizes signs of PTSD that he assumes is from ghost attacks, and he ends up trying to comfort/help the teen in question. I only wrote a few paragraphs for it in the end, so I'll just post all of it.
Fast food is not something Alexander Wells indulges in often. His job as a government agent requires him to stay in top shape. That means a strict diet and exercise regimen with very little wiggle room. But even he has his cheat days, and after a long afternoon of tracking down the ghost boy, only to lose him in the residential district, Alexander needs something greasy to sooth his wounded pride. The guys back at base are going to laugh him out the door when he returns empty-handed. He spent much of the morning boasting to the others that he would make a better show of things in Amity Park. The agency is wasting his talents keeping him stationed out in the countryside where nothing ever happens.
What a load of shit that had been.
Once he realized the hunt had failed, he changed out of his work clothes, got into something comfortable, and headed for the nearest fast-food joint. The Nasty Burger. It's not an appetizing name, nor is the smell that hit him when he first walked through the door, but greasy food is greasy food. Looking around, it seems to be popular with the younger generation. Alexander can't tell if that's good or bad. Kids these days have interesting taste.
At the very least, the food is cheap. Alexander eyes the board while the line shuffles forward. Nothing really appeals to him. Mighty Meaty Melt. Mini Mighty Meaty Melt. Meaty Cheesy Melt. Everything has the word "meat" and "melt" in it. Even the fries: Meaty Melty Fries. What does that even mean? Melty fries? Alexander isn't sure he wants to know the answer to that.
Fog-splatter
Started for Ectober 2020. Jack has been having strange gaps in his memories, hearing about conversations he never had, finding inventions he doesn't remember working on. And his son is being incredibly strange around him. Basically a fic where Vlad has been overshadowing Jack for some nefarious plot. I didn't get far into it—I never do with these week/month events—but I still like the idea and might finish it some day.
"Damn sentient soups," Jack muttered, eying the green sludge. He knew it was last night's dinner. Or it was supposed to be, until a single drop of ectoplasm infected the whole pot and turned it into a conscious, quivering mass. Dumping it down the kitchen sink probably hadn't been a good idea, but it was certainly convenient.
The thick green drops trembled, then started creeping along the porcelain, joining together into a single blob at the bottom of the sink. Several oily eyes blinked open and locked onto Jack. The blob opened its goopy mouth and hissed, then slipped back down the drain.
Jack shrugged and turned the tap on. Murky water flowed from the faucet, but it was quickly clearing up. He could deal with the sludge in the pipes later. For now, he kept the tap on until the water ran clear and drinkable. Even then, it wouldn't be the worst thing he'd ever eaten. As he filled his glass, he glanced in the darkened mirror.
A horned shadow loomed behind him.
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Last WIP Wednesday for this fic hopefully. Rounding third and heading for home.
-
It takes a few games for Carlos to settle in with the team, but once he does, he’s invited out to post game dinners and parties, both filled with expensive food, alcohol, and women.
At a rooftop bar at the hotel in Boston, after five straight nights of pretending to flirt with women to keep up appearances, he begs off early, telling the guys he had to ice his shoulder.
They give him shit, but say their goodnights without too much hassle and Carlos is grateful.
As soon as he’s back inside and far enough from the noise of the party, he pulls out his phone to call TK.
He’s been in almost constant contact with his parents since getting called up, and he talks to Paul and a few of the other guys at least once a day, but it feels like he’s been playing phone tag with TK.
There have been missed calls on both sides, and text messages answered hours after they’ve been sent. A like and an occasional comment on an Instagram post is as close as they’ve gotten to real contact in over a week.
“Hello?”
Carlos nearly drops the phone when he hears TK’s voice.
“Shit,” he says as he scrambles to keep hold of it. “Sorry. I wasn’t expecting you to pick up.”
“Sorry,” TK apologizes as Carlos pushes the button for the elevator.
“No, it’s okay, I’m glad you did. Shouldn’t you be at a game right now? Did I screw the timezones up?”
“We got rained out,” TK tells him. “Isn’t it a little late for you?”
Carlos steps out of the way as a group of party goers spill out of the elevator, already tipsy and laughing.
“Where are you?”
He gets in the elevator car and pushes the button for his floor. “I’m going back to my room. The guys dragged me to a bar.”
TK hums. “That makes sense. We’ve all seen the photos of you getting into that cab with that woman.”
“Oh,” Carlos says, “you mean the ones where I made sure the woman got into a cab safely because she was drunk and then I closed the door and got into my own cab which took me in the opposite direction back to the hotel.”
“That’s not as good of a story.”
Carlos laughs. “I’m glad my parents know the truth. I’d be getting calls from my mother about how she raised me better.”
TK laughs. “How are your parents? I know this isn’t the first time you’ve been called up but I bet they act like it is.”
“They do. My dad is getting everyone he works with to watch and they’re throwing viewing parties at the ranch. They’re coming out to Houston for a few games next week, if I’m still here. They’re treating it like a mini vacation. They don’t get many of those.”
“That’s sweet that they’re still so excited. But what about you?”
“What about me?” Carlos asks as the doors open and he steps into the hallway.
“Are you still excited? Are you doing okay?”
Carlos stops in the middle of the hall. “Yeah. I mean, this is the dream, right?”
“Is it?”
Carlos sighs and keeps walking. “I love it,” Carlos says honestly. “I love playing anywhere but the stadiums are so big and the crowds are so loud and the money,” he admits, “I know that makes me sound like an asshole��-.”
“It doesn’t,” TK assures him. “It’s not wrong to enjoy that.”
“The guys are great, really, they keep trying to hook me up with women but they don’t know any better. They mean well. It makes my parents happy when I’m here and I am happy but….” He trails off as he gets his door open then leans back against it. “I miss you.”
“I miss you, too,” TK says and sighs in relief.
“Really?”
“Yeah. I feel like a dick because part of me knows that you’re doing what you’re supposed to do and I want you to be happy and have all that you deserve, and you deserve so much, but then the other half of me wants you here because I hate staying in this room all alone.”
“Most guys like privacy.”
“Yeah, they keep telling me I can bring a guy back but I can’t tell them that the only guy I want to do that with is halfway across the country.”
“Oh,” Carlos says, “so you miss me-miss me?”
TK snorts. “Yeah, for sure. I’m getting myself off to that night but I know the real thing would be so much better.”
Carlos groans and pushes himself away from the door toward the bed. “You can’t say that.”
“Why not? You’ve got that big hotel room all to yourself, don’t you? I’m all alone somewhere in Oklahoma. Seems like we shouldn’t let this moment go to waste.”
Carlos sits down on the edge of the bed and starts to unbutton his shirt.
“So…” Carlos starts and TK bursts out laughing.
“Don’t tell me you haven’t done this before.”
“Don’t make fun of me,” Carlos tells him as he pulls his shirt from his pants and tries to awkwardly take it off with one hand. “It’s been awhile.”
“You definitely knew what you were doing that night.”
“It’s easy with you,” Carlos says. He gets his shirt off then toes off his shoes and stands up. “How undressed are you?”
“That’s a weird way of asking me what I’m wearing.”
“I’m still in my suit and I’m trying to take it off—.”
“Hot,” TK interrupts and Carlos rolls his eyes.
“—but it’s hard to do with one hand.”
“Then put the phone down for a second. Or, better yet…”
The call disconnects only to ring as a FaceTime call a second later.
“Hi,” TK says when Carlos answers. He’s propped up against the headboard, already shirtless. “Let me watch.”
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It was a “5 things you didn’t say at all (stewy/roman)” post! It could just be a fault on my end but each time I click on keep reading it shows a blank page. If you still have it somewhere and would be willing to share I’d love to read it <3
OHHHH YES!!! that was a mini fic from a prompt list I had reblogged agessss ago. idk what happened to the actual post but I still have the draft in my docs!! so here you go :-)
5) Things you didn’t say at all
His therapist had told him he should try keeping a journal. Roman is one hundred percent sure that that’s some bullshit. He can barely bring himself to talk about his feelings with a professional, much less write them down and be forced to confront them by himself.
“Just give it a shot,” Dr. Rossi had told him. “A couple of weeks. Doesn’t matter how often you do it or how much you write, just that you write something, alright?”
Roman had reluctantly agreed, so now he’s sitting in front of his laptop, glaring at the empty word document in front of him.
They had agreed that he could type instead of writing it out. Actually writing in a journal feels a bit too fucking teenage girl for Roman’s taste. He’s not going to scribble his crush’s name in the margins and draw little hearts around it. He’s a grown ass man. He types shit. And it’s easier to hide shit on a computer. He doesn’t know where in the apartment he would hide a notebook that wouldn’t be at risk of being found. He knows Stewy wouldn’t go snooping, but he doesn’t know what excuse he could come up with to explain it. If he’s being forced to keep a journal, he would much rather have it on his laptop, buried six folders deep, the way he used to hide porn when he was a teenager.
This is stupid, he types. He deletes the last few letters, then thinks better of it. He’s supposed to be writing down whatever he feels. And he feels that this is stupid. He finishes the word again.
“What the fuck am I supposed to write about?” he had asked Dr. Rossi.
She had considered him carefully for a moment, as if she was trying to figure out how to explain it in a way that wouldn’t piss him off. She spends a lot of time in their sessions figuring out ways to explain things in ways that won’t piss him off.
“About how you’re feeling. What you’re thinking. Hell, you could even write about what you had for lunch. It’s just about getting words out of your brain and onto paper. Trust me. I think that once you get yourself to start, you’ll find that it actually feels good.”
Roman had stopped himself from saying that he highly doubted it.
The word document is mocking him.
I’m not going to talk about my feelings. That’s stupid. It doesn’t make any difference if I write things down or if I just think them. This is a stupid assignment.
Dr. Rossi hadn’t told him that he had to bring in the journal as proof. He kind of wants to, anyway, just to show her how fucking stupid it is.
“Maybe you can write about Stewy,” she had suggested.
Roman had scoffed at that, but now when he thinks about it, he thinks that maybe it’s not such a terrible idea. As long as Stewy will never see it. As long as no one will ever see it.
Stewy is okay. I like him. He’s fine.
He lets out a long sigh.
He’s always been really good at lying to himself.
He deletes the line and starts over.
I think I’m in love with Stewy.
Which shouldn’t be a big deal. It really shouldn’t. It’s NOT a big deal. That is something that happens to normal people. They fall in love, usually. Some people don’t. I didn’t think I would. Maybe I’m more normal than I thought I was. (Haha).
Roman taps his fingers lightly on the keys before he types: He makes me feel safe.
It feels stupider to see it in words. He doesn’t delete it.
He makes me feel like a real person. He makes me feel normal, sometimes. I guess as normal as I can be. He treats me like I’m normal. He doesn’t treat me like I’m broken or fucked up (even though he knows I am). He treats me the way I think you’re supposed to treat people you care about.
And, okay, yeah, this journal has already spiraled into teenage girl bullshit territory. Here he is, sitting in their bed—Stewy’s bed, he corrects himself—writing about his feelings. He almost wants to write Roman Hosseini as a joke. He doesn’t.
Okay so maybe I love him.
He asks the journal So what?, as if it’s judging him for the words he’s putting into it. Maybe it is. He definitely feels judged, but maybe that’s just him.
Maybe I love him.
I love him.
Seeing the words in writing doesn’t make it feel any different than it already felt. So he was right—take that, Dr. Rossi. Writing them down doesn’t make a goddamn difference.
He stares at the screen for a little while longer. The cursor is still blinking, waiting just past the period on the end of him. Roman tries to think of something else to say. He doesn’t think there’s anything else to add.
So there it is, staring back at him.
He closes out the word document, saves it as Therapy bullshit, moves it as many folders deep as he can, and shuts his laptop. He doesn’t want to think about how it will still be waiting for him the next time he forces himself to open the document back up. That’s a problem for future him.
He doesn’t think he’ll say it. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever say it. But it’s there, and it will wait for him, as patient as can possibly be.
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I posted 245 times in 2022
That's 245 more posts than 2021!
55 posts created (22%)
190 posts reblogged (78%)
Blogs I reblogged the most:
@upsteadlovingheart
@imjustwritingg
@i-like-sparkly-things
@a-little-bit-of-tradition
@justmypartner
I tagged 91 of my posts in 2022
#jay halstead - 28 posts
#chicago pd - 23 posts
#unsteady - 21 posts
#jay halstead fanfic - 20 posts
#hailey upton - 18 posts
#upstead - 17 posts
#jay halstead fanfiction - 14 posts
#upstead fanfic - 12 posts
#jay halstead x reader - 8 posts
#jay halstead fic - 7 posts
Longest Tag: 118 characters
#reblogging because i'm 5k into a follow up to this and trying to talk myself out of scrapping it all and starting over
My Top Posts in 2022:
#5
working late
Weight of the World - Jay HalsteadxReader
A/n: starting this as a little mini series of blurbs. it’ll be all over the place, but i’ve always loved writing shorter freeform pieces. Y/n will remain the same as far as personality, occupation, family, etc. across the pieces but each imagine can be read as a stand alone. As always, i’d love to hear your thoughts or any feedback :)
summary: Jay's subtle way of taking care of you and looking out for you when you're stressed and unexpectedly having to work late.
words: 1.4k
warnings: references of implied child abuse (very brief reference)
~
Your phone buzzes on the desk in front of you causing your attention to stray from the computer monitor to the phone screen just long enough to recognize your boyfriend’s name and a new text notification. Instead of checking the message, you force your attention back to the screen, trying to remember what was said in a phone call earlier today so you can make sure to document it correctly.
A few seconds later, your phone buzzes again, another text from Jay, and this time you grab your phone, dropping it into your purse tucked away below your desk. Glancing at the numbers in the bottom right corner of the computer screen, you realize it’s 5:57pm. Shit. You were supposed to leave work almost an hour ago. You’re supposed to be at the restaurant right now for a 6pm dinner reservation with Jay.
Groaning softly, you cover your face with your hands briefly, trying to let some of the stress of the day leave your body. When that doesn’t work, you force yourself to take a deep breath. You’ve been looking forward to this dinner all week. This morning when you came into work, you were determined to leave on time. However, you were assigned a crisis shortly after 3:30pm, and everything from then until now has been a blur.
Reaching down below your desk, you dig your phone from your purse and immediately click on Jay’s contact to call him, not bothering to read any messages first. “Hey babe.” Jay’s voice floats through the phone. His calm demeanor immediately contrasts against the way you’ve been feeling all afternoon.
“Hi,” You sigh, his voice alone manages to relax you, even if just a tiny bit.
There is a pause, and you want to start apologizing because you know Jay is probably already at the restaurant, but he speaks up before you can, “What’s going on? Is it work?”
“Yeah, I’m so sorry babe. A crisis came in.” You prop the phone between your ear and shoulder, and scroll though the document you’re in the middle of drafting.
Between your job and Jay’s, you both understand that plans are usually tentative, no matter how much you wish that they could be dependable. Clocking out has never really meant clocking out for either of you, and it is something you’ve both had to accept, although it definitely wasn’t easy.
“It’s okay, just take care of what you need to.” He responds without even a hint of irritation or disappointment, probably because he knows if you heard that in his voice it would only make you feel worse.
“I’m sorry,” Despite Jay’s understanding reaction, you still feel bad. “Are you already there?”
“Don’t worry about it.” His non answer is all the answer you need.
“I’ll make it up to you. Next week, I promise!” But you both know that’s not exactly a promise you can keep. You never know if you’ll get another crisis or if intelligence will get a big case and you won’t see each other for a few days or sometimes even longer.
“You don’t have to make it up to me. It’s no big deal.” He responds, “I’ll let you get back to work. Are you the last one?”
You look around briefly. Alisha was the only one still in the office when you walked back in after returning from the crisis call, and you vaguely recall her calling out goodbye to you a while ago before leaving. “Yeah.”
“Okay, I’ll talk to you soon.”
You bite your tongue to stop yourself from apologizing again. “Talk to you soon, bye.”
“Bye babe, try not to stress too much.”
After hanging up the phone, you walk over to the break room and brew yourself a cup of coffee before returning to your desk and making your way through the mountain of paperwork while waiting for your phone to ring with your supervisor returning your call, so you can finish your documentation and finally go home to your boyfriend.
A knock sounds on the front door to the office, startling you. Alisha must have locked the door behind her on her way out, so whoever is out there can’t get in.
“Y/n, it’s me.” A muffled voice calls from the other side of the door and you immediately sigh in relief, practically jogging over to open the door.
When you pull open the door, you see your boyfriend standing with a white bag that you can only assume holds food in one hand and a drink cup in the other.
“I brought food.” He holds the bag and cup up a bit higher and your heart fills with so much love for the man in front of you. Stepping across the doorway, you wrap your arms around him, reveling in the comfort his presence brings, not to mention how grateful you are that he brought you food. If he didn’t you probably wouldn’t eat until after you finished all your paperwork and finished making the necessary calls, which could easily be after 10pm.
He holds you as best as he can with his hands full.
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252 notes - Posted June 13, 2022
#4
Safe
Jay HalsteadxReader
summary: Y/n witnesses Jay in a life threatening situation for the first time and it affects her more than either of them expected.
words: 4k
warnings: canon typical mentions of violence, descriptions of anxiety and symptoms of ptsd.
~
“Get down, get down!” You recognize the voice before you see the person yelling. Instinctively, you listen, dropping straight to the ground and ducking behind a parked car. Your coffee that you had bought moments ago sloshes over the side of the cup at your sudden movements. Your heart is pounding loudly in your chest as you watch the scene unfold in front of you. Three men are running in different directions, each holding what appears to be a gun. You can hear the gunshots ring out, and people are screaming as they all frantically try to find cover. You remain crouched on the ground, but you peek cautiously around the car. You know who you’re looking for, even if it means you’re more in danger because you’re not completely tucked away.
When your eyes find your boyfriend, you don’t feel relieved like you had hoped you would. Instead you feel more frantic and afraid because you can tell he’s mostly out in the open, pursuing the suspects. He doesn’t see you, and you intentionally don’t call out to him. He’s yelling at the guys to stop, shouting, “Chicago PD, stop!” while yelling at others to get out of the way, the same way his warning had told you to take cover without even knowing that it was you.
Everything happens in just a few seconds. More gunshots ring out and you watch Jay as he ducks behind a parked car before calling for backup. You hope that this means he’ll be safe, but before you know it, he’s running back out into the open, continuing to pursue them on foot as they turn down an alley. You feel stunned as Jay disappears from sight. The adrenaline is still coursing through your body, but suddenly you feel sick with worry.
Blue lights and loud sirens flood the area as cops and ambulances arrive on the scene. You can’t help but continue to stare at the corner of the building where you last saw Jay. You don’t know where he went or if he’s even safe. The fear and worry settles in your stomach, and as much as you want to make sure others are okay, you can’t move from your spot tucked between the rear tire of a parked car and the sidewalk. Pulling your phone from your pocket, you immediately text Jay, “Are you okay??” Is all your fingers can type. You click send and then stare at the message, just waiting for the three dots to indicate he’s typing a response. The dots don’t come.
A police officer approaches you, snapping you out of your trance. “Miss, are you okay? Are you hurt?”
Shaking your head frantically, you check your phone again, still no response from Jay. “I-I’m okay, I think, but my boyfriend. I–I don’t know if he’s okay.”
“He was here with you? Was he hurt?”
“No – I mean – he was here, but not with me. He’s a cop. He was chasing the guy.”
“He’s intelligence?” The patrol cop asks, and you simply nod.
“Please, can you see if he’s okay?” You plead motioning toward the radio.
He hesitates before speaking into his radio, asking for an update on the foot chase. There is no update immediately. “Sorry miss. They don’t usually update us unless they’re calling for backup.”
You nod and thank him anyway before glancing down at your phone again. Still no response to the text. You know he’s working and he’s busy. Just because he hasn’t responded doesn’t mean he’s hurt. Even though you logically know all of this, you still click on Jay’s contact, calling him. You just need to hear his voice. You need to know he’s okay. The phone rings five times and then goes to voicemail. Although a part of you knows Jay is busy working and just because he’s not answering doesn’t mean he’s hurt, another part of you is becoming more and more frantic with every second that passes without hearing from him. The cop eventually wanders away after realizing that you’re fine and not hurt. Finally, after waiting a few more minutes, you can’t take it anymore and you call Voight, he answers on the fourth ring.
“Y/n?”
“Voight, is Jay with you? Is he okay?”
“Jay’s not with me, he’s at a scene.” Voight’s voice gives no indication that anything is going on, but you know he has to know what just happened.
“I know. I’m on fourth and central and I was here when they were shooting. I saw Jay running and they were shooting at him and he’s just gone now and he hasn’t answered his phone.” All the words tumble out of your mouth so quickly you’re not even sure Voight can understand what you were saying.
“Y/n, slow down. I’ll have Jay call you. Just hold tight.” He responds, his voice still completely calm and you wonder how he can sound like that after everything that just happened and everything you just told him.
“Okay, thank you.” You force out, barely managing to take a breath.
About a minute later, your phone is ringing. This time, it is Jay. “Are you okay?” You ask instead of saying hello.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” You can hear him breathing loudly, but that’s the only indication that anything just happened. “Are you okay? Voight said to call you, what’s wrong?”
“I’m on fourth and central.” You whisper. Hearing Jay’s voice reassures you a little, but the image of him running and the guns pointed at him and then him running after them while they could turn and shoot him at any time continues to run through your mind.
There’s a beat of silence as he processes your statement and takes in what that means. “I’ll be there in three minutes.” He responds.
“Jay, are you okay?” You repeat your question, “I saw you running and they were shooting and –”
“Y/n,” he cuts you off calmly. “I’m fine. We got one and the other two got away, but I’m not hurt. I’m fine, y/n. Are you okay?”
“I just want to see you.”
You can hear the sound of his truck door slamming, then he says, “I’m almost there. I’m just a block away.”
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318 notes - Posted June 21, 2022
#3
Worst Patient
Summary: Y/n doesn’t tell anyone she’s feeling sick and ends up fainting. Protective/worried boyfriend Jay.
Word Count: 2k
Warnings: mentions of blood, injury, fainting, medical/hospital setting
Masterlist
What started out as just a headache this morning as you were leaving for work quickly turned into something more, but you have a big project due and can’t afford to go home or take a sick day, so you stick it out. At lunch time, just the thought of eating the meal you packed made your stomach turn, so you skipped it in favor of more coffee to keep yourself from falling asleep and attempt to keep your mind clear enough to focus on the work at hand.
By the time you walk out of your office after six pm, you’re feeling hot and cold all at once. Your phone rings, a facetime from Jay, and you immediately answer. When his face fills the screen, you can tell even in the little corner box, that you don’t look so good.
“Y/n? Are you okay?” His voice comes through the phone and his face suddenly fills the whole screen as he holds his phone close to his face to get a better look at yours.
“Yeah, I’m fine, I’m just tired.” You brush off his concern with a little white lie.
“Are you sure?” He questions, and you nod. Pain shoots through the back of your head at the movement, but you quickly force your face back into a neutral expression. If Jay notices something is off, he doesn’t bring it up. “I was just calling because we caught a case so I’m stuck at work. Are you still covering at Molly’s?”
“Shit, yeah, I forgot. I’m heading over there now.” You had completely forgotten that you promised Hermann you’d cover the bar tonight with Stella so he could attend his son’s award ceremony at school.
“Y/n, are you feeling okay?” Jay’s concerned voice cuts through your thoughts.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Work was just busy and I forgot about Molly’s.”
“Okay, I’ll talk to you later. I’ll try to stop by if I get out of here early enough.”
“Alright, I’ll see you later,” You tell him before ending the call and walking the rest of the distance to your car. You had thrown a change of clothes in your car this morning since you knew you were going to be working at Molly’s, so you drive straight there and find Stella behind the bar.
“Y/n! Thank god you’re here. I don’t know what is going on but it seems like everyone is here tonight, and I can barely keep up.” She calls out, seemingly flustered by the crowd and amount of work to be done.
Stella wasn’t wrong. It seemed like you didn’t have a moment to catch your breath from the second you walked into the bar. You were constantly moving, despite feeling sicker and sicker by the minute, you couldn’t leave Stella alone behind the bar, so you just stuck it out.
When Jay finally walks in, you’re not even sure how late it is, but all you want is to fall asleep. He takes a seat and you place a glass of whiskey down on the bar in front of him. You can feel his eyes on you, as you turn to grab another glass for another customer.
Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Jay jump out of his seat, and you don’t realize why even as you stumble on your feet.
“Y/n, y/n!” You can hear Jay’s voice, but when you open your eyes for a split second, the pain in your head is excruciating, and it feels like there’s ringing in your ears. You close your eyes tightly again. You just want the pain to stop. There’s more commotion around you, but you have no idea what is going on.
“Y/n, hey, can you look at me?” His voice is worried and forceful, cutting through the fog.
You force your eyes open to meet Jay’s green eyes. “Don’t move,” He warns, and only then you realize you’re surrounded by broken glass. Your right forearm stings and is dripping blood. There’s a towel on it, so you can’t see the damage, but you guess that you fell on the glass. You don’t even remember dropping the glass, but you don’t remember putting it down either.
Stella hands Jay a glass of water, and he holds the glass to your lips. “Slowly,” Jay warns, as you take a few sips.
You sit back, his arms still around you, “What happened?”
“You fainted. When was the last time you ate something?” You shrug because the truth is you don’t really remember. Jay doesn’t stop moving, he’s checking your body, examining you for glass or wounds or injuries. When you don’t give an answer, Jay asks another question, “How long have you not been feeling well?”
“All day.” That’s one answer you know for sure.
Jay sighs and shakes his head, whether with disappointment or worry, you can’t tell, and you’re feeling too out of it to try to decipher his expression. Jay carefully places your injured arm over your stomach then wraps an arm under your legs, supporting your back with his other arm as he starts to stand.
“What are you doing?” You question, but the words come out in a mumble and your head falls against his chest as he starts walking toward the exit, calling something out to Stella about how he’s taking you to Med.
“I don’t want to go to Med.” Your eyes fall closed. When Jay doesn’t respond, you plead. “Can you just take me home, please?”
“Y/n,” Jay replies, keeping his voice soothing because he knows what he’s going to say will upset you, “You fainted and there’s glass in your arm.”
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337 notes - Posted October 15, 2022
#2
Frantic Call
Jay HalsteadxReader
summary: Y/n’s bad day just keeps getting worse, and when she can’t take it anymore, she calls Jay, crying.
words: 1.5k
~
The sound of metal crashing against wood catches your attention and momentarily stuns you. As you turn your head to the passenger side of the car, you realize you weren’t watching that side as you backed up, and you smashed your mirror against the telephone pole outside of your house. Your heart immediately sinks to your belly.
“I gotta go!” You shout at your phone, despite hearing your brother’s confused questions coming through your cars speaker via bluetooth. He had been practically yelling at you over something that had happened between him and your mom, which is not uncommon. As the middle child, you’ve always been the mediator, even though you’re all adults with separate lives now, things somehow still come back to you, as if they expect you to sort their problems out.
Putting your car in park, you jump out and rush around to the other side. Your mirror is hanging from a cord, and the paint on the passenger side door is scraped. Part of the metal is caved in too. You force a deep breath into your lungs and try to remain composed despite wanting to burst into tears standing there on the street.
The argument your brother had with your mom left you feeling like things were already falling apart. His yelling was just enough distraction to make you forget to check over your shoulder while backing into your driveway. You always check over your shoulder, except today.
You somehow manage to hold it together enough to park your car in the driveway properly. As you get out of your car, you glance at your work phone to see a new email from your boss.
I need that incident report by tomorrow.
That’s all it says. Your workload had increased significantly a few weeks ago, and the constant stress of the day to day at work has been getting to you. You’ve been making small mistakes that you’d never have made otherwise. There was an incident with a client that you don’t even want to think about, but your boss, as is his job, has no problem reminding you.
After a moment, a text from your brother comes in. Call me back. And you sigh, standing there in a daze in the driveway, you can barely get yourself to move.
Between work, your family drama, and now knowing you have to deal with getting your car fixed, you really just want to take a shower and crawl into bed, but you can’t do that, because it’s 2pm on a Tuesday, and you have an online meeting in thirty minutes.
Your fingers hover over the contact in your phone. He’s at work, and you don’t want to bother him, but he’s the only person you want to talk to. His voice is the only one you want to hear right now. You can feel yourself holding it together by a thread as you press on his contact and start walking into the house, leaving your poor car in the driveway.
“Hello?” He answers.
“Do you have time to talk?” You question, unsure of whether he’s busy or not.
He probably senses the urgency in your tone, “Yeah, I have a couple minutes before I have to be in the interrogation room.”
A part of you knows that since he said he has a couple minutes, this probably means he was supposed to be in the interrogation room five minutes ago, and he doesn’t actually have time. You almost say never mind and end the call, but you can’t keep your composure any longer, and you need to talk to him.
“My brother got into a big fight with my mom and I was backing up and I hit a telephone pole, and I messed up at work and I’m scared that I’m going to get in trouble.”
“Whoa, hold on, are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine, my car’s not.” You respond.
“Are you sure you’re okay? Was anyone hurt?”
“No, no one was even on the street, it was just me, hitting a stupid pole because I didn’t look over my shoulder because I was distracted because my brother was yelling at me and I was rushing home from work to do the stupid incident report that I should have done by now. And I have a meeting at 2:30.”
The tears start falling and then you’re fully sobbing. You’re standing in the kitchen, just sobbing as Jay tries to understand everything you just said. You can hear shuffling on the other end, but he doesn’t say anything right away, and you continue crying and mumbling something about your car.
“I’m coming home.” You finally hear him say.
“No, you have an interrogation!” You respond, knowing you’ll feel even worse if he just leaves work right now. “
“Y/n, you’re not hurt, right?” He questions, completely ignoring your reminder that he’s supposed to be working.
“No,” You mumble behind the tears still falling. You force a deep breath and try to slow your sobs. “But I have that meeting. It’s at 2:30.” You repeat yourself.
“Okay, are you inside?”
“Yes.”
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427 notes - Posted September 16, 2022
My #1 post of 2022
Stay
Jay HalsteadxReader
summary: Y/n and Jay lost touch after high school, but run into each other years later. Y/n insists she doesn’t need help, but Jay’s detective instincts won’t let him let her go.
words: almost 8k
warnings: unhealthy relationship dynamics, domestic violence, physical abuse, emotional manipulation, toxic relationships.
a/n: i’ve been wrestling with this piece for weeks now, and i could go through and edit it probably two more times, but i’m going insane, and i want to post it so badly, so this is what you get. hope you enjoy, feedback is always appreciated!
also this should go without saying, but please heed the warnings, there are some graphic descriptions of dv so please please do not read if this is a trigger for you. thank you.
~
“Halstead, over here!” The voice is just loud enough that it cuts through the constant hum of the crowd and catches your attention. You know that name. You’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t still think about him, didn’t still wonder how he’s doing, or daydream about running into him since moving back to Chicago three months ago.
Without realizing what you’re doing, you swivel around on the barstool, somewhat accidentally making eye contact with him in the process. The recognition crosses his face, mirroring the expression on your own. It’s really him, not his brother or another guy named Halstead. It’s him.
“Y/n?” He says in disbelief, immediately changing his pathway and walking toward you instead of stopping at the table his friends were all crowded around. He approaches you silently, studying you, almost like he cannot believe it really is you in front of him, and you don’t blame him.
“Jay,” You breathe.
“You’re back in Chicago? How are you?” A genuine smile crosses his face as he stops in front of you, and you remember a day when you would give anything to be the reason for his smile.
“I’m–uh- good.” Your eyes drift to behind him at the rowdy group of guys looking in your direction, and you know they are about to yell at him, to call him over, probably tease him for talking to you. “It looks like your friends are waiting for you.” You point out the obvious.
“They can wait.” He responds, unfazed. “How long have you been back?”
“My boyfriend and I moved back here a few months ago.” You force a smile onto your face, intentionally mentioning your boyfriend, knowing that is likely to end the conversation much faster. There’s something else you could say to end the conversation even faster, but you hold back. A part of you doesn’t want Jay to know your life now, to know what it’s become. Maybe he still sees you as the carefree teenager you once were, and maybe you’d like to keep it that way.
“Oh, nice!” If Jay is shocked or disappointed, he show it.
“Detective, get over here!” One of his friends, who already seems to have had more than just a few drinks, slurs in your general direction.
“Detective? You’re police?” You can’t stop the surprise from coming through in your own voice.
“A lot has changed, for both of us, I guess.” He says with a shrug and half smile. He taps his fingers on the bar in front of you, “It was good seeing you.” He says with a look of finality in his eyes. You have a boyfriend. He has to go celebrate with his friends.
You nod, “You too.” And watch out of the corner of your eye as he makes his way to his friends. They shout as he enters the circle, slapping him on the shoulder and handing him a drink. The word detective keeps being thrown around in their group, and you deduce that he probably just got promoted, and they’re out celebrating.
“Who was that?” Sam asks, approaching you, while nodding in Jay’s direction. You silently curse, realizing he saw at least the tail end of that conversation, something you were hoping to avoid completely.
“Just a guy I knew in high school.” You respond nonchalantly. Sam takes his spot on the stool next to you, resting one hand on your waist to show the entire bar you’re with him. He flags down the bartender with the other hand, never missing a beat.
“You just knew him.” The intonation in his voice ensures this doesn’t come across as a casual question.
“Yeah, nothing happened between us.” Not for lack of trying. You can’t help but think to yourself.
It was just too much. Between his mom getting sick and dying and your far from perfect life at home with your mom and stepdad, there was no room for anything that would last. He left for the army the week he graduated high school, and that fall you were off to California for college. Things maybe could have been different for the two of you if real life hadn’t gotten in the way.
“You’re lying.” Sam whispers, his voice so low and deep, it almost sounds like a growl.
“I’m not lying. I swear nothing happened.” You turn meeting his eyes, silently begging him to believe you, to drop the subject.
His hand tightens around your waist, and you have to stop yourself from visibly flinching.
“Sam, stop.” You whisper, scooting even closer to him, hoping for some relief under his grip.
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532 notes - Posted July 22, 2022
Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →
#tumblr2022#year in review#my 2022 tumblr year in review#your tumblr year in review#posting this so i can compare it to next year#hoping to write more in 2023
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(Hi, me again. Wow, that was intense. I don’t think i can properly put into words the way that made me feel. I’ll try to break things down.
First up is Remus. I’m so proud of him. He recognised his own abuse. He got to validate his feelings and recognise that what happened to him wasn’t his fault and he stood up to Virgil to protect Remy, which also gave him a chance to get some form of closure.
Next up is Remy. They did so well. They accepted the reality of their current situation and made the decision to leave, even though it was hard for them. Virgil I’m going to go into later in the ask.
Lukas, you write these characters amazingly. They feel so real and it makes moments like this so powerful, you truly are an incredible writer. Now without further ado, onto the ask.)
*appears in Virgil’s apartment and floats over to Virgil*
*eyes glow a comforting orange while speaking in a gentle voice*
Hi Virgil. I just wanted to say I’m proud of you. I know letting them go wasn’t easy for you, but you did the right thing by doing so. I’m not going to claim to understand how you are feeling right now, but I can see that you’re hurting. I’m sorry that this had to happen, but I’m glad it did. Things are going to get better now. Not right away, maybe not for a long time, but they will eventually get better. Even if it doesn’t feel like it right now.
Remember, you’re not alone. You have your parents to help you through this, and you also have me. I’m gonna sit with you to prove emotional support. Let me know if you need anything and I’ll do my best to accommodate.
*time skip to when Virgil has gotten most of the initial post breakup crying out of his system*
I’m going to stay with you for a while, at least until I’m sure that the worst of this has past. I’m sure the other Watchers will take good care of Remy while I stay with you. So don’t panic if you see me floating around for the next wee while. Also I love cooking so if you find food in your fridge or cupboards that you didn’t put there it was probably me. Feel free to try some though, I’m quite a good cook if I do say so myself.
Glow Eyes
(Thank you :DD Im glad the mini fic was as good as i had been hoping bc shit had been building up to it for a like time now)
Virgil had curled up against the couch. He wasn't even sitting on it. He just sat on the floor with his head laying on the cushion while sulking. Weak sobs could be heard every now and again as his body trembled.
When he heard your voice he only glanced up for a second before digging his face down into the cushion again.
"Fuck off" He muttered out.
He did his best to stay quiet after that as you kept talking. He really Really wanted to show just how grumpy and hurt he was and grumpy people obviously don't speak! But alas he is a weak willed little bitch boy so
"YEah! Exactly! You don't understand! SO leave me alone! You ghost fuckers have done enough!!"
He waited a few silent minutes before he reached out his arm and fumbled it around on the couch without actually looking up. When he felt your faint ghost warmth he let out a breathe of relief. He didn't actually want to be alone.
"How could this ever get better" His voice broke "how could living without Remy be anything but worse!? It feels like- It already feels like a part of me has been ripped out and theY JUST LEFT! HOW WILL I SURVIVE THIS FOR MONTHS! YEARS! I FEEL LIKE I'M NOTHING! That- The Remus guy- he- he was right- I'm just hollow now- How- Where do I even start with myself- How the fuck do I continue on without them! They- They were supposed to be my life partner but now-"
It got hard to breathe. His hand moved up to his neck as if something was preventing him from breathing. But there was nothing.
"They didn't leave that long ago. Maybe I can still catch up to them. Make them change their mind"
He got up on his feet but only took a few steps before suddenly stopping and forcing himself to sit down on the ground again. He put his head in his hands.
"No. No. I' doing this for Remy. They're better off without me. I can't- I can't keep hurting them...BUT IT'S THEIR FAULT I'M IN PAIN NOW! THEY'RE FUCKING SELFISH FOR LEAVING ME! I'VE DONE EVERYTHING FOR THEM! THEY'RE A STUPID BITCH! I- I- I WISH I COULD-"
Virgil punched his fist into the wooden floor leaving his knuckles bloody. He stormed off into the bedroom. The door slammed shut behind him as glanced around.
The bed shook as he kicked it out of frustration. He threw the closet doors open and started to dig around in the mess of clothes and books. A pile of old magazines laid in the corner. The kind of teen girl magazine that would have a bunch of pictures of pop stars Remy liked. When they were younger they used to shoplift the magazines together with Virgil.
One of the oldest magazines had Carly Rae Jepsen on the cover. Virgil picked it up and held it in his trembling hands. The pages with cute boys on them had been marked with glitter pen and the double spread love quiz had been annotated on to hell and back. There was a bunch of hearts drawn around the answer to the quiz where it stood that the reader and their crush had big potential to get together.
"THEY LEFT ME! THEY WOULD RATHER RUN OFF AND WHORE OUT WITH THOSE PEOPLE THAN TO- I WANT TO FUCKING DESTROY EVERYTHING THEY CARE ABOUT! IT'S WHAT THEY DESERVE FOR DOING THIS TO ME!"
The top of the magazine began to fall apart as he pulled in it. A rip went right between Carly Rae Jepsen's eyes.
Virgil's arms suddenly went weak. The trembling stopped. The only sound in the room was his quiet sobbing as he pulled the magazine to his chest. He curled into a miserable ball on the floor, half of his body still inside the closet.
You floated over and lingered by him as he continued to cry. Even when the tears had dried he didn't say anything. Every one of his movements was slow and groggy as he got up and got a cardboard box.
All of the magazines carefully got placed in the box one by one. He quickly skimmed through some of them. Blurbs about date ideas were written on some pages. Tips about make up and clothing had been ringed in with notes next to it like 'Makes me look more like a guy :(' and 'hides bruises good'. In one interview some boy band had been asked for their best flirt lines and Virgil could distinctly remember Remy using all of them. In several magazines different parts of the pop star's bodies had been ringed in and Remy had left notes about how they wished they could look like that followed by questions of Why they would want that.
He neatly put their favorite CDs in the box before going through the clothes thrown around the bedroom. Their beloved leather jacket, sweatpants that looked like a knockoff of Britney Spear's and t-shirts with prints they liked were all put in the box. Virgil fiddled with the hem of a skirt between his fingers.
"They sewed most of their clothes themself y'know. They're so talented" He mumbled out before putting some skirts in the box as well.
An old ragged hoodie laid at the bottom of the closet. It was blue and Virgil could remember doodling on the sleeves of it when he got anxious. Remy had said they liked the feeling of the sharpies against the fabric. He put it on. It was a bit too big for him but he didn't mind.
He closed the box and taped it shut before writing on the top of it 'Please don't forget your meds'.
"You guys can like do teleporting stuff right?" He asked while turning to you "I uh I just thought my- Remy kinda left in a rush I don't want them to have to like leave some of their favorite stuff behind. You can just teleport the box to wherever they're staying right now I guess. Maybe not like This second. Maybe that would make them like anxious 'cause they would have to think of me but uh teleport the box to them like soon....ugh....please?"
He fumbled with his hands before picking up the pen again.
"You're uh right. I'm not alone. I've just happened to lose the most important person in my life. very funny. Very great experience. 10/10 really. Would just love to go through this again and again on a daily basis"
On the paper he'd written up the numbers to the helplines his mom had told him about. One number for people who wanted to stop hurting their partner. Another for people with mental health problems. She'd said it was for when he had panic attacks. He felt like he deserved to suffer through those alone.
He taped the paper to the entrance door so in case he ever got the urge to try and look up where Remy was he had a reminder.
You floated next to his head. He turned to you "Staying with me for a while is a good idea. I- I want to change- Changing hurts" He face palmed "Holy Shit! Am I hearing myself!! OOOh Boo woo it's so hard to stop hitting my par- my ex partner boo hooo!! What a fucking asshole I am!! But I am an asshole! I know sooner or later I'm gonna lose my temper and you and your supernatural friends gotta prevent me from ever hurting Remy again! Or anyone else for that matter! Like- Like"
He walked to the corner of the room and pointed right into it.
"Like if I try to leave to find Remy this the uh the void shadow thingie has to like teleport me inside the void until I calm down or something! And the blue ghost thing can throw things at me I guess! The Snail can turn me into a snail! NO! Nevermind! Don't do that! Make me trip on Snail goo??? I dunno! Uhhh If I ever get to know Remy's new address you have to erase it from my brain like instantly! Okay?....Unless Remy would want me to know.....But I doubt they would"
All of the energy had drained from him. It took a lot of willpower to not feed into his worst impulses. He sat down against the corner and moved the fabric of Remy's hoodie up to his face. It still smelled faintly of them. If he closed his eyes he could pretend they were still with him.
You did the ghost equivalent of sitting down next to him as you said the last bit of your message.
"You can cook?" He squinted at you "Where the fuck do you store your hands??? Aren't you translucent??? Nevermind. Not important. I don't even think I wanna know. I guess that uh...that...." He looked like he was in actual pain saying this "I would.....appreciate....it if you could cook some food I guess maybe I think. Even on a good day I'm not a good cook and now"
He looked out into the oh so quiet apartment. There was grime on the floor and a smell of mold and cigarette smoke in the air. He couldn't remember the last time he had cleaned. He hadn't even showered in over a week now.
"I....I dunno if I have that much energy left...Ugh I'm gonna have to go to work tomorrow...I'm gonna have to talk to people tomorrow....and like go outside...and continue living....without them...."
He ran his fingers through his oily hair and sighed.
"I want to change! I just have no fucking idea how to have the energy to change if I can't even clean my own apartment! It feels like all of my problems are just like piling up and I have no idea where to start. I just wanna like revert back into my shell like a big grumpy turtle y'know? Yeah I bet you know. If you can summon fucking hands I bet you can become a turtle as well......Is the big ass Snail even like originally a snail....or is it just a ghost like- I'm gonna give myself a headache"
Virgil moved Remy's old hoodie tighter around himself and leant the side of his head against the wall. He was so exhausted he could probably fall asleep right then and there. The light turned on in the kitchen as you floated over to begin cooking.
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I posted 342 times in 2022
That's 261 more posts than 2021!
9 posts created (3%)
333 posts reblogged (97%)
Blogs I reblogged the most:
@jacob-blogs
@defyinggod
@atlas-prime
@snailmailthings
@calvinandhobbes
I tagged 7 of my posts in 2022
#hannigram - 2 posts
#queer - 2 posts
#rant - 2 posts
#thiam - 1 post
#sex ed season 3 - 1 post
#mini rant - 1 post
#gay - 1 post
#tumblr gay - 1 post
#destiehellers - 1 post
#destiel - 1 post
Longest Tag: 15 characters
#sex ed season 3
My Top Posts in 2022:
#5
Everything I do is shit. But you know what I take naps in the day AND sometimes my friends call me hot so I’m okay
0 notes - Posted August 6, 2022
#4
Small Rant for the destiehellers
I’ve been seeing quite a few post saying how wrong destiel is and all that and i wanted to point out. Castiel is not animating a dead corps.
It’s canon that when Castiel was brought back he chose to be brought back as mirror image of Jimmy Novak. He’s not possessing him anymore. His human image just looks like Jimmy. This is all confirmed post season 8 I believe.
Now the whole r/ape argument could be debunked bc in canon nothing ever happened And most destiel FICS are AU which means Castiel is his own person. And when FICS want to include Jimmy he’s always his twin and his own person as well.
Now with beastiality! Castiel is not an animal but an Angel so I would probably just move this to Monster F*cker?? To make more sense.
I don’t know it bothered me how critical thinking was lost in this entire argument.
Anyways I respect all fandoms and try to mind my business. However, I was seeing a lot of hate for this ship recently so I just wanted to clarify. Feel free to leave your take and be respectful about it :0
3 notes - Posted September 15, 2022
#3
I think we needed an ep where will got f*cked by his therapist. Bc I’m convinced this is why the world hasn’t known peace. You can’t prove me wrong
8 notes - Posted August 16, 2022
#2
Hannibal the 2015 show is so funny. Bc I completely forgot that will had a wife bc he literally doesn’t care about her to chase a cannibal serial killer and play romance.
A true home wrecker and a slut! 💖💖
17 notes - Posted September 4, 2022
My #1 post of 2022
I’ve been thinking a lot about theo and Liam these past few days. And you can’t tell me they weren’t supposed to be end game. ANS I know the creators said if they continued the show then they would end up together.
It’s just I was rewatching the scene where LIAM and HAYDEN were kissing and you see theo looking through the mirror.
You can’t tell me he felt like some type of way. I think he always had hard time processing his emotions and stuff but after LIAM brought him back from hell. I think that’s the moment he truly fell for LIAM. Like he probably thinks like oh why does this kid care so much about me. And I think theo was just like LIAM before character development. Anger issues. The difference is theo was leaning more towards being vengeful and self preservation. ANS LIAM is more reckless anger with the intent of being good.
And this dynamic has always been interesting. The same coin with different sides.
Anyways early on you can see the chemistry.
also the way theo looks at LIAM. I can’t. I think theo fell harder at first and Liam had a harder time accepting he was in love with theo. ✨✨
126 notes - Posted August 14, 2022
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