hahahahaha little shits

“ Raise your hand if you think Garmadon should come back onto the show. ”

“ Or more Morro screen time. ”

“ Or more brotp/otp moments. ”

“ Or less Misako. ”

Fandom :

Originally posted by isoldmysoultopanera

The Single Dad Tactic / Simon D

Since I just love @an-exotic-writer so much. And since, I just love Simon D so much, and since, I just have to torture her. I wrote this, very interesting scenario, for the queen herself. 


The Single Dad Tactic / Simon D

Kiseok spoiled you; there was no doubt about that. He was a man’s man, knew how to treat a woman right.  Was always a shoulder to lean on, while still allowing you independence—everything you needed him to be, Kiseok was. There would never be a man on earth you’d love more than him; you were for certain about that.

How you met was an interesting story.

Firstly, you had met Kiseok while he was taking care of his brother’s daughter; a young girl no older than three on the day you bumped into him. It was a hot summer day, uncle and niece out for ice cream when the little girl carelessly wandered off, away from the not-so-watchful eyes of uncle Kiseok and into you, who had been struggling to carry your things home from the market which had caused some books to come crashing down.

It went a little like this:

Your arms had been full for thirteen blocks now, books and other assorted things which you had recently purchased at a discount market which only came around once a year. The books were heavy, and you were now regretting rejecting the bag that the nice older woman had offered you at the cash register when she sold you the books in the first place.

“It’s not that far,” you told her, “shouldn’t be a problem for me to carry them.” With a smile, you turned on your heel and walked out of the tent after bidding her farewell. But now, in the heat of the blistering summer, your arms were tired, your legs were jelly, and you weren’t sure you were going to make it back to your apartment in one piece.

It was a long walk back, twenty blocks at least and you were trying your best to avoid any hazardous steps on the sidewalk as you made your way, but there was one thing you couldn’t account for; a wandering child that was weaving her way towards you and before you knew it, tangling herself in your legs causing you to trip, and down came all of your books. Of course, you had knocked the girl over—she had barely come up to your knee and wasn’t paying any attention, not that you were any better; though there was no way for you to see over your stack of books.

Crying rang through your ears and in an instant; you had forgotten all about your books as you scrambled on your hands and knees, turning around to face the child despite the scraps that adorned your skin. She didn’t appear to be too injured; mostly upset about dropping her ice-cream but you were sure that your knee made solid contact with her forehead.

“Oh my goodness,” you muttered instantly, crawling your way over to her. “I’m so sorry, little one. I didn’t see you! Are you alright?” you asked her, getting close enough to inspect her forehead which had already formed a small bump. She just cried at you, shaking her head as she pointed at her ice-cream which was now melting on the hot pavement.

You frowned for her, offering to buy her another one before hearing a name that definitely wasn’t yours off in the distance. When you looked over, you wished you wouldn’t have. Who you had assumed was the father of the child was making his way over to you in great haste, looking not too happy at the scene in front of him.

“I’m so sorry, sir,” you began to profusely apologize, “I was carrying a load of books and couldn’t see her out in front of me,” you tried to explain, but he passed you for a moment to lift the crying girl off the ground by her arm and hand her the ice-cream that was previously in his hand which seemed to instantly calm her down.

“She’s not hurt; just upset,” he commented to you, “no need to fret so much—children are resilient beings. But, little one, what did I tell you about wandering off? You could have gotten much more hurt, and look what you’ve done—this nice woman tripped over you and now her legs are all scraped. What do you say?” he scolded the child right in front of you and part of you felt bad for her.

She looked at you with big eyes, momentarily ignoring the ice-cream in her hands to apologize quietly to you. “Now, go sit on that bench while I help pick up the things you knocked over,” he told the child and pointed to the bench he was previously sitting on. The child did as she was told, scurrying over to it as the older male kneeled down to collect your books in a pile before turning back to you. You merely watched him, wide-eyed, before he took your hand to inspect the cuts across it.

“Sorry about her—she’s notorious for getting herself into trouble,” he told you, “I hope you’re not too hurt; the worst of it seems to be on your knees,” he continued, taking one of your legs to straighten it slightly, causing a stinging sensation in your knee where it had scraped open and started to bleed.

“The single dad tactic, huh?” you asked him, noting no ring on his finger. You assumed, anyway, the dad part.

“That’s a wild accusation,” he chuckled at you. “Awfully bold to be pinning someone you just met, don’t you think?” he asked you, not daring to look to your eyes as he continued inspecting your wounds, though there wasn’t much he could do about it in the current situation until he pulled you up, flinging your arm over his shoulder after grabbing your books to help you hobble over to the bench where a small backpack resided next to the young girl.

“I think what you may have wanted to say,” he started, setting your books down on the bench as he tugged open the backpack, pulling out a small first aid kit and finding an alcohol wipe to clean away your cuts, “is that you were hoping I had some bandaids to get you all patched up, and that it was no big deal because you were more concerned about her than yourself,” he finished, patching up your wounds after wiping them free of blood.

He admired his work for a minute, packing his things back up but was nowhere near about to kick you off their bench. “And just for the record, I’m Kiseok, and this is my niece; so I don’t know what single dad tactic you’re talking about,” he said—as if you could feel more embarrassed than you already were.

You found out that Kiseok lived four doors down from you in the same apartment building not too long after that day. He’d relentlessly tease you about the single dad thing, which, and you hated to admit it to him, somehow led to a heated argument, which then led to heated touching and aggressive kissing and him pushing you back inside your apartment and closing the door. In fact, every time Kiseok brought it up since then, you could still feel the fiery sting of his lips against your neck from that very night which ended with the two of you tangled up in your bedsheets.

It was two years down the road since then only for you to find out that Kiseok was in fact a single dad upon your meeting, and when he had first informed you of that, you slapped his arm and berated him for making you feel like such a fool that day. He’d just take it and reminded you how honest he was about the situation, but you weren’t having any of it until he’d shut you up with a kiss, the same way he always did.

Kiseok had a son, twelve years old, meaning the boy was born at Kiseok’s ripe age of nineteen. It had been a year and six months preparation—since Kiseok didn’t tell you until the six month mark of your relationship—for you to meet him. You were prepared enough, Kiseok’s son on the other hand, maybe not so much.

But now Kiseok was sitting with you on the couch in his quaint apartment he shared with his son. Honestly, it surprised you that you never saw the boy since you did only live four doors down. You may have seen him in passing, but never clicked to connect him with Kiseok.  Irrelevant for the time being. Kiseok could practically feel your heartbeat in your hand, fingers laced with yours as you curled up to him, having just finished watching a movie.

“Are you nervous?” he asked you. You drew your eyes away from the television to look at him. You nodded slowly, taking a deep breath to formulate a reply.

“Yeah, a little bit. I mean, I’m sure it’s always rough to try and accept someone new into a crucial position at this stage in one’s life. But I’m confident; if he sees that I love you like you know I do, it may all end up easier at the end…” you replied, the last part of your sentence dying off at the tender touch of Kiseok’s lips on yours. It was barely a feather, lighter than that if possible, just to derail your train of thought. It worked, it always did, he had that effect on you.

“He’ll love you,” he reassured you, lips still teasing yours, but you knew if you went in for it, he would pull away. And he did. He did love you. The only woman his father ever brought home, and he absolutely adored you. You were just like his father, a perfect match in his young eyes. You were a puzzle piece fit into Kiseok and his son’s life. Kiseok told you all about it the next day. His son wouldn’t stop talking about you, even though your meeting was short.

He talked about all of the things he liked about you, all of the things that you and Kiseok had in common, the ways you two were the same, but also the ways you differed that he liked about you. You cared about him differently than Kiseok did—he felt a motherly presence about you, like you had already accepted him as your own.

Though, you had long before you even met him. It kind of came with being with Kiseok. If you weren’t willing to put it all down for the boy, it was never going to work out between you and the kid’s father. Not that you had a problem—you adored that boy as much as he adored you.

_________

Now it was two weeks since then. Kiseok had invited you out for a small little date and back to his apartment for some quiet time and a movie, perhaps. As the two of you walked down the hall to his apartment door, you could feel his hand tightening on yours now and again, his face becoming slightly nervous. You wanted to ask him what was wrong, but you knew he would tell you in due time.

His lips feathered over yours, barely a touch as the two of you reached the door as Kiseok fished his key out of his pocket. The door opened easily and Kiseok invited you into comfy clothes before residing on the couch, your legs draped over his lap as he rubbed them, watching your eyes watch him, watching them flutter when he touched you just right. Your serene moment brought you onto his lap, straddling him as his lips pressed on yours, a tender but desperate kiss, but a little quiver you were unsure of.

You reeled back, opening your mouth to question him, but he beat you to speaking—

“Marry me.”

“Kiseok,” you laughed, shaking your head, lips finding your neck for a soft brush.

“I’m serious,” he muttered into your skin, fishing into his pocket with slight struggle. You were shaking your head more emphatically now, but even still just barely. Your hands cupped around his as he brought it up to you. It was closed, encasing what you could only dream of.

His lips puckered against yours, your heart skipping a beat with the shock that came with such a simple kiss.  “Marry me,” he repeated, nose sensually brushing against yours, eyes closed as he reveled in your presence. His hand opened inside yours and his eyes opened to peek down at it as he leaned away from you so those eyes could shift up to look into yours. Words were caught in your throat—you didn’t bother look at the ring; frankly you’d be fine without it. You didn’t care if it was the crappiest day of weather and you two were stranded out in the middle of nowhere, sick as dogs with no way back—if Kiseok asked you to marry him…

Kiseok’s eyes fell closed at the feel of your lips against his, your hands tangling in the hair behind his ear and on the back of his neck. His arms tugged on you, ring still clenched in his hand, to draw you in, breaking the kiss. You looked at him, eyes as bright as he had ever seen them and that’s when he knew, he must have won the lottery or something because there was no luckier man on this earth than him in this very moment.

Lost and Found (Calum Hood One Shot)

Empty.

That’s all you felt.

Hollow, desolate, barren, lifeless.

1am usually held something magical like some kind of long awaited solace that you looked forward to every night since you were 14. Tonight? Tonight it was tasteless. Like your night wasn’t tangible; like nothing was all there. You shut your eyes, squeezing your lids together as tight as you could until you saw stars. Sparks of white light shooting across your lids; you focused harder and harder to feel, feel, fucking feel something. Your face grew warm with concentration. A dull tingle started growing in the pit of your stomach, easing its way up your throat. You were numb. You couldn’t place what was so lost in you and you’ve never felt more discontent.

Breathing a silent sigh of defeat, you opened your eyes and turned to the window next to your bed. You reached up to the crystal glass as your eyes followed the water droplets that trickled down the clear surface, tracing it with your fingertips. In attempt to rid your eyes of the storm that was quickly approaching you blinked lightly. You looked up to come eye to eye with a boy. Oh, my, this boy was… was everything. The moon spilled across his profile, his strong cheekbones hollow and dark, his jaw looked like it could cut right through glass.  But oh his beautiful eyes, his eyes, they held the deepest brown like a forest at midnight; you could easily get lost in them. Your eyes lingered to his lips which laid slightly parted, corners turned down in a mild pout. At the sight of his small frown, you felt yours curve down to match his. His hair tousled in the night breeze. He looked like a dream. His hand reached up and placed itself over yours with only glass holding you back from touching him. He looked so surreal. His skin looked so soft and welcoming- a crack of thunder snapping outside causing you to jump and squeeze your eyes shut, only to open your eyes to lightning streaking the sky and the boy gone. You looked out your window to see where he’d gone, but then you remembered. You live on the 2nd story.

Still confused, you fell back onto your bed, head hitting the pillow. You still couldn’t comprehend what you saw or who you saw. He looked so familiar. A very faint memory. You tried so hard to remember how his face was lit about by the night sky or his eyes that glowed even though they were dark but the harder you tried to recall his face the faster it faded away. “No, no, no, no, come on, stay with me, please, please,” you whispered into the stagnant warm air that sat silently in your room. When you shut your eyes, the image of the boy you so luckily saw came to view. He smiled at you and you found yourself smiling back at this figment that graced your eyes. “Who are you? Please,” a knot grew in your throat, bringing back tears to your eyes.

You pressed both hands to your face and shook your head. You sat up and swiveled on your bed, scooting to the edge. You brought yourself to your feet and padded across the cold hardwood floor. You couldn’t shake this. You didn’t understand. Who the fuck was this kid? Who is he? You stormed to the kitchen, whipping open a kitchen cabinet and pulled down a clear glass bottle that paraded a slightly rubbed off label that read HEY YOU, THIS IS FOR LONELY 1AMs, OKAY in sloppy handwriting that you didn’t recognize as yours. Ignoring the label, you cracked open the bottle, your mouth salivating at the sound. You brought the liquor to your lips and let the cool liquid make its way down to your stomach, within seconds your throat was burning and tears stung your eyes once again and-

“AHH NO STOP I HATE YOU DON’T YOU DARE I SWEAR TO GOD” you screamed at the top of your lungs, a wad of pancake batter splattered against your face,”FOR FUCK’S SAKE YOU LITTLE SHIT.”

“Hahahahaha aw, come on, babe, don’t be like that!! Hahaha look,” he swiped your cheek, revealing a chocolate chip on his fingertip,”it’s even chocolate chip pancakes, your favorite. I’m a pro at this,” he licked his fingers with a childish smile.

“Well, Mr. Pro Chef,” you smugly smiled, you leaned against the fridge, hand on your hip, the smell of smoke filling your nose,”your pancakes, well, my  pancakes are  burning.”

“Oh shit, Hannah, what the hell, fuck, fuck,” his eyes grew wide and lunged for the stove, dramatically flipping the pancakes off the griddle.

“Hahaha, what, oh no, don’t you blame me for this because you fucked up our midnight breakfast,” you chuckled at him, flicking him your middle finger.

Pouring more batter on the griddle, he let them sit,”HanJob, hey, hey, hey check this out, okay, listen, if I successfully flip this pancake, you owe meeeeeeee,” he lingered and leant in towards you,”this.” He reached to peck your lips but you dodged to the side, wagging your pointer finger in front of your face.

“Ohhhh, no, no you can’t collect your prize, I wanna see Mr. Pro Chef flip that pancake first.”

Frowning at your rejection, he waddled over to the griddle,”Watch and learn babe, watch. And. Learn.” He stuck the spatula underneath the pancake. He couldn’t get it off at first because it was stuck, so he pulled harder, sending the pancake flying behind him, sticking to the fridge. You burst into a fit of giggles so hard you couldn’t breathe.

“HEY, it’s not funny,” he stomped his foot, you looked up to see him pouting. You walked over to him and stood there. You reached up and booped his puppy nose.

“So, how about that kiss?” he pleaded, giving you puppy eyes.

“Mmmmm, you get an D+ for trying, a 2 out of 10 at best.”

“Aren’t you the most generous girlfriend ever,” he whispered. He pulled you closer, hands tight on your waist. He put his forehead against yours and leant down so his lips were hovering over yours. His hand was drawn to your cheek, brushing a few strands from your face. You closed your eyes, and dipped into the kiss that-

that never happened. Your eyes shot open. You looked around. The room was darker, emptier. You leant against the counter for support. You couldn’t believe it. It was him. That boy. The boy at your window. The boy residing in your closed eyes. The one living in your dreams. You reached up to your face where you could feel the heat of what remained of his warm fingertips, like it was so real. Why wasn’t he here? Was it actually real? Jesus Christ, it’s like you can’t breathe in here. Everything is too crowded in your empty apartment. You felt as though you were being suffocated by your own damn thoughts.

You picked up the bottle and headed over to your safe haven, your def con 1, your go-to: the fire escape. You didn’t give a shit that it was still raining. Throwing the window open swiftly, even clad in just your black undies and a huge red hot chili peppers shirt, you stepped through the exit and made your way up a few steps so you had a decent view of the city that laid out before you. You couldn’t wrap your head around this kid. It frustrated you to know him, to the point where it was literally driving you fucking mad. You tipped back the bottle of your favorite vodka with the sole intentions knocking yourself out. You thought maybe if you drank enough, the alcohol would run your veins dry and rid them of his face and how it held such hopelessness. It broke your heart. You had felt empty and maybe he was, too? You felt a connection with someone who wasn’t even there, but you felt like he had filled the void even if it was for two seconds. You looked out past all the surrounding, tiny apartment buildings to the city that was still brightly lit at 1AM. After awhile all the lights kinda just meshed together, turning different hues of whites to light purples to greens and reds. You got lost in the light and lost in the distant sounds of a far off busy place-

“Hannah,” a voice snapped you out of your daze,” see that? That over there? The tall pointy building with the, uh, pointy thingy at the top.”

“Pointy thingy. Really? I mean really. That’s the best you could come up with?” You chuckled at his simple description.

“What! That’s what it is! It’s tall and pointy! Sorry, I’m not some nerd who knows super big words, GOSH,” he scoffed dramatically, flipped his imaginary hair over his shoulder, obviously mocking you.

“You’re an idiot, you know that, right?” you looked at him matter-of-factly.

“Yeah, but, Haaaannnnaaaaaaaah, I’m youuuuuuur idiot,” he added with a cheesy grin accompanied by crossed eyes. You shook your head at his childish behavior and placed your head on his shoulder. In return, he wrapped his tanned arm around your slim figure. You snuggled into his warm, strong body.

“You want a blanket, sweets, you’re cold,” he asked in a hushed whisper, his voice laced with concern.

“No, no, I’m good, I’m good, I’ve got you, hot stuff,” you giggled into his neck.

“Oh em gee, Hannie, you’re making me blush, like, stawp it,” he mocked in a Valley girl accent.

“HEY,” you yelled.

“WHAT?!”

“ARE YOU MOCKING ME YOU LITTLE SHIT,” you exclaimed

“Hah, noooooo, I would never,” he said,”… like, ever.”

You smacked his arm letting a fake “ow” escape from his lips.

He leaned over and quickly placed a peck on your rosy cheek earning giggles to erupt from your lean body.

You snuggled back into his frame, which you seemingly fit perfectly into and let your gaze float back to the city that paraded itself, humbly across the horizon. You nuzzled your face into his neck and let his musky cologne intoxicate you almost as quickly as the bottle of vodka you two had been sharing all night-

You opened your eyes expecting to see a bright city splayed out in your view, but instantly frowning at the sight of a dimly lit area instead. You picked up your phone and saw it was almost 3am. You’d been sitting on the fire escape for two hours already and it felt like 10 minutes. You realized you have to be up in three hours for work. You picked up your bottle that only held a fifth left. You’d been drinking out of habit.

You stood up only then to realize how completely hammered you were. You fell back down on your ass, letting a small giggle slip from your lips. you shook your head and tried to stand up again. Thanks to your intoxication you tipped over and held the railings, stubbing your toe on something sitting below you on the landing. You looked down to see a beat up pair of black and white vans. You looked at the shoes as though they were something alien. You bent down and picked up one shoe, examining it. They were totally soaked and scuffed up. They were 10x too big for you and you never remembered buying them, they obviously weren’t yours.

Too intoxicated to even process it, you made your way back in the window, one foot in one foot out, you took one last glance at one of the only buildings brightly lit. Your tall point building. You gave a weak smile and ducked through the window. You padded over to the kitchen. Glancing at your watch again: 3:13am. Ah, fuck it, you were just going to stay up for the next three hours instead of feeling like shit when you wake up in the morning. Still drunk, you chuckled at yourself for being so smart to not sleep. Hah, screw hangovers. You reached up to the cabinet and picked a clear glass mug.

Walking over the keurig, you placed the cup in the machine and watching your Starbucks coffee spill into the cup. You pulled it out from under the machine. About to bring the steaming cup of coffee to your lips, you stopped, eyeing the bottle of vodka still sitting on your left side. You reached over and picked up the glass bottle, pouring liquor into your coffee. You chuckled into your cup and brought the spiked drink to your lips, letting the sting of the hot coffee coat your tongue and the liquor stitch your tastebuds, your eyes fluttered shut-

You patted the straw against the cool green of the counter top, removing the paper wrapper, when your elbow was bumped into by a stranger on your left. “Excuse you.” You muttered under your breath, half hoping he would hear.

“Well sorry, I didn’t realize you owned the place.” The remark caught you off guard, and your eyes snapped to make a sassy retort to the stranger. Your words ceased to form on your tongue as you took in the sight of the wavy-haired boy towering over you. A sheepish smile soars over your lips as you put the straw into the cup of frap. “Sorry, it’s been a long day and I’m a bit on edge,” you offered him. His face softened at your explanation, and he invited you to sit down and enjoy your coffee with him. Something in your gut told you not to pass this opportunity up, so you accepted. You fiddle with your straw as mystery boy guides you to a desolate area of the typically packed café.

“Oh, s’pose I’m right to introduce myself,” flashing you a wide grin,”I’m Calum. Calum Hood.” He sinks into the chair, waiting for your response. “Hannah. Hannah Martinez. So do you always chat up strange girls who are rude and have a caffeine addiction,” you giggled. He lets out a throaty laugh, a sound so pleasing to your ears and heart alike. “Yeah, no, not normally. I tend to spend my afternoons with the hardcore fugitives, thugs, if you will.” You both laugh at his apparent sense of humor. “But, really, you need to do something to relax, sweets. I recommend vodka.” You couldn’t help but smile at his term of endearment, giving a shrug in response.

“Well, then why don’t you buy me a bottle of Grey Goose and help me unwind, Calum Hood.”

The sound of shattering glass resonated through the kitchen, snapping you out of your daydream. You looked down to find shards of shiny crystal littering the floor. You drop to your knees, pain shooting up your legs courtesy of the glass digging into your skin. You felt. You finally felt. The whole thing came to you, the idea of his touch flooding your skin. His eyes devouring you, slowly getting drunk off your lightly clad, tanned figure. His hot breath dancing circles across your skin with rising goosebumps accompanying your cold flesh. Calum. Calum. You remembered. You remember him.

And then it hit you. You looked over to your bedroom to see two indents on the big white bed. Bracelets with various bands lay splayed across the bedside table opposite of yours. The pair of sneakers on the fire escape. It all added up. Everything flooded back to you, making you crumble to the floor completely, the pieces of glass leaving tiny cuts all over you but you didn’t care. You didn’t care because nothing could possibly hurt you than this moment right here, right now; the fact you remember Calum Hood. Your boyfriend, your soulmate, your lover, your confidante. Your best friend… but he was gone.

You picked yourself up off the floor, not bothering to pluck out the tiny shards from your skin. You crawled over to the bookshelf that sat opposite your bed. You pulled out a familiar book, giving a quick gust of wind from your tired lungs to blow off any remaining dust on the cover. You opened the book with a gently crack of the bindings.

Pictures of a totaled car. God, there was blood everywhere. Your hands started shaking, trembling the pages of the book. You kept turning. The windshield was gone completely, all the windows busted in. You wondered how anyone managed to even survive such a tragic accident. You kept flipping through pictures and old articles until you found one that brought everything back, stitching all the last pieces of memories together to make a perfect recollection of your life before the accident.

You swiftly closed the book, giving it a tight squeeze to your chest. You crawled over, into your bed, pulling the covers over your head, laying the book in the slumped spot on the bed made for two. As you lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, you felt your eyes brimming with water. Shutting them, they fell down the sides of your face, soaking into the white sheets. You couldn’t believe it hit you after all this time. You couldn’t believe you were taking this so well. Fluttering your eyes open, still stinging from the salty droplets residing behind your lids, you looked to the ceiling.

“I love you,” you gently whispered, not to the still air, not to the white ceiling, but to the sky made up off such darkness that per chance held your love, cradled by the moon and millions of miles of galaxies alike, “to the moon and back.” You placed your hand on your lips, and then to the sky, blowing a kiss that in hopes would catch wind of the summer night breeze and make its way to him.


Your eyes saw more tears than the sky that night. You let your thoughts drift to the stormy space above. You decided that such a rough place as this sky tonight desperately needed the grace and love of someone as gentle as him.

Your Calum drifting aimlessly among the stars where you knew he had belonged all along.