au where jimin is failing the class he joined because of some cute guy. yoongi, the coldest guy at university, is giving private lessons for $60 per hour, so jimin gives up and decides to contact him. 2/?
The first time it happens, it’s soft and sweet and feather-light, almost too quick for Chat Noir to even process Ladybug has kissed him before she’s stepping back and swinging home. It takes him a solid ten minutes to even think about moving, and Adrien spends the next morning in a daze.
The second time it happens, Chat Noir catches her offguard in the middle of a patrol. They’re looking down at a crowd of tourists taking pictures of their statue, lit up in honor of the superhero duo’s anniversary of the first akuma they faced.
He waits for a smile to reach over and cup her cheek, turning her to look at him. He murmurs a happy anniversary into her lips before he kisses her, lingering long enough to feel the way every ounce of tension melts from her shoulders under his gentle touch.
She looks up at him with wide eyes and flushed cheeks, smiles, and dives in for a second kiss of her own.
He stops keeping track after the third time. They’re laughing and playing an impromptu game of tag across the rooftops of Paris when Ladybug tackles him to the ground and grins down at him. The laughter fades when he’s captivated by the starlight in her hair, and she bends closer to claim a kiss as her prize.
There’s nothing soft or quick about the way they explore each other’s lips and necks and shoulders, kissing along jawlines and murmuring each other’s names as they learn what the other likes. He loses track of time, measuring their moments in heartbeats and the soft gasps Ladybug makes when he kisses the hollow of her throat.
They always insist on doing a thorough sweep of the streets before they find a quiet corner somewhere and push their boundaries just a bit further than last time. His hands skim her hips as she hums an approving note into his lips and tangles her fingers in his hair. She adjusts their angle with a gentle tug, and he almost melts against the brick wall behind him. Two months ago, the idea of Ladybug kissing him was absolutely beyond belief, and now it’s become the highlight of their patrols.
He pulls her closer with a warm hand splayed across her back and breaks away from her lips to trail a line of kisses up the side of her neck. Her grip tightens in his hair, and she presses closer, whispering praise. He kisses up the shell of her ear, teeth grazing her earlobe, and the soft whimper that fills the night when he does sends a thrill down his spine. A year ago, he could never have imagined this. Now he couldn’t stop imagining this, aching to hear more of her quiet moans and the breathless way she says his name when he manages to overwhelm her with pleasure.
She tugs him off her neck and claims his lips in a fierce kiss that leaves his mind buzzing and his knees weak. He’d be lying if he didn’t admit he’d always suspected that Ladybug would be the one to lead even when it came to a more personal relationship between them. Still, every time she does, he’s always surprised by how much he likes it. He loves being surrounded by her on all sides, pressed into a hard wall, feeling her fingers drifting over his arm and shoulders and chest. He bites back a moan when he feels her fingers tugging at his bell and exposing more of his neck for her to lean down and kiss. A very small part of him worries about the marks her teeth might leave behind, but a much larger part of him is happy to let her have her way.
The next day, Adrien wears a scarf to class in the middle of France’s hottest spring to date.
A/N:So sorry this took me so long to get out. TBH it’s been sitting in my WIP folder for months now.
“Shhh” you giggled as the guy you were sneaking into your apartment pushed you too harshly against the door, causing it to slam open. “My roommate’s asleep.”
He hummed into your neck as he continued leaving deep, sloppy kisses on your skin, his hands already reaching back to unhook your bra and failing. You giggled once more, the alcohol in your system relieving you of any inhibitions and let him fling your shirt off. You reached past him to throw the door close, too lost in his touch to register your noise level. You walked backwards into the room a few steps before he pulled you into him, kissing you hungrily as you quickly rid him of his shirt.
You pulled away from him and smiled as you saw his eyes rake over your exposed skin and giggled when you saw the way his tongue flicked over his lips. You flashed him a smile before turning around and letting your skirt fall to the ground. Your skin was hot where you felt his eyes on you as you walked towards your room, disappearing from view for a moment before he came after you. You felt him press against your back, his mouth returning to your neck as you let out a hoarse moan. Yoongi would definitely yell at you about this tomorrow, but for now all you could think about were the hands trailing down your body.
21. Staying cool during a heatwave
(from this list)
It was well past thirty degrees out before Ladybug and Chat Noir finally stopped for a break in their weekly patrol.
“So, can we get an akuma that, like, turns off the sun or something next?” Chat groaned where he was sprawled out on the shady, lukewarm concrete under the rooftop overhang they’d discovered together. “Just for a day. One day.”
“But then we’d have to fight in the dark,” Ladybug mumbled back, trying not to whine as she leaned (melted) against the wall by his feet. “I hate fighting in the dark.”
Her eyes felt dry when she blinked and her tongue felt cool when she licked her lips and it was really much too hot out to be doing anything that didn’t involve copious amounts of cold water, but she and Chat had a duty to the city, so patrol they would, regardless of the danger of heatstroke.
Chat sighed gustily and flopped a hand in her general direction. “Imagine I just said something really great about holding your hand. It’s too hot to think up lines.”
Ladybug laughed through her groan despite herself. “It’s too hot for holding hands, too.”
trauma measures thick layers of dirt on the floors she’ll never scrub
she says it takes more energy to try than to sleep and we’ve already painted on permanent dark circles
we are so used to looking dead,
why go back now
trauma pours a cup of the strongest coffee and melts into the walls at the sound of footfalls
trauma wants to know why we have to remember and I ask her why she thinks we have the ability to forget
trauma cries in the shower and pretends the spicket is a waterfall and she is finally clean
trauma screams at loud movies and flinches when touched
trauma stops episodes mid watch ‘cause one flame can turn white hot wildfire and triggers can kill
trauma decorates her prison and celebrates isolation
trauma renames fear “safety” and says if she has to be a loaded gun she’ll do it right and make her mother proud
“Y/N! Come on babe we’re gunna be late! Bruce’s cake won’t make itself and Alfred’s already texted twice!”
“Gotcha,” you mumble as you extinguish a small flame from your hand, and climb out of the lower cupboard where you keep all of your baking supplies. “I’m coming don’t get your panties in a twist.”
You walk down the hallway from the kitchen and stop by the door to grab your jacket.
“What were you doing in there anyway? Sounded like an avalanche at one point,” Jason said as he held the front door open.
“My offset spatula fell out of my decorating bag and into the black depths of the cupboard,” You say as you walk through the threshold. “I had to go on a lifesaving mission.”
“Well it looks like it was successful.”
You head through the garage door and into the kitchen of Wayne Manor, stopping to place your decorating bag on the table and shed your coat.
“Miss Y/N, Master Jason. Glad to see you could join us!”
“The Chef does not enjoy the sass coming from her sous, Pennyworth, but I think I can forgive you,” you say as you pull your hair into a ponytail while walking over to give him a playful kiss on the cheek. “Jason, I love you, but get out of my kitchen, I have a masterpiece in the making.”
“Yes, Chef!” He said with a mock salute and a laugh. “I’ll go see what everyone else is up to.”
“All right Al, this double chocolate, Oreo truffle cake isn’t going to make itself. You start with the Oreos and I’ll start on the batter.”
“Oui, Chef,” the butler says with a smile.
You shake your head and sigh in response.
After a while of prepping and chatting with Alfred, Damian walks through the door.
“Hey Dami, whatcha up to?”
“Hello, Y/N. Todd and Drake are being insufferable so I decided to take a break up here, if it’s no bother to you.”
“Go right ahead. You’re no bother to me and Alfred.”
The timer for the oven dings, and without a thought you reach in and take the pans straight from the oven.
“Y/N, did you just take those from the oven without mitts?”
You have a moment of enteral panic. Damn Y/N you really should be more careful with your powers around here. “What? Uh…yeah I did, it’s not really I problem, I’ve burned myself so much over the past few years, it’s kind of like I’m immune,” you say with a chuckle, hopefully passing off the lie.
Damian gives you a look but lets the comment slide.
What you fail to notice is that he’s now watching you subtly from behind his book.
You come back to the cakes and slowly place your hand over the top of each one, using your powers to cool them down at a faster rate. The temperature of the air around you has gotten a bit chilly as a result of using your power so your breath comes out as a puff of fog. You glance quickly over to Damian to see if he noticed anything. He looks to be still engrossed in his book, and you breathe a sigh of relief.
“Hey Alfred do we have anymore sugar? I need just a touch more of the ganache.”
“Try the pantry Miss Y/N”
You head into the small room and begin to look around. While you’re doing this Damian raises from his seat and quickly makes his way to the cakes. His eye goes wide when he feels that they are completely cool even though they came out of the oven moments ago.
You make your way out of the pantry as he begins to sit back down. You notice the look on his face, as if wheels are turning in his mind, you guess he must have read something intriguing in his book.
You head back to the counter to begin the final steps of the cake, being careful to not use any more of your powers during the process.
The cake was finally finished as you placed the last truffle on top. You take a step back and look at the masterpiece.
“Done,” you say wiping your hands on a dish rag.
“It looks fabulous Miss Y/N, I shall gather the troops into the living room and we’ll begin the celebration.”
You grab the plates, stick them under your arm and grab the cake stand. Right after you set everything down on the table, the boys enter the living room from wherever they were.
“Wow, Y/N, that looks amazing!” Dick said with a whistle.
“Thanks Dick! It was an idea I got from a friend with a few tweaks. It’s Bruce’s favorite, my double chocolate cake recipe filled with chocolate cookies and cream buttercream, covered in a chocolate ganache and decorated with cookies and cream buttercream florets and Oreo Truffles.”
“In other words…heart attack and clogged arteries with a side of diabetic coma,” Tim said with a smirk.
“Yupp,” you replied, popping the p at the end.
“It’s a special occasion,” Bruce said. “So a little sugar won’t hurt. Thank you, Y/N” He walked over and gave you a side hug with a thank you kiss to the temple. “I’m sure it’s wonderful as always.”
“Well. I think we should cut into this sucker. I want cake.”
“Hold your horses, Jay,” you said with a huff. You reach down to pass out the plates and realize that something was missing.
“Darn it, I forgot the forks. I’ll be right back.”
You head into the kitchen and grab the stack along with some napkins.
As you head out the door something feels off in the air around you, and then you place it. You feel the batarang make waves through the air as it soars toward your head. Instantly the cutlery in your hands falls to the floor and your instincts take over before you can stop them. A wall of ice erupts from your hands extending out in front of you successfully trapping the batarang a few inches from your face as well as the boy that launched the projectile at you.
After a second you recover from what happened. “Well. Shit,” you sigh and head toward Damian. You stop about a foot away from his body. You take a breath and place your hands on the wall. As you begin to focus you can feel the heat starting to radiate out from your hands. The giant ice wall melts into a puddle that spans the ballroom.
You blow the patio doors open with a small push of your hands, and then begin to heat up the room so the water would turn to steam. As the last bits of fog dissipate through the door, you sigh and bend down to pick up the forks from the floor. When you come back up, you’re met with six stunned faces.
Jason is the first one to snap out of the stupefied gaze. “What in the ever-living hell was that, Y/N?” You could tell that he was getting slightly angry because his voice went a squeaky towards the end of his sentence.
“Um…. if you will hear me out for like five minutes this would be explained a lot better downstairs,” you say a nervous smile plastered on you face.
Bruce is the first one to speak, for some reason you feel like he already knows the story you’re about to tell. “By all means, then, Y/N. Lead the way.”
Once you reach the Batcomputer, you turn to face the boys and are met with another glaring silence. Those should really stop happening.
The chair turns and you start pulling up everything about your past life.
“The Elementalist? I remember her,” Dick said as he leaned against the chair. “Pretty sure she’s my age and worked with The Flash for a good chunk of time. She declined the invitation to join the Titans and the League, and then kinda fell off the grid.”
You sigh. “I didn’t fall off the grid, I left. I couldn’t take the life anymore, Barry started to get reckless and I knew nothing good would come of it. I wanted to start over. I left my day job as a geologist at STAR Labs and my night job as The Elementalist. I packed up, moved to Gotham, and went to pastry school. I always loved baking as a kid, so I tried it out.”
You get up out of the chair to look all the boys in the eye.
“Six months after I graduated I met Jason, six months after that I opened the bakery, and six months after than I found out about all this when he came through my window bleeding out at 3 in the morning. You guys are like my family, along with everyone in Central City. Just because I chose not to tell you about this doesn’t mean I lied about anything else.”
No one could meet your eyes after you finished speaking.
“Well…I’ll take that as a not so great sign. I’ll just be going, then. You don’t have to worry about anything. The secret is safe with me. Bye, guys.”
You turn and head to the stairs. Your foot lands on the bottom step when you feel a pressure on your wrist. You turn and almost slam you face into Jason’s. His hands move to grasp your face.
“I’m not going to lie, this is pretty crazy. And I’m only slightly-no-so-angry that you didn’t say anything, but that doesn’t mean I want you to leave. You’re my girlfriend and I love you whether you’re a Meta or not.”
He gave you a quick peck on the lips.
“Yeah, Y/N. You’re awesome and we don’t want you to leave either. You the next best computer person, besides me, of course,” Tim said with a chuckle. “I think its pretty cool that you can control all of the elements, it’s like Avatar, in real life!”
“I knew you were a cougar!” Dick said slapping you on the back as he walks up the stairs. “Let go eat some cake!”
The rest of the crew filed up the stairs, but Damian trailed behind. Jason gave you a look, and you motioned for him to head up the stairs.
After a few seconds the young boy spoke. “I apologize for acting odd to you today, Y/N. I just couldn’t shake a hunch that you were hiding something. I should have just asked instead of throwing projectiles.”
“You really should have, Dami. I would have had no problems telling you outright. But your apology is accepted. Let’s go eat some cake.”
“Very well,” he said as he began up the stairs. “I would like to request, if at all possible, that you not freeze me anymore. It was an uncomfortable experience.”
You chuckle and rough up his hair as you pass by. “Only if you deserve it.”
Not requested but suggested by @amaroforpresident in our first ever encounter on tumblr and wowie look how long it’s been
Warnings: NSFW (smut), cursing, vagina-owning reader, teasing, mention of going under cover
“You don’t know how badly I’ve wanted this,” Nick breathed against your neck. He hooked an arm around your waist and drew your body flush against his, nipping at your skin. He swallowed. “How badly I’ve wanted you.”
held a strong scent of mold and dry herbs- most likely due to the damp walls –
and you scrunched your nose displeased. You never liked the smell, and by the
looks of it neither did Kevin – his normally friendly expression was twisted
with annoyance as he stood beside you near the entrance of the class. Potions. Whilst Eveline was rejoicing
somewhere near Leroy and clapping her lashes as she awed at the array of
potions the professor was showing off, your gaze wandered to the very end of
the line where a patch of yellow decked Hufflepuff’s stood curiously watching
caught an awkward student with fiery hair that glimmered in the faint light.
Newt Scamander wore a soft frown: his brows were kitted in concentration, dew
dotting his forehead, as he grasped the leather crested tomb in his hand, just
like the rest of students watching the professor show the liquids swirling in
silver and glass containers. Suddenly, as if feeling your eyes on him, his gaze
shifted to you. You grinned. Newt smiled back shyly before shifting from foot
to foot and glancing away with a light rosy blush blooming over his cheeks.
See, the first time that Newt got lost in Asclepius’ hospital and ended up in Graves’ highly warded highly secret room, he could chalk it up to a strange set of coincidences. An accident, maybe. He took a few wrong turns, a couple of wrong staircases, somehow got an overly pushy snidget soft toy foisted on him by an insistent gift shop, and ended up explaining his theory of flight magic to a comatose director for… a while? He kind of lost track of the time. The charmed window had rolled over to a balmy sunset by the time the door reappeared and the snidget chivvied him out of the room, but Newt hadn’t thought it was that long.
But that’s beside the point. The first time it happened, Newt thought it was an accident. A one off at the very least - he was hardly in the habit of visiting the hospital and wandering off by himself. He wasn’t, in fact, anywhere near the hospital, and Graves wasn’t on his mind, and the door leading out of the gents on MACUSA’s third floor was not supposed to lead to a familiar room with a familiar occupant in the single bed.
The snidget - Steve, it was a stuffed toy but it was a remarkably animated stuffed toy and it deserved a name - wormed its way out of his pocket and chirrupped hopefully at him. He looked over his shoulder but without much optimism; the door he had just walked through was, indeed, gone.
“My apologies, Mr Graves,” Newt said to the sleeping figure. “I won’t be a moment, sorry for disturbing you.” He ushered the snidget away to the furthest corner and lowered his voice.
“Now, listen,” he told it as sternly as he could manage. “You can’t make a habit of kidnapping people like this. I can’t make a habit of being kidnapped like this. I got in enough trouble last time, thank you, so take me back.”
“Back, Steve. I’m not leaving my case in the Auror department by itself.”
Steve gave a low, despondent whistle and landed back on his shoulder, but at least the door rematerialised. How, exactly, it managed to drop him off halfway across the city at the Woolworth’s building Newt didn’t know, but it seemed petty to question it at this point.
He quashed the feelings of guilt about leaving Graves behind. The man had the best care MACUSA could give him, and really, Newt was a complete stranger. He shouldn’t be interfering. What he should be doing is reporting the hole in the wards to Tina or at the very least working out exactly what magic was powering Steve and how it was connected to the hospital. Somehow Newt was never very good at doing what he should, and somehow it was strangely difficult to put Graves out of his mind and focus on the various forms and legislation Tina needed him to run through.
Somehow he wasn’t surprised that walking out the door an hour later with his coat on and his case in hand did not, in fact, lead him to the apparition point.
“Hello again, Mr Graves,” he greeted with a feeling of cautious relief. He’d hoped to be able to come back, but it never did to count on such things. “I’m sorry for leaving so suddenly earlier, but I’m free for the evening if you don’t mind me staying.” He slipped his coat off and hung it on the hook that materialised from the wall and walked over to his chair by the bed without needing prompting. Steve, whizzing in lazy circles around his head, looked insufferably proud.
“I brought my notes this time,” Newt said conversationally as he opened his case. “I won’t be a moment.”
It was… nice, would be the best way to describe it. Newt had his notes, had Steve trying to make a nest out of his hair (and Newt really needed to check on Steve’s animation charms, this was getting ridiculous), Pickett sat on his shoulder and fussily untangling Steve’s work, and Graves’ sleeping form as his patient audience. He was mostly in the editing stage by this point, condensing entire notebooks of research down into a short entry for each creature he’d come across -
“ - but I was thinking, maybe, of leaving this one as a sort of quick reference encyclopedia book and writing more in depth books on each species, what do you think? Or maybe not each species but maybe the groups of them, each continent perhaps - no those books would be too big. Maybe I should just make the entries longer and stick to one book. One giant book. I could put expandable charms on each section so you could tap your wand to the creature’s name and get a whole chapter dedicated to them, how amazing would that be? A mite impractical, but maybe for special editions… “
It was nice to talk it over with Graves. It helped Newt organise his thoughts, and let’s face it, he liked talking about his creatures. He just very rarely found someone who would listen, and maybe it was a bit unfair to be taking advantage of Graves like this but… Well. It was nice.
So the first time was an accident, the second time lasted all of a minute, and the third time went long into the night before the sleepy snidget started tugging Newt towards the door. He left reluctantly, still juggling papers on lethifolds and wondering whether to include the eyewitness account he’d been given or stick to his own research.
“Oh stop fussing, I’m going, I’m going - I’ll see you tomorrow, Mr Graves, have a good night - good grief Steve calm down - “
The door closed behind him with hurried but silent force and Newt blinked owlishly at the deserted alley he found himself in. It seemed to be one of the back exits to the MACUSA building; the sunken cellar door behind him was layered with enough muggle repellents to give him a headache just standing there. He peered suspiciously at Steve. “How, exactly, are you managing this?” he asked the stuffed toy. If it even was a stuffed toy. Steve tucked himself into Newt’s pocket with Pickett and refused to answer.
He didn’t answer the fourth time, when Newt stumbled through a door in his flat and arrived in Graves’ room half dressed with a toothbrush hanging out of his mouth, or the fifth time when Newt carried a steaming mug of tea and a sandwich through to what should have been his living room. By the sixth time, Newt had started keeping his notes shrunk in his pocket rather than his case; times seven and eight he’d added an expansion charm, a thermos of tea and a portable cooking stove and regaled Graves with stories of misadventures in local cuisine as he put together a basic stew. Chili, that’s all Newt was saying. Entirely unreasonable quantities of hot chili.
“You know,” he remarked, somewhere around time ten - eleven? - that he’d set up camp in the corner of Graves’ room, “I think I spend more time here than in my actual flat. Between here and the case, I do wonder why I’m paying the rent on it.” He lent forward, chin resting on his knees and wrists loosely crossed over his ankles. Graves was - as ever - still and silent, but Newt had managed to add a few bits and pieces. Weightless charms, to reduce the risk of bedsores. Tweaks to the lighting charms on the ceiling, to better mimic the sun and the rhythm of the day. A bit of a breeze. Smells, outdoor smells - people tended to overlook smell, but it was one of the most important senses. If Graves was even a little aware of his surroundings, Newt thought he should have some better smells around than sterile hospital linen.
He could do more, if he wasn’t worried about tripping the monitoring wards. Turning artificial spaces into natural habitats was what Newt did, what he was good at, and Asclepius’ hospital was all but overflowing with ambient magic that existed to heal - Newt could have turned the cramped room into open Savannah plains if he could convince the hospital it would help Graves. He itched to, occasionally; maybe not plains, but maybe New York? Maybe Graves would prefer the feel of his city, the sounds of busy streets and the rumbling grind of daily life. Newt would like to ask him.
Steve perked up suddenly, interrupting Newt’s thoughts as he took wing and hovered by the door that melted out of the wall. And there, ultimately, was the only thing stopping Newt from moving in: the irregular check ups from Graves’ doctors and guards. Technically, Newt wasn’t supposed to be there. Even if he was eighty seven percent sure that it was the hospital itself that kept dragging him back, Newt doubted that the aurors would take kindly to his intrusion.
“I’ve got to go,” he told Graves regretfully as he moved over to the anchor stones he’d placed around the bed. A wave of his wand collected them and cancelled the atmosphere charms he’d been running, and he felt the walls sigh as Asclepius’ resettled the usual window illusions and wards into place. “We need to talk about your sentient buildings when you wake up though, because I’m starting to lean towards your hospital being possessed. In a good way - did I tell you about the Lares spirits I met? You’d like those, I think.”
He stopped for a moment, staring at Graves and wondering if Graves would, in fact, like them. Newt knew nothing about Graves. He could infer a lot from the auror’s near devotion to him - from Tina’s devotion - and from the harsh persona Grindelwald had pulled on to impersonate him, but.
Graves was pale, in a way that said he was usually tanned but had been kept away from the sun for too long. His hair was dark brown, not black, and it fanned around his head on the pillow. There were furrows etched into his forehead and the beginnings of crows feet at the edge of his eyes, and Newt pushed a stray strand of hair back and wondered if they were from anger or stress. If you worry you suffer twice, but even Newt can’t help but worry when his creatures are in danger and if what Tina said was true - well, maybe Graves worried for his aurors the same as Newt did for his creatures?
“If you’d only wake up,” he whispered, allowing his fingers to rest in Graves’ surprisingly soft hair, “I could ask.”
Steve flittered urgently at the door. Newt couldn’t hear the footsteps on the other side of the wall, but he knew better than to push his luck. He picked up his case and slipped through the door and into an innocuous back street just as the wards peeled back to allow the aurors into the room.
I’m in the process of crossposting fics & drabbles from tumblr onto ao3, and vice-versa. And I’ve just realized that although I sent it over to the absolutely lovely gals over at @txf-fic-chicks I never officially posted the text of my very first smutty, sloppy little venture into the world of fanfic in my own little corner. So, um. Here! I wrote this back in January.
Post-Never Again. Very NC-17.
“Not everything is about you, Mulder. This is my life.”
Mulder blinks at her a few times, softening, his vulnerability shining like a new penny under his bratty charade. “Yes, but it’s m -”
Scully moves around her apartment in a haze. Turns the television on, then off. Picks up a book, and reads the same sentence four times before putting it back down again. Makes a cup of tea, then forgets about it while it over-steeps. Damn him, she thinks, as she tilts her cup into the sink, watching the lukewarm liquid swirl down the drain. Her tattoo, still new, itches irritably against the back of her sweater. Arlington tomorrow, she reminds herself. She’d better pack. She leans against the sink and sighs forcefully, as if trying to physically expel the weight of him from her lungs.
His heavy, sullen presence is overwhelming, even when she’s alone. At some point in the last four years, he’s taken residence within her, braided himself into her ribcage. Everything she does, everything she is, pulses with the dark undertone of him - muldermuldermuldermulder. She wonders idly if she’ll ever be free of him. If she even wants to be. Hadn’t she gone to Philadelphia for him, even after she told herself she wouldn’t?
Okay, this took a while but I’m really happy about it!! THANKS FOR THE PROMPT!!!!
The knock is choppy and loud in the apartment, and Kenma jumps when he hears it, clasping onto his cup so not to drop it. It’s unusual for someone to visit this late; Kenma glances at the clock, 9 pm.
He slides off of the stool and approaches the door. It’s not Kuroo because he has a key unless he lost it… again.
He lifts to his toes in order to peer out the peephole. He doesn’t recognize the face, the greasy hair, but something familiar pulls at Kenma’s brain. Kenma unlocks the door but doesn’t dislodge the chair peeking out with suspicion.
“May I help you?” He’s large, almost as tall as Kuroo, and his hair dark like his too, but his eyes are dull, fogged over with the hint of alcohol and it makes Kenma want to close the door.
“Is this where that damn Te’surou’s staying?” His words are partly slurred and Kenma glances down at the beer bottle in his hand.
“Yes, how do you know Kuro?” Kenma closes the gap between the door and the frame just a smidge.
The man lets out a laugh that sounds like he’s choking and Kenma jumps, looking down at his feet.
“I’m his pops, now you going to let me in or no?” Kenma chokes back his surprise, scrambling for the chain lock as the man waves around his bottle insistently.
“Um… of… of course, come in.” Kenma trips and fumbles over his words opening the door fully and letting the man walk through. He enters with his head back, the look of judgment stained on his face. Kenma’s about to offer him a drink before he reels back his words, remembering the beer bottle.
He stands at the balcony door, staring out into the darkness then taking another swig.
“Um… Kuro’s not here at the moment, but he should be home from work soon.” Kenma fiddles his toes in discomfort. He’s at a loss for words his social anxiety clasping down on both his head and heart, like a fog.
“So the bastard finally got a job… what’s he doing?” Kenma furrows his brow at Kuroo’s father, his insult stinging.
“He works the day shift at a bar actually, a friend helped him get it.”
“HA! Always knew he’d end up a drunk.” Kuroo’s father drifts over towards Kenma and falls back onto the couch.
“Kuro doesn’t drink.” Kenma spits, his head on fire; the anger lifting up like steam in his brain. The man looks over in amused antipathy at Kenma’s hostile statement.
“And what exactly are you anyway? Tetsurou’s… roommate?” He takes another swig the bottle emptying out into him. Kenma squirms at his statement, at the hatred bubbling in his stomach, he thinks he might be sick.
“I’m his boyfriend if you must know and I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” Kenma turns and opens the door, holding it there astounded by his own assertiveness. His nerves shake under his skin, be he tries not to let it show, standing firm with false bravado.
“What?” His amused look fades into disgust and Kenma suddenly feel the threat of anger radiating off him.
“Me and Kuro are dating, now please leave,” Kenma says again and his voice almost breaks. But the man just laughs, he laughs and almost chokes, coughing into his hand before laughing again. Kenma makes no reaction, his abhorrence for this man flying to tips of his finger, sparking a scowl that grows on his face.
“Now listen here, pudd'nhead, Tetsurou ain’t some homo.” Kenma’s infuriated, his fingers clutched and digging into his palms his nose scrunching up like a cat’s.
“Well, I’m sorry you believe that now I’m going to ask again-”
Kenma hits the floor with a thud and a gasp, the man’s hand clasped in his hair. Kuroo’s father pushes the door shut and lets it slam.
I STILL HAVE THIS IN MY NOTE S AND IM GLAD
Also u hecking bet there’s going to be a second part of this
Looking yourself over in the mirror, a smile found its way on your lips. Nodding in approval at your appearance, you grabbed your wallet and phone. And just in case, a pocket knife. Everyone was taking a break today from missions, and it gave you a good excuse to go on the date you’ve been waiting for since you’ve met Grayson. You accidentally ran into him in a small bookstore once, causing you to attack him Keith apology after apology. He simply smiled at you, calming you down, telling you it was alright.
After introducing yourself, you two chatted for a while, mostly about books, and your favorite authors. He was a lovely eighteen year old boy, with a head full of red hair, freckles scattered about his face and exposed arms, stunning blue eyes that were filled with joy. Ever since your little encounter at the bookstore, you two exchanged number and kept in contact.
Until a month later, you went on a mission with Bastion, Mei, and Tracer. You were split into two groups, you being with Bastion, the unit became your friend, sharing a love for nature. Bastion protected you in battle, causing some harm to come to the unit, which upset you. Scolding Bastion about how you can take care of yourself.
Scolding him at that moment wasn’t a great idea at the time. Both of you were in the open, talon agents closing in. And when one managed to knock your weapon of your hands, a voice in your head told you this was your end. Bastion was overwhelmed as well. You held onto the units robotic hand, closing your eyes, awaiting whatever was to come.
What came next was the pained screaming of the talon agents, and the sound of fire. Opening your (e/c) eyes you were met with the sight of flailing, and burning talon agents. Apparently they didn’t know what stop, drop, and roll was as they fell to the ground, lifeless. A figure dressed in red light armor, a white mask with black eyes, the word INFERNO written over where the mouth should be came into view, flamethrower in hand.
Bastion beeped out a warning to the stranger, standing directly in front of you. Instead of him starting his flamethrower, a familiar voice called out.
“Y/n?” Walking to stand next to Bastion, the male removed the mask, a pair of blue eyes met yours.
His name left your lips, “Grayson?!” Smiling sheepishly he rubbed the back of his neck, him having to explain everything to you, while Bastion stood protectively next you you, making Grayson uncomfortable.
That was was six months ago, and not too long ago he asked you out on a date. With a smile you accepted it. Bastion was the only one who knew of Grayson, keeping tabs on your relationship with him, like a strict father watching his child fall in love. The unit watched you walk out of your room, dressed in your nicest clothes. But first you had to tell Winston where you were going, what you didn’t want was him telling everyone what you were doing.
Winston has started a chatroom.
76, Reaper, Zarya, Hanzo, Genji, Tracer, Mei, Lucio, Roadhog, Junkrat, McCree, Phara, Ana, Symmetra, D.Va, Mercy, Widowmaker, Zenyatta, Reinhardt, and Torbjörn has logged on.
Winston: Just to inform everyone. Y/n is going out on a date.
Reinhardt: They are far too young.
Winston: Y/n is seventeen.
D.Va: BUT THEY DIDNT TELL ME?!
McCree: WHO EVER IS GOING ON THIS DATE WITH THEM BETTER NOT HURT THEM.
Tracer: AND YOU DIDNT QUESTION WHO THEY WERE GOING ON A DATE WITH?
Winston: And why would I ask them?
D.Va: BECAUSE WHAT IF THEYRE DATING A WANTED CRIMINAL!?
D.Va: whoops, sorry Jamie, Mako.
Roadhog: it’s fine.
Winston: It was non of my business.
Mercy: Why did y/n tell you this and not everyone else?
Winston: Remember the rule.
Mercy: Ah, right. If anyone is ever leaving the base for any reason, we tell you.
Lucio: OKAY BUT WHAT IF Y/N’S DATE IS A TALON AGENT POSING AS A YOUNG GUY!?
Zarya: Calm down. I am sure they are fine.
Widowmaker: He does have a point.
Tracer: WINSTON THEYRE ONLY SEVENTEEN
Winston: I feel attacked.
76: Did y/n tell you where they are going?
McCree: TELL US???
McCree: THATLL BE USEFUL
Winston: I do no feel comfortable telling you guys their date plan..
Zenyatta: If I may interfere. Y/n tells Bastion everything. I could ask Bastion if they have mention anything about a date.
Zarya: What if that chunk of metal is lying?
Hanzo: There is no time for this, Zarya.
D.Va: wait how is Zen typing?
Winston: I modified the phone I gave him.
Zenyatta: Bastion says y/n is going to the new cafe in the middle of town. I believe it is called Rainy Day Cafe.
D.Va: I’m hurt.
D.Va: bECAUSE Y/N DIDNT TELL ME ANYTHING ABOUT THIS MYSTERIOUS BOY?!?!?!?
Reaper: I’m already at the cafe.
Lucio: I thought you didn’t care about y/n?
Junkrat: Aw, you do care!
Reaper: Shut it. Both of you.
Tracer: DO YOU SEE THE GUY!!
Tracer: DOES HE LOOK SUSPICIOUS?!
Reaper: I don’t see them yet.
Widowmaker: I’m on my way out.
McCree: So am I.
Symmetra: Do not bring your weapons.
Widowmaker: Just to make sure.
McCree: If he’s part of talon, then it can’t hurt.
Reaper: I see them now.
D.Va: WHAT DOES HE LOOK LIKE
Roadhog: is he a threat?
Reaper: Don’t make y/n go on dates.
Reaper: They’re seventeen but this boy doesn’t look like a teenager.
Zenyatta: Bastion told me that he is a teenager.
Genji: Has Bastion met him?
Zenyatta: It appears so.
Reaper: He’s a red head.
D.Va: We need more details
Hanzo: No we don’t.
Reaper: He’s wearing a tight shirt. Probably showing off his muscles to Y/n.
Symmetra: Or he’s trying to intimidate our dear sunshine.
Junkrat: Want me to throw a bomb at him?
McCree: He’s right next to y/n.
Roadhog: y/n is too close to him.
Junkrat: So what I’m getting is that it’s alright to throw a bomb at him, but he needs to be far away from y/n. ‘Aight.
Genji: Don’t throw a bomb at the boy.
Reaper: He looks like he’s hiding something.
Ana: I’m by the cafe.
76: so am I.
Genji: did all of you just leave?
Torbjörn: I am concerned about my little y/n, but I stayed.
Reinhardt: This is a serious matter.
Genji: Y/n is not going to die.
Zarya: The boy could be a talon agent.
McCree: and if he’s a talon agent?
Widowmaker: Just to make sure he doesn’t pull out a gun at y/n.
Mei: I could freeze him if he pulls anything dangerous and stupid.
Mercy: REAPER I CANT BELIEVE YOURE WEARING YOUR GEAR, THEYLL SEE YOU.
Reaper: And you’re not?
Mercy: If he’s a talon agent then we call all take him down.
Zenyatta: He’s not a talon agent
Ana: I KNEW IT, LIGHTS OUT FOR THIS PUNK
Phara: WAIT MOM.
Phara: Zen said he’s not a talon agent
Zenyatta: Grayson saved both y/n and bastion on a mission some months ago.
Zarya: Y/N WAS ALONE WITH THAT BASTION UNIT?
Tracer: No! Mei and I were there!!
Zarya: THEN WHY WERENT YOU WITH THEM?
Mei: We decided to split up into two groups!
Hanzo: If it wasn’t for Grayson they could’ve both died.
Mei: We were also cornered, we didn’t know they were in danger until we got to them.
Tracer: The talon agents were burned to a crisp.
Reinhardt: What kind of weapon could burn someone?
Symmetra: Does he have some kind of power?
Zenyatta: He owns a flamethrower.
D.Va: ANOTHER REASON WHY WE SHOULD NOT TRUST HIM
Mei: Yes. Y/n only told us about someone saving them. They didn’t tell us it was Grayson.
Tracer: We didn’t want to say anything else because they were pretty shaken up about it.
Mercy: Let’s just follow them for now.
Phara: They’re ready to leave the cafe.
Mercy: This part of town is always busy, don’t lose sight of them.
76: I’ll always have them in my sights.
McCree: They’re going into an apartment building???
Widowmaker: They’re at his apartment door.
Roadhog: I’ll throw my hook at him.
Symmetra: what if you hit y/n with it?
D.Va: NOPE HES NOT GETTING INTO MY BEST FRIENDS PANTS
Symmetra: Don’t jump to conclusions, Hana
Lucio: BUT WHAT IF HE IS??!?!
D.Va has added Y/n to the chat.
D.Va: BOI IF YOU DONT LEAVE THAT BOYS APARTMENT RIGHT N O W
Mercy: Y/n if that boy is planning to do some cruel things to you, you better get out of his apartment this instant!
76: Young Lady!
McCree: Explain to us, right now.
Reinhardt: GO BACK TO THE BASE, Y/N
Ana: WHO IS THE BOY AND WHY HAVENT YOU MENTIONED HIM?
Widowmaker: Are you sure he is not a talon agent?
Reaper: I’m coming to get you.
Genji: Gabriel, leave y/n alone.
Hanzo: You didn’t have to actually forcefully grab them.
Mercy: OH MY GOD HE HAS THE FLAMETHROWER.
Genji: Guys don’t attract attention!
Ana: HES THE ONE WHOS ATTRACTING ATTENTION!
Hanzo: To be honest, it was Gabriel.
Reaper: I did not.
Mei: HE IS ALSO THE ONE WHO PULLED OUT THE FLAMETHROWER. HE MELTED MY ICE WALL.
Zenyatta: Oh dear.
Junkrat: IM THROWING THE BOMB
Mercy: JUNKRAT NO
Tracer: oh my god Zarya knocked out Junkrat
Tracer: OH MY GOD HE ALMOST BURNED ME
Mei: Hanzo summoned his dragons.
Genji: You could’ve left them alone.
Tracer: oh my god Jack knocked him out.
Reaper: WHAT THE F UCK IS WRONG WITH ALL OF YOU!?
Reaper: This is y/n by the way.
76: where did Gabe take you?
Symmetra: And why are you using his phone?
Reaper: BECAUSE HE TOKE MINE AWAY. AND HE TOKE ME BACK TO THE BASE???
Reaper: When I planned on telling you guys about Grayson I was expecting something less vIOLENT THAN YOU YOU GUYS PULLED.
Mei: You’re the youngest one on the team! And I guess,, we got a bit carried away.
Reaper: A BIT IS AN UNDERSTATEMENT
Zarya: I get that you are mad but we are overprotective of you.
McCree: We had to make sure.
Reaper: AND YOU COULDVE DONE A SIMPLE BACKGROUND CHECK KN HIM ON THE COMPUTER!?
Reaper: I get it, bUT OH MY GOD HE WANTED ME TO MEET HIS PARENTS, HANA
Reaper: Edge lord wants his phone bakcishifhf
Reaper: She’s grounded, no questions.
Reaper has left the chatroom.
Y/n: He has shitty hiding spots.
Y/n: and I refuse to be grounded fOR SOMETHING AS STUPID AS THIS
Y/n: JACK HOW BAD DID YOU HURT GRAYSON
76: I just knocked him out.
Y/n: Honestly guys, I’m part of overwatch, why can you trust me when I go out alone? I can take care of myself. And I did plan on telling you guys.
Y/n has left the chatroom.
Genji: They seem upset.
Zenyatta: Young Y/n is arguing with Gabriel right now. And I expect you to apologize to them. Also bring young Grayson home and explain everything to his parents.
Zenyatta: Bastion will be in front of y/n’s door for the rest of the day, and maybe the night.
Zenyatta has left the chatroom.
Ana: I can’t believe we acted so childish.
Ana has left the chatroom
Reinhardt: Y/n is seventeen, almost at legal age to live in their own, we should have trusted them for just one day.
Reinhardt has left the chatroom.
Torbjön has left the chatroom.
Zarya: Hardt is right.
Zarya has left the chatroom.
76 has left the chatroom.
D.Va: before everyone leaves!
D.Va: we have to make it up to both Y/n and Grayson.
Lucio: what do we do?
D.Va: set up an actual date for them. Everyone has to pitch in though.
Hanzo: That could work.
D.Va: we should also stay with them.
Lucio: It’s a date, Hana
Junkrat: Kinda ruins the idea of a date, mate.
D.Va: They wanted us to meet Grayson right?
Mercy: that’s a wonderful idea, Hana!
Tracer: This is our chance to make things right!!
Phara: well for the ones who started attacking Grayson.
Symmetra: you almost released your missiles.
Phara: ..Alright everyone should help plan this.
McCree: It’s settled then.
McCree has left the chatroom.
Tracer has left the chatroom.
Phara has left the chatroom.
Symmetra has left the chatroom.
Mei has left the chatroom.
Junkrat has left the chatroom.
Roadhog has left the chatroom.
Lucio has left the chatroom.
D.Va has left the chatroom.
Hanzo had left the chatroom.
Genji has left the chatroom.
Zarya has left the chatroom.
Mercy has left the chatroom.
Widowmaker has left the chatroom.
Winston: Why do people always make everything so difficult?
It’s almost been 7 months since I last told you that I loved you, but it’s not been 7 months since I last felt it. I still feel it every day. I still feel you in my bones, igniting the flames I could never light on my own. You rush into my veins like oxygen and I exhale you as much times as my heart pumps out the very being of your existence inside of me. There’s only so much of you that I can take, and it’s to the extent where I forget to bring myself too. I still love you. But I hope you know that I don’t always think about you. I don’t sit around looking at our old photos or reading our old texts. I don’t always dream about us and what could have been; or count stars and pretend that’s still how much you love me. I don’t always remember you. But sometimes, I do. And when I do, man do I miss you. You found me in a maze I lost myself in, building. You lit me though I had no wick. You burnt my bridges and melted my walls. Your presence made up for the absence that was in my heart. You had meant nothing to me but one day, I woke up and suddenly a world without you felt unsafe and unbearable. And I knew then it would never end. I used to think about you all the time. Constantly debating on asking how you were or if you were happy. But why would I ask you something I already know? You were fine, I was not. The simplicity in that is more complex than words could tell. And with you gone, I stumbled back to square one. So now, I know not to ask about you anymore or write sad, sappy poems about what sucked. Instead, all I do now is miss you, and remember all things good. Sometimes it hurts and sometimes it doesn’t. Bittersweet. Still, your mark in my heart remains, the words you engraved “I hope we find each other again someday.” And every so often I think about that, and it makes me despondent. Because I wish we didn’t have to find each other later on, I wish we had never lost each other in the first place. But we did, and it sucks. Nonetheless, there you are living your life without me, and here I am trying to live mine without you. I tell myself that life goes on and time will mend the broken souls, but before I left, you had told me, “I just hope I can move on,” and I had assured you that you would. And 7 months later, I was right. There you are with someone new carrying your heart and keeping it intact, and still here I am trying to superglue the broken “I love you’s.” I convinced myself that if I had gone and you had stayed happy, that was that. And even though you did, I have not yet allowed myself to move on. Because I still love you. I don’t think I will ever not love you. And I apologize if you didn’t want to hear this: or if you did and I didn’t tell you sooner. But my love, I could never intrude or invade you of your happiness. So for now, I am sorry I have not let you go, and I’m sorry you do not know. But I will always love you as much as you don’t love me. I will no longer wait for another 7 months, for this is me, now, setting you free to let you be. Thank you for making me happy.
The first 36 hours were to be expected. This is how travel works. Time shifts but I do not. Airports as limbo, zones of arbitrary absolutes. I’ll walk, breathe, wait in line, purchase two books for a friend’s birthday, check the local news in a language I don’t understand, wonder about food, drink coffee, listen to the same song on repeat, wrap myself in a sweatshirt I’ve dug out of a backpack, take a piss, miss smoking. I’ll wait until a certain set of depersonalized numbers match the ones on my ticket and queue and board and sit and think and read and dissociate.
In the new place, I’m interested in the way the light folds into trees, slides off buildings, melts on my face through the taxi window. The driver tells me the time, military always, and I accept it as truth. I’ll bend this way, think about food and happy hours and the music I play to mark sunset or when the lights from the castles illuminate the square and foreign voices angle off buildings older than my memories of other’s memories.
The drugs didn’t work. They never do. I watch the sun come up and light change as the needle scratches on pick-up. The album starts over.
The next few nights I’ll act as if I’m not lost. I’ll wash my face and brush my teeth. Get naked, alone, in unfamiliar sheets. I’ll lose three or four hours, but the rest I’ll remember as ceiling, window, tree, shadow.
On the morning of Day 7, I’ll wake up screaming. Shaking. Covered in slick sweat. I will remember dying and a woman with long hair asking me questions I can’t answer. I’ll remember someone from home telling me about a date they went on, a phone call, sending a contract. Did I live each one? Did my body bleed, did I laugh, did we share a secret, was I alive for you?
Another two planes, three cities, and I’m trying to untangle time.
These 48 hours are unexpected. I can’t tell what are dreams and what is otherwise, and as the shower wall melts when I lean into it, I think about being on the 11th floor and what my body will look like, naked and wet, falling among the morning haze of this city. Will they find me pristine and angelic and curled and sleeping, finally?
I can’t tell the time anymore, but the bliss of every failure - lived or imagined - is on equal footing. I am a carousel, I think, each animal a trope, or is it the canned music, heavy on xylophone, that is my signature? It doesn’t matter, I guess. I am metal lion, teeth bared, and I am sleek zebra, heavy lids, and I am the sweet, sickly smell of cotton candy and the ticket girl’s perfume. I am this entire swirling entity, nomenclature and form, a world rotating again and again. The needle scratches and picks itself up and the album replays.
And then I am home, and my mind is not the same, it never is. Loved ones try to untangle the truths from the half truths, and I nod with wide, glassy eyes. Why do they never tell you that our realities are not fixed, they never were?
We are equally in this world and the one we project, and I know now, maybe always did, that the thin, dirty film that sits between the two is readily broken.
Excerpt from Monster High/Ever After High: The Legend of Shadow High by Shannon and Dean Hale
Ever After. The land of fairytales and nursery rhymes, magical creatures and storybook characters. And enchanted mirrors.
It’s probably time to peek in on Ever After, so let’s start with…um…ooh! I know! Inside a particular enchanted mirror, where the Evil Queen is imprisoned. There she is now, dressed in a black, purple and silver gown topped with a grand headdress, as if she’s never heard of casual wear. This is the same Evil Queen who poisoned Snow White, but she didn’t stop there. After she played her part in that tale, she got up to a lot more nastiness, trying to take over other people’s fairytales and even the entire world of Wonderland. To stop her rampage, Headmaster Grimm and other magically gifted faculty from Ever After High caught her and trapped her in the high-security mirror prison.