#Her voice acting has improved so bad

[kronfaumei]

NANASH MUMEI HOLOGRA DROPPED! Gal really just destroyed an entire civilization OVER Printers but its okay women can be silly and make mistakes!

[perenlop]

i really dont know what to expect from magolor epilogue and im honestly not expecting a ton of story (lore stuff, absolutely bc magolor is kinda stuffed w lore as a character already) but ngl i do sorta hope theres at least a little bit of a hint of him improving or feeling bad or redemption so that people stop saying that he exists to be abuse apologia bc “he never got a real redemption arc”

[luveline]

𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐝 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 | 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨’𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚

miguel does everything he can to make you feel better after a civilian casualty steals your ‘sunshine’. —a fic featuring reluctantly adoring miguel and his sad spider-girl. pre across the spider-verse but contains spoilers. requested here. fem!reader, 4k

cw character death, violence, reactive depression

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

"Miguel," you say, your voice grained by the communicator in his ear, "this universe is almost the same as mine, right?" 

Miguel stares down at a Doc Ock variant you're staking out, lying in wait for the anomalistic antagonist to make his first move. He's trying desperately to maintain his focus but you have a nice voice, and you ask him with a confidence that betrays your total faith in him. You haven't considered that he might not know. 

Well, Miguel does know. He's not sure he should start this discussion and distract you, but he has trouble saying no to you in any capacity, so he does. 

"I don't know every difference, but yeah, they're the same. Same geography, world leaders, roughly the same fast food chains." He bites his lip. He's at work, more than work —you're attempting to save an entire dimension, here— and he shouldn't feed the conversation anymore. But he knows you'll be interested in this. "Donuts aren't a thing, here."

"What?" 

"They have donuts, but they aren't called donuts, and they're nowhere near as popular." 

"This is a very strange way to flirt," Lyla says, her flickering hazed by a golden aura as she changes rapidly between laying on her front, legs kicking, and her back, as though she's in a therapist's daybed. She floats across his vision lazily.

"That's because I'm not," Miguel says. 

"What?" you ask.

"Nothing. Talking to Lyla." 

"How come Lyla doesn't talk to me?" you ask sweetly.

Miguel can see you in the distance, your simple black suit like an ink splodge against the blue grey glass of the skyscraper you're standing on. Anchored with a web and your body tensed, you're perfectly parallel to the ground below, as though you're standing on the windows. 

"It's not that I don't want to," Lyla promises. "Miggy won't let me." 

"That is not true." 

Projections cover Miguel's vision, powered by his favourite lying intelligence. Movements are mapped in a bright marigold yellow, though the net turns red to signify potential danger, chance percentages bouncing up and down. Doc Ock raises an arm and it turns an eye-straining red. He sits down on a park bench and his body turns yellow again. It's a smart program, but it can't account for everything. 

"Something isn't right." 

You hum appreciatively. "It feels weird, how he's acting. Like he's two separate people." 

Doc Ock glitches hard, the air around him fractured by colours in varying depths, like a tangible, physical screen tone. They've been coming faster. He doesn't have much time before he begins to tear apart, and that tearing will prompt panic. Panic will prompt anger. 

"What should we do?" you ask. 

Miguel doesn't know. He regrets asking you to come with him, not that you aren't capable. When you first joined the Spider Society you'd hadn't been Spider-Girl in your own universe for very long, and you weren't particularly proactive. You were kind-hearted but lackadaisical, and after worming your way into his life, a flower budding between concrete slabs it shouldn't have the power to crack, (he seriously doesn't know how it happened, only that you'd been bringing him things, carefully wrapped foods and trinkets you'd made, your bad conversation, and suddenly you were worrying about him and doting on him in the strange way that you do, suddenly, he was doing the same), you decided you wanted to help. You've trained hard on Spider-led courses at the Society, improving your overall fitness, your stamina, your technique, to become the fighter you are now. You can hold your own well. 

Miguel knows what motivated you. You want to look after him. You'd all but admitted to it. And that's why Miguel wishes he asked someone else to come with him, because you'll put yourself in harm's way as he would for you, to protect. 

"Why did you want to know if this universe was the same?" he asks, the nano of his suit morphing over his hands, claws growing long and minaciously sharp.

"Oh! Because, I used to have these favourite cookies called Butter Leaves, but they stopped making them in my dimension 'cos of the Whey disease. Even when it was better, loads of companies couldn't come back…" 

You give him the entire history. He already knows it. He tries to listen to you with the attention you deserve anyway, only he's weighed the options, and taking down Doc Ock feels much more important than listening to your cravings. 

"They were really thin and they had this sweet coating brushed over the top. You'd like them, I think." Miguel drops the last hundred feet to the ground, ignoring the jarring heat in his ankles at such a landing without having rolled into it. "If they were a little softer and had some sugar they'd taste just like polvorones, Miguel."

"You could say that about lots of things," Miguel argues, tone measured as not to alert bystanders nearby of his presence. 

"This doesn't feel like a good idea," Lyla says. Standing now, alert. 

Miguel toggles the communicator so you can't hear him. 

He wonders if you'd even notice him speaking over the intensity of your excitement, "I know it's not professional but maybe we could go and look? After we beat the bad guy. They're more than worth it, I swear," you say hopefully. 

"It's fine," he says to Lyla, throwing out a hand, shins braced and ready to burst into a tackle. 

"It feels off, you both said it." 

"It always feels off. He's in the wrong dimension, his presence caused a shift. The wrongness is unavoidable, like the body–" 

"Rejecting an organ transplant," Lyla says. "I know. You say it constantly." 

"If you know, why are you asking?" he asks, deadpan. 

"Good to know your girlfriend can ask questions and I can't. You're a trailblazer for equality, O'Hara."

Not my girlfriend, he thinks, but he isn't sure how true that is. Miguel realigns his eyesight, the holographic netting that pinpoints anomalistic stress a menacing red where it maps Doc Ock's limbs. The colours are abrasive against the yellow-green leaves fluttering in the breeze to the grass below, trees like arms stretched toward one another standing behind the simple brown bench where Doc Ock murmurs drunken-sounding ravings. 

Miguel's fangs slice through gum and lock into place. He tries not to salivate. The paralysing agent produced gives him a numb tongue. 

Miguel attempts to work quickly. Approach the target. Lock the target in. Incapacitate. He rears back and takes a deep breath. 

"Wait! Behind! Behind you, Miguel, there's something behind you!" 

He twists backward without hesitation and swings his arm around a cold neck. He squeezes hard, hears a metallic crunch similar to a mortar and pestle, but the person in his chokehold isn't a person, it's a robot. 

"Octobots!" Lyla shouts. 

"HELPFUL!" Miguel shouts back, grunting as a robotic arm curves around his back, and then a second, a third. 

The hills of his muscles strain against white-lacquered steel, a sweat breaking at the back of his neck as he groans, desperate to stop the octobot from crushing his arms to a powder. He can practically hear the creaking of his humerus. 

Around him, civilians scatter, screaming for their lives as a small horde of octobots descends on the park. Doc Ock doesn't react to the chaos. He sits there muttering to himself as people run past him and his octobots play cat and mouse. Miguel finally snaps the arms off the robot holding him with a pissed grunt, punching the carcass of machinery away from him while you tuck and roll from a dive to the ground. In an impressive show of your improvement and coordination, you throw out a web as you roll and hit Doc Ock square in the face, a second binding his chest to the bench. You spring to your feet, shooting at bots one after another. You must take down six by the time he's gathered his bearings. 

"On your left," Lyla says. Miguel smashes a bot at the apex of its white body and she laughs. "Nice. Behind." 

Miguel falls into the fight as though it's a well-practised dance. With the stress maps locked on, quick-thinking, and Lyla's pointed direction, Miguel can decapitate or incapacitate each bot swiftly as long as they don't get a hold on him like the first one managed. 

You're like Lyla in that a good skirmish seems to set you off —you're giggling, cheering, enjoying yourself much more than you should be. "This is just like that video game," you say, leaping onto a moving octobot and shooting webbing at the joints, gumming them up until they can't move. "With the girl and her super powered puppy, you know that one?" 

"Of course I don't know that one." Miguel brings his claws down into the aluminium shell of an octobot as it swipes your legs from under you and tears it in two. It cracks like a halved apple, the gore of its inside sparking and smoking as it hits the ground in tandem with you. Your head whacks hard into the concrete pathing beneath. He doesn't have time to help you. 

The arm of a bot races forward like a stinger. This one must be the head of the hive, the Queen bee so to speak, far more complicated than the others in the plating of her ivory bodice and chain-mail like shielding on her arms.

Miguel swears under his breath and vaults at it. 

He pulls your droid feed up in his display, watches you writhe from one side and the other as your pained moans play in his ear. You clamber onto wobbly footing as Miguel descends, the screeching cry of metal while it's shorn apart beneath his hands not half as loud as your useless gasping —you're winded, likely concussed. 

"Civilian entering range," Lyla says. 

"What? Where?" 

Lyla has your drone's camera spin on the spot to show Miguel the civilian stupid enough to enter an active fight zone. They aren't stupid at all, it figures, but unaware. A man in activewear jogs the beaten path with headphones in, eyes to the ground. He stops for a moment to look at his sports watch, and like the octobot can tell, it shakes Miguel like a bothersome flea and surges for him. 

You're closest. 

"Y/N!" Miguel shouts, knowing it's too late before he so much as closes his mouth. You turn, your head braced in your hand, breathing hard with pain. Miguel would take it back if he could. 

You can't save the civilian, but you can watch him die. 

—

People look at him like he's a ghost, sometimes. Wide-eyed, horrified, they move aside in the halls. They treat him how he feels on his worst days, like someone who should've died a long time ago. Today, things are different. 

No less than three Peter Parker' have stopped to stare at him unabashedly. Nearly all make the same jokes, Late for a date?

He'd honestly prefer feeling like a ghost. He can't deal with their derision and he doesn't want to, ignoring their looks and their judgement as he treks to the elevator that's gonna drop him outside of the medbay. The only person he wouldn't mind poking fun at him is you. 

You aren't in the mood. 

Miguel doesn't acknowledge your prone form at first. He walks to your bedside table to deposit the bouquet he'd chosen, peonies for good health and strength, swapping old for new, changing the water in your small shared sink. He may orchestrate the Spider Society, but Miguel's special privileges can't reduce the extreme turnover rate of the medbay. You have curtains to partition the room for privacy, and you got the bed by the window, and that's as much as he could get you. You deserve better. 

Miguel opens the window to drown out the smell of antiseptic. He stands in front of it, his shadow stretching over your twisted hip. You're not sleeping, you're resting. Doctor's orders.

Miguel wishes you'd deign to rest in your own bed, or his, but you're a little too catatonic for a safe discharge either way. 

He sighs quietly. You likely hear it with your enhanced senses and still you remain an impassive lump under your blue hospital blanket. 

"Good morning," he says, instead of the thousand other things he wants to say, that he's too much of a coward to ask. "Let's get up." 

He doesn't give you any choice about it. Starting slow, Miguel rounds the bed to meet your eyes through your sluggish blinking. Perhaps you'd been more asleep than he thought. 

Gentle, Miguel peels down your blankets enough to push his hands under your armpits. He pulls you up into a sitting position, and it —it breaks his heart. He's a monolith, he's hurting, he has years and years of loss and grief behind him and it doesn't matter, it finds him again. His heart breaks at your limblessness and your willingness to be positioned like a paper doll. 

Miguel arranges the sad pillow behind you and puts the remote for the adjustable bed frame in your hand. The last time you'd been here in the medbay after a training exercise fractured your ulna, you'd spent pretty much the entire time messing around with your bed, even as they crafted your cast. It made for messy work. Miguel must've told you to quit it fifty times. 

Your fingers curl around the remote. 

Miguel perches on the mattress on one knee to fix the protective style your hair is in. Nothing serious, just smoothing the tiniest of stray hairs and making sure it's still comfortable. He strokes your temple absentmindedly, checking you over one feature at a time. Tired eyes, nose tip looking parched, your lips chapped. Frowning, he sits properly, and he pulls your big hospital bag from the bedside table, his hand falling to your wrist to say, Hey, I'm here, and I'm not going far.

He finds your smaller bag of toiletries and necessities and unzips it. He tries not to think about the last time he had to take care of someone like this as he cleans your face with a wet wipe, two fingers wrapped in the wipe and petting at your skin carefully. He notices the life returning to you inchingly, his touch a tether you're pulling on, so he prolongs his actions. He smooths moisturiser over your face extra slowly. If you asked why, he could say it's cold, but you don't ask.

Your face shiny in the sunshine filtering in through the wide windows, you almost look like yourself again. 

"Are you hungry?" 

You shake your head. An almost imperceptible gesture. 

"This is why you don't feel well," he says. "You're not eating enough." 

"That's not why," you say.

He aches to hear your voice. I know, he thinks, but doesn't say. 

"Eat something," he says. 

You shake your head again. He managed to bring you back and squash you back down in less than a minute. He really doesn't like himself, at that moment. Often, but especially now. He's failing you. He failed you with the octobots and he's failing you now. 

Miguel refuses to fail someone he cares about again. 

He takes the remote for your bed and lifts the top section so you can sit back comfortably. He shakes the blankets out over you, and he puts away your things. Hopeful, Miguel places new pyjamas and underwear with your shower caddy at the end of the bed and pulls a strict pose, hands crossed over his chest. 

"I need to go. Shower, eat breakfast when it comes. Please." 

You give him a look that might mean Yes but probably doesn't mean anything, laying down as much as the bed allows and turning your face from him toward the flowers. Miguel leaves, stopping a ways away to look back, and watches through the gap of your curtains as you reach out to touch the flowers he'd brought. Your pinky finger is less than an inch from the petals when your movement stutters, your hand falling back to your chest with a soft thud. You close your eyes. 

When Miguel returns, he's thankful to find you've done as he told you. Showered, changed, a discarded breakfast tray at your feet. You've attempted the oatmeal and left the toast to go cold, congealed butter white against golden yellow. 

Miguel swaps the tray for his bags. He's hoping you might be tempted to look while he's gone. He knows before you would've known the entire contents of the open bag by the time he'd left the room, but he returns having taken your tray to the rack and is sorely disappointed. 

That's fine, he decides. You don't have to look. He doesn't mind laying things out for you. 

First port of call: extra pillows. He pulls the plastic wrapped 'hotel pillows' up onto your sheet and tears the plastic. They pop out. He didn't think for pillow cases, so he slides them behind your hospital pillow and pushes you down by the shoulders, not cruel but not particularly gentle —you actually laugh at his handling. He bites back a smile. 

"What, you got me presents?" you ask as he dumps a blanket onto your lap. It's one of those soft, shiny fleece ones patterned with those characters you love so much, the girl and her super powered puppy. 

You rub your hands over it appreciatively and spread it out over your legs. "What's that mean?" he asks, pointing at the Chinese characters, '超級汪汪!'. 

"Chāojí wāngwāng!" you cheer, an impression missing the majority of your usual pep. "Super woof. It's his level five power up. He yaps and Joyce gets her HP back." 

Miguel pretends to know, like he'd forgotten, and you're reminding him. "Ah."

You're watching now, interested. He puts his back between you and the bag and you whine weakly, "Miguel." 

"What? You think these are for you?" 

"Please, I want to see." 

He gives in like a cheap tent, passing you a packet of pearly beads for your bracelet making, skeins of variegated thread that change colours, a packet of pencils with frogs on the lids, a plushie. You don't know how to react and Miguel doesn't know what to say. He honestly doesn't want to say anything, vulnerability stopped being his thing a while ago, but he clears his throat. "Do you know what I look like in the middle of Miniso? Picture it."

Miniso being a Chinese home goods store lined floor to ceiling with plushies.

You laugh weirdly. Miguel knows it's guilt holding you back. 

"One last thing." He sits down on the bed next to you, hands big enough to cover the box in its entirety. "You were wrong, by the way. Extremely wrong, these don't taste a thing like polvorones." 

He passes you the box. You take it into steady hands, smiling widely, your thumb brushing up against the black cursive font. A box of butter leaves from one of your sister dimensions.

"I don't know if they'll taste like they did. Are they the same ones?" 

You nod, loosing a breath between parted lips. "Same ones." 

"If you don't eat them all, I won't get them for you again." 

"That's so mean," you murmur. Miguel would apologise if he thought you meant it. 

"That's how it is. Eat your cookies. I'll come back later to make sure you actually ate dinner." 

He stands. You immediately grab him, cookies dropped in favour of braceleting his wrist in your warm fingers. 

You look up at him through your lashes, a frown dampening your pretty features. At least, in his eyes. 

"Please don't go," you say. Your eyebrows pinch together. It's even more heartbreaking than your catatonia, this pleading loneliness, like you think he won't stay. 

"You have to talk to me," Miguel says. He softens at your chastised wince, sitting back down again. "Did you want a hug?" he asks. 

It's an apology to offer it, though he should've asked you this morning, or yesterday, even the day before. You'd been inconsolable when it happened. Miguel's never seen you that way. Your sunshine shattered, your shoulders shaking under his hands as he led you away from the scene, he didn't hug you like he wanted to. It wouldn't have made a difference at the time. You couldn't speak. You could barely walk. 

Seeing something like that happen leaves a mark, even if you've seen it before. 

You sweep aside your gifts and twist your legs to climb onto your knees. Miguel hadn't realised how much you wanted to be close to him until you're bordering his lap, your arms sliding over his shoulders, your pyjamas soft and smelling of antiseptic under his nose. A switch flicks at your nearness. He pulls you into his lap and sandwiches you there, chest to chest, thankful for his stature because it means he can encapsulate you effortlessly. He can hide you from the world for a short while. 

You choke him half to death. 

"It's okay," he says, your back curved into the length of his forearm, leaning forward so you can take the weight off. "You're okay." 

"I don't– it's not me. I'm not worried about me." 

"It's over," he says. "What's done is done." Which isn't to say it isn't tragic, or that it didn't leave a permanent mark on the world. But you're punishing yourself for a crime you didn't commit.

"It's all my fault," you whisper, your cheek pressing to his shoulder, face hidden in the juncture of his neck.

He tilts his head toward you. "It's my fault. I jumped in. I wanted it to be quick."

"I let him…" 

"You had a grade ii concussion, you didn't let anyone do anything. I'm lucky you didn't pass out right there. I'm lucky you had the ability to defend yourself, because I left you defenceless." 

"No, you didn't, it–" You rub your cheek against his shoulder. "It happened really fast, you were making sure that bot didn't get me because I was stupid enough to leave myself open–" 

"Stop it."

It's harsh enough to stop you in your tracks. Miguel sighs hard, hair blowing away from his face. 

He lays down backward, skewiff on your bed, and pulls you with him in a secure but gentle hold. You make a quiet 'oof' as you go down. Apologetic yet again, Miguel rubs a line up and down your back, fingertips between your shoulders, palm flattening as he reaches the small of your back, your shirt inching up. He's sure you look foolish to anyone watching, but for once, he's past embarrassment. 

"I don't want to hear you blaming yourself. It's not your fault." 

You've twisted on your side on the mattress rather than crush his pelvis, though your chest remains pressed to his. You twist a strand of his dark hair around your finger. "Why did you bring me all this stuff?" you ask softly. 

"To make you feel better." 

"But why… do you… want that? Why does it matter that much, that you'd waste time going to get me things?" 

"Why do you think?" he asks. 

Your lips ghost the column of his throat. "Mm… 'cos you're nicer than you let on." 

"Wrong." 

You laugh again. He's more grateful than he'd ever say aloud. 

"Because you care about me too much." 

Too much is right. He feels like he's at the stern of the universe's most important ship. The universes, plural. That ship is heading square for an iceberg, for the precipice of a gargantuan whirlpool, and there's nothing Miguel can do but hand out buckets and veer sharply to the left, hoping it will be enough, knowing deep down that it won't be if something doesn't give soon. And he's lived a life, two lives, before he even met you. He's tired. He doesn't want to lose anyone else, and he hoped he could do that by never caring again. 

What a stupid hope. 

"I just want you to feel like yourself again," he admits. 

"I really wanted to save him." 

"You can't save everyone." 

He knows better than most. 

"I know," you say, no tears left to cry, voice impossibly small. 

Miguel wraps his arms around you and doesn't let go for a long, long time. 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you so much for reading, I really really hope you enjoyed! please think about reblogging if you liked it, I appreciate it <3

[stirthewaters]

Bad Mood

Word Count: 1.1k

Warnings: slightly ooc Wednesday?? angst - fluff, (not proofread I just threw it together 😭)

Summary: Wednesday has trouble figuring out your bad mood and decides to take it into her own hands

Pairings: Wednesday x GN!Reader

Wednesday was frustrated, to say the least. Though she would never vocally express her irritations towards you, you were surely a dilemma, and the fact that she was having trouble solving the puzzle that was you at the moment was most definitely the issue.

You had been moping all day, acting uncharacteristically sulky and closed off. Wednesday would’ve almost liked it if she wasn’t so put off by your sudden change of behavior. Sulking didn’t look good on you, she observed, as you sat beside her during class, not paying attention and absentmindedly twirling a pencil between your thumbs, the wood surprisingly close to splintering as you did so.

No, you had not given any reasoning to why you were feeling this way, and Wednesday did not like the sneaking suspicion that she might have had something to do with it. Though she couldn’t recall ever explicitly saying or doing anything to make you upset she knew that she was most certainly not one to know much about any sort of complex emotional drama, and therefore she was left outside of the tangled barbwire that was your emotions. Why must you be so confusing? Puzzles were supposed to be enjoyable to solve, not frustrating.

Wednesday let you be most of the day, silently hoping some time would improve your mood but you remained either irritable and snappy or moody and quiet, practically telling off Xavier when he came late to class and delayed it about ten minutes. Although the Addams had to admit that she found a sort of amusement in seeing you scold someone, it wasn’t followed by the playful roll of your eyes that you usually gave someone to indicate you were joking. Clearly something had upset you and she was getting increasingly frustrated.

The raven tried easing your irritably by placing a cold hand on your warm thigh, trying to practice the gentle rubs that she typically knew you liked, and though you stiffened as usual under her touch it did nothing to soften your mood as your eyes darkly flitted away.

But that didn’t worry her. Wednesday wasn’t used to being worried, let alone emotions themselves. To the Addams, emotions were a tangled spiderweb that once trapped in became a struggle to navigate, distracting one from common sense and rationality. Yet, she still felt the uncomfortable prickling of sickening worry in her chest when she saw you actually tear up. And it was almost without reason. Nobody had spoken to you unkindly or done anything physically immoral, yet your eyes glistened and you pulled your hood over your head, dark eyes disappearing behind its frame as you did so. You were crying? Wednesday briefly wondered whether or not she’d seen you cry before, most certainly she hadn’t without explicable reason.

Your quiet sniffles seemed to be the only thing her brain would allow her to hear amidst the sound of students around you.

Instantly she gripped your wrist gently yet firmly, pulling you into a dark corner in the hall as she searched for your eyes under the hood. That prickle in her chest started to scratch as you huffed out stiffly, in a voice close to cracking. “What is it?”

Wednesday silently brought her hand up to your hood, pulling it down carefully to see your dark eyes swimming in tears, and she felt her voice soften just slightly at the sight of them as she murmured, “I wish to know what has been bothering you throughout the day. You’ve been distant and irritable.” You tried to look away but she gently pulled your chin back to look at her, feeling you shake under her grasp. “Cara Mia, I would like to know whether or not I have been the source of your…” the Addams struggled for the right word. “Current emotional status.”

You shook your head weakly. God, she could tell you were fragile. It was as if the slightest poke could set you off, and she knew she had to tread carefully. Her brain raced to remember everything Enid had taught her on… comfort. The idea was a personal ick but with you she would make an exception. “Would you like to leave?” Your weak nod was all the confirmation she needed as she laced her pinky into yours to subtly pull you through the crowd. God, she was disgusted by pda but you weakened her, and she despised you for it.

In the privacy of her dorm, the gentle rain slapping against the large window, she watched as you shakily exhaled, clearly fighting off your tears as you closed your eyes and struggled to speak. “Today has just…been… a lot. It’s- I- I can’t-“ your voice finally cracked slightly.

Wednesday stood opposite you for a moment, in thought as the scratching of worry in her heart began to pulsate into more of a pain. Not a pleasant pain that she usually experienced, rather a more unpleasant one at the sight of the tear that fell from your eye, hitting the floorboards and disappearing. She felt as if she’d always remember that oddly specific place on the floor from now on.

Stepping forwards she shoved aside all of her disgust and apathy for touch and wrapped her cold arms around your waist to pull you in, your head falling atop of yours as she muttered into your neck, “from what I do know about emotions I have heard that it is a rather healthy way to deal with them by crying.” 

As if on cue from the touch and soft words she felt you slowly fall apart, quietly trembling as you cried silently, burying your face into her hair that she silently noted to wash later to get any snot out of.

She slowly brought you down to the floor with her, letting you cry as she tried her best to comfort you, tracing small patterns on your collarbone and neck, giving you small and delicate kisses here and there as to show that she was here with you. When your sobs began to ease she felt your weight press against her more, and she quickly put together that you were exhausted. She shushed you softly, letting you burrow into her as much as you needed. God, you were so warm, it was as if you were thawing the ice that she had worked so hard to freeze. 

Although still not inclined to show any major affection, she did press a small cold kiss to your temple, letting you rest in her arms as your head shifted into your lap and her hand threaded its way into your hair, slowly and softly stroking in an effort to calm you down, finally the nagging confusion and frustration easing as you both fell into a calm, the rain providing a soothing atmosphere. 

Perhaps Enid’s teachings had paid off.

[inamindfarfaraway]

Hnnng dehumanisation in Spies are Forever. Curt's “not a man, [he's] property of the United States government". Tatiana wasn't a child, she was an “instrument of war”, a “killing machine". It’s particularly poignant that Barb calls Curt property of their government, a cog in the machine, because she knows that she’s in the same boat, and in fact socially inferior to him as both a woman and a support worker to his more prestigious career. She herself has always seen and valued him as a person and is constantly trying to make him reciprocate. But he initially views her as just a cool gadget dispenser. Technology appears to be her only means of asserting her worth and earning people’s attention, which might be why she’s working on a global information network, essentially the internet - the ultimate technological platform for human connection and collaboration. Cynthia is so committed to overcoming her human vulnerability in order to be the best tool her country could possibly ask for that she poisons herself every day to build up an immunity. One of the villains is a literal Nazi who uses a literal puppet. And the other is Owen.

Owen's evil vision is "turning everyone into a spy", aka property. Instruments for him to conduct. Creating a global surveillance network, because the internet has as much power to distance and isolate people as to unite them. The machine failed him when he was a cog in it, so he aims to replace it with a more efficient one and control it this time; he cannot comprehend of any ethical improvement to or dismantling of the machine itself. His problem with spies is that they contaminate the ruthless political mechanisms with messy, fallible humanity... and vice versa. Agent Mega messed up the mission because he was human; Curt left his boyfriend for dead because he was a spy. You can’t be both. Person or tool. So Owen chooses the one that can’t be hurt. He willingly becomes a tool of CHIMERA, a living weapon. He kills and tortures hundreds of people, considers himself an actor in a story and others expendable characters, does everything he can to detach himself from ideas of personhood. “Who needs spies when a box in a room can do your job in seconds?" Humanity is worthless. Obsolete.

Except no, it isn't. Curt and his allies proves it. After the prologue, Curt simultaneously makes Owen’s mistake of binary thinking. First he wants to be purely a man, and an absolute wreck of one; then he wants to be purely the greatest spy ever, with no sentimental weaknesses. But he can’t maintain that divide. He has to be both. The team win with their skills, training and expertise and by being human - social, irrational animals, working together, loving each for the sake of it, acting spontaneously. They aren’t tools that Owen can perfectly predict and manipulate. Curt surprises him. And Owen, for all his icy calculations and grand talk, cannot escape his humanity any more than he can destroy Curt’s, as his last scene makes painfully clear. He lowers his gun like a person. His voice breaks like one. He bleeds like one. Meanwhile, Barb is a genius engineer and Tatiana is a master assassin. You’d think that their climactic moment of triumph would demonstrate Barb’s amazing technology or Tatiana’s combat skills, but instead the focus is on them simply talking to each other and even Mrs Mega. Human connection and collaboration. Human error that doesn’t negate their victory. “You can break a computer box, but you can’t break the will of a man.” That’s what Curt is. Not property. A man. He is a gay, unemployed man; Barb is a woman in STEM; Tatiana is a female ex-KGB Russian immigrant; all in the United States of America in the 1960s, a very bad time and place to be all of those things. Yet they will survive. They are not alone and they will endure. Spies are forever because they are people.

And the narrative consistently emphasises that everybody is a person! It mocks the Nazis, obviously, but even then Baron von Nazi isn’t a one-dimensional monster, he has emotions and cognitive biases and a backstory and fondness for cheeseburgers. Sergio isn’t just an interchangeable criminal, he’s a devoted family man awkwardly trying to lighten his work atmosphere. Richard Big isn’t just a crass parody, he has moral principles. We hear all kinds of characters’ thoughts and feelings: the Informant, Barb’s fellow scientists, the waiter at the casino, the guests at the gala. This affirmation that everyone has a inner life means that yes, anyone can be a spy.

[mysteryshoptls]

SSR Vil Schoenheit - Platinum Jacket Voice Lines

When Summoned: Today, I take on the role as a supporter of this museum. I'll make sure to promote well the beauty and wonder of these works of art.

Summon Line: Taking in all of these beautiful things will allow me to develop my own beauty further. I'll be taking my time to appreciate as much as I can today.

Groooovy!!: I refuse to accept a happy ending brought about by someone else. I will fulfill my dreams by my own hand.

Home: Time to celebrate the 100th anniversary.

Home Idle 1: The brilliant luster of the fabric and small accessories nicely accentuates this seemingly simple monochrome attire. Not bad at all.

Home Idle 2: There is a thin line between poisons and potions. The Fairest Queen must have delved into her research to further her understanding of their differences. She truly is someone worth our respect.

Home Idle 3: Ortho says he'd like to hold a conversation with the Lord of the Underworld. Seems as though he would like to utilize his sense of humor as a base for his acting.

Home Idle - Login: You'd like me to speak on the painting of the Fairest Queen? I suppose I could, as long as you stay attentive. If you dare to yawn during my exposition... Heh, you should prepare for the consequences.

Home Idle - Groovy: Beauty cannot be achieved in a single day, and the same could be said for a physically pristine body. Jack and I are very similar in how we will constantly endeavor towards our goals without fail.

Home Tap 1: Trey saw a painting of the Queen of Hearts smiling and commented that she had lovely teeth. Only he would focus on that...

Home Tap 2: The exhibits each give a different emotional impact based on the brightness of the lights and the way the works are illuminated. I can tell this museum has put much thought into its lighting.

Home Tap 3: I'd like to improve my drawing skills. Simply because I would like to make my own proposals if I ever have the opportunity to work with one of my favorite brands.

Home Tap 4: When I approached Malleus, he elucidated on the painting of the Thorn Fairy. He spoke of tales uniquely passed down among faes, so it was quite the learning experience.

Home Tap 5:  There are so many wonderful exhibits here, and yet here you are just staring at me. I fully understand why you would, but try to focus on the paintings.

Home Tap - Groovy: You seem to be in high spirits. Were you that elated to listen to my explanations of the artwork? Yes, of course you were.

Duo: [VIL]: We'll silence them all, Jack! [JACK]: Absolutely, Vil-senpai!

Birthday Login Message: [Yuu pops party popper] Thank you for the birthday surprise. That was a rather elaborate one, too. I especially enjoyed how you tripped over your lines, despite the fact that you were lying in wait to ambush me for quite some time. That wasn't on purpose? Obviously. If that was an act, it would be something worth scouting.

Requested by Anonymous.

[shanastoryteller]

Happy Pride! One of the genderbendy stories, please? Lady Mo, maybe?

a continuation of 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40

Xuanyu groans and rolls her eyes when Lan Wangji insists on treating her wounds before they continue, but apparently decides she's tested his patience enough for one evening because she says, "Fine," and and begins to untie her robe.

He steps closer and grabs her wrists. "What are you doing?"

She looks up at him and this close he can see the exhaustion lingering in her dark eyes. "You just said you wanted to bandage me up before we left again!"

"You cannot undress in front of," he gestures around them.

She frowns, following his hand, and then looks down at herself. "Oh. Right, forgot that mattered now." He quirks an eyebrow and she blinks, face going a shade paler before she pastes a too wide smile across her face. "Okay, well, the carriage then?" She doesn't wait for him to answer, instead raising her voice to shout, "Sizhui, make sure our guests get something to eat before we get moving."

"Yes, Lady Xuanyu," Sizhui says, more formerly than he would normally, but Sizhui takes after him in that he tends to fall back on formality when he's feeling out of sorts.

Lan Wangji sighs and leads her to the carriage with a hand on the small of her back. His instinct is to grab her arm and drag her there, but she gets squirmy and argumentative, and he's had quite enough of both.

She hops into the carriage, only wincing at little at the sudden motions, and he follows her in, setting down the supplies he'd grabbed and then closing the doors firmly behind them.

"It's really not that bad," she says as she undoes her robes and slides them down her shoulders. "We'll have time to bathe when we arrive at Koi Tower and I could have just cleaned them there. They don't really need bandages."

He ignores her and doesn't let his eyes linger on her breasts even as he gets flash of memory of closing his lips around a small, dark nipple and biting, his tongue running the indents his teeth had left in soft flesh.

"You didn't need to go running off alone," he says, hoping it's dark enough that she doesn't see the flush he can feel crawling up his neck.

She scoffs as he presses a damp cloth against the stab wound between her shoulder and collarbone, cleaning away the tacky blood. "Song Lan needed help and he's my friend."

Lan Wangji wants to ask once again how in the world she knew were Xiao Xingchen was, how she'd been able to lead Song Lan right to him, but one issue at a time. "You could have told us that and we would have helped."

"Uh huh," she says.

He presses down harder than he'd intended and she hisses in pain. He pulls back, grudgingly admitting to himself that she was right. The wound has already closed and the bruises covering her chest have turned a sickly yellow, looking days old rather than hours. He's never seen anyone improve a golden core so quickly before, especially using such dubious methods.

He doesn't want to say the wrong thing, so he gives himself time to gather his thoughts as he wrings out the cloth. "We are not the Mo. Or the Jin."

"Uh, yeah? I noticed," she answers, pulling her robes open even wider to reveal even more bruised skin and the curved slice around her right hip.

"Have you," he asks quietly, keeping his touch gentle as he cleans the blood from thigh. "You are not - you don't have to," he stops, taking a deep breath and pausing his motions so he doesn't accidentally hurt her again. "You are not required to tell me anything that you don't want me to know. However. I am your husband."

"I noticed that too," she says, voice coming out low, and Lan Wangji does not allow himself to be distracted by the fact that he's kneeling over his mostly naked wife, her body small and soft and strong, evening bleeding and bruised.

"Then you should act like it," he returns, and odd reversal of their argument after the waterfall. "In the Lan you are not a bastard daughter but my legitimate wife. If you'd told me you wished to assist Song Lan, I would have helped you, and others would have volunteered to accompany us. You would not have needed to go alone. "

Xuanyu glares at him, somehow even more compelling with the anger brightening her eyes. "I was fine alone. I didn't need you."

"This is not about needing," he says softly, "but about having. Whether you need me or not is irrelevant. You have me. Next time I hope you remember that."

He ties her inner robe together before jumping out of the carriage, leaving her to redress herself. He feels the weight of her gaze on him, but she doesn't say anything.

Lan Wangi sighs, rubbing at his forehead. He drops into the seat next to his brother, noting Sizhui and Jingyi sitting at the same table as their guests and insistently putting more and more food on their plates over their protests. Well, Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen's protests. A-Qing seems quite happy to eat everything put in front of her.

Xichen raises an eyebrow.

"How long did it take Jin Guangyao to trust you?" he asks impulsively, regretting asking almost as soon as it's out of his mouth.

Xichen sighs, "Oh, Wangji," and doesn't answer.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Pretty Petals 26

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content including rape/noncon, kidnapping, violence, sexual acts (fingering, oral, anal, dp), coercion, bondage, and more tags to be added as the series progresses. PREPARE YOUR PANTIES, HOES.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You go on a self-improvement retreat, but not all is as it seems.

Girls and Flower Name List HERE!

Characters: Ransom Drysdale, Lloyd Hansen, Lee Bodecker, Curtis Everett, Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, Loki, Andy Barber, Hela, and multiple OFCs

Note: double chapter day!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all like birds love to appear everytime you are near. Take care. 💖

“It was so lovely to come see you all, to see how you’ve grown,” Hela preens as she stands at the head of the table. “Immaculate, every one of you.” 

Dahlia pokes her cheek with her tongue and Bucky snatches the fork she twirls in her hand. He knows her well. Maybe he even fears he’s at the mercy of the tines.  

You turn your attention back to your matron of dishonour. Her black bob is wavy and her skin freckled from the sun. She’s beautiful for someone so wretched. You can’t help but wonder if you’re the only ones. You know you can’t be the first. It’s all too orderly, too planned, too perfect. 

“Do make me proud, petals,” she claps her hands together and her pretty lips curl, “I may just return at Christmas with some gifts, eh?” 

Christmas. It’s still a ways off but the fall is setting in. The summer is in its last dregs and you find yourself shivering in the morning as the night cools. Not a single voice rises to answer her farewell. You all just stare, rather glare, at her. 

“Well, then, I’ll be off.” 

“Sister, I’ll show you the door,” Loki rises and beckons her away from the table, “I must thank you for coming so quickly and bringing a fresh stem...” 

His voice trails off and you glance over at Zinnia, sitting by his empty seat. She mashes down her eggs with the back of a spoon. The other girls keep there hands away from their plates. You don’t have much of an appetite yourself. 

“Boring,” Lloyd says suddenly. “How about we do something fun?” 

The other men seemed agitated by his suggestion. Strange how they seem to share the same malaise. Ransom’s arm drapes over the back of your chair, Curtis has Violet in his lap, Lee keeps jabbing Marigold and whispering at her. Your eyes meet Steve’s as he watches you in turn. You quickly look away. 

“I’ll clear the table,” you offer as you stand and lift your plate. 

“Ugh, boring,” Lloyd spits again, “Christ on a dildo, why are we sitting here playing Brady Bunch? Let’s get fucking wild.” 

“Shut up,” Bucky growls as Dahlia rubs her faded bruises. 

“Oh, shit, you know, I got the perfect fucking game, girls, follow Lily’s lead and clear the table.” 

The mustachioed man stands and breezes away. The other women look at each other. You nudge Azalea and she stands with her head down. She takes her plate and Lloyd’s. The other girls follow in a long train to the kitchen. Andy gets up to follow, keeping watch as you cluster together to divvy up the leftovers into containers. 

You hate to agree but it is dull as hell. You finish stacking up the dirty plates but none of you are eager to go back into the dining room. Only bad things happen there. The games they play aren’t much fun for you. 

“Go,” Andy demands. 

Dahlia goes out first, angling her head back and forth defiantly. Zinnia follows after her, Daisy, Rose, Violet shuffles noisily and clings to Azalea’s hand as she drags her, then you, and finally Marigold. As you come out, Lloyd stands in front of his seat, jiggling a pair of dice in his hands. 

The other men share your level of enthusiasm. Bucky’s arms are crossed, Ransom yawns, Lee rubs his belly, Curtis picks his thumbnail, Loki untangles a shank of his long dark coils, and Steve peers over his shoulder to stare at you. You don’t like that. 

“Right, simple rules, guys,” Lloyd rattles the large pair of plastic dice, “choose a girl, roll the dice, and let fate decide. I’ll go first since it was my idea.” 

You nearly let out a groan. You’re so tired. Ransom points you next to him and you sit. The others follow suit. Andy stands behind his chair and watches as Lloyd tosses the dice. 

You notice the imprinted images on the sides of the cubes. Various positions and words. You hold your breath and sense the rest of the room doing the same. 

“Hey, Zinnia,” Lloyd calls as the dice bounce over the wood, “how about we get acquainted?” 

The plastic cubes still and shows a man with his head between a woman’s legs as she sits on a chair. The other dice reads, ‘until orgasm.’ 

Zinnia whimpers and Loki sniffs. He stands and drags her chair away from the table. She grips the sides to keep from sliding off. He veers her around to face Lloyd as he struts behind the other seats. He snickers as he drags his hand over his mouth. 

“Come on, let me see the kitty, just wanna give her a pet,” he gets down to his knees and Loki catches Zinnia’s shoulders before she can sit up. She writhes helplessly as Lloyd’s hands crawl up her thighs. He tickles the front of her panties and glances over, “hey don’t let me have all the fun, unless you wanna watch.” 

There’s a moment of indecision. Then Steve reaches across the table and scoops up the dice. He examines each then cradles them in his large hand. Zinnia’s murmurs underline the lull as Lloyd growls deeply, his mouth making unsettling noises. 

“Lily, how’s it we’ve never had any fun?” He asks and tosses them. They only roll a short way before stilling. 

You stare at the top of the first dice. A couple in doggystyle. You clamp your lips and try not to shudder. You glance over at Dahlia and she shakes her head. The other girls slump and shrink, knowing their own turn is imminent. 

The second dice makes you blanch as it lands flat; ‘backdoor’. 

“Perfect,” Steve growls, “don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll be nice.” 

He stands, pushing out his chair and waving towards the seat, “get on your knees, I’ll be right back.” 

“The fuck, Steve,” Ransom sneers. 

“We’ll trade,” Steve offers. 

“Mm, thanks but I think I’ll try something new. How about you, Statue of Liberty?” He looks at ass, “you think you can stay awake for some good dick?” 

You get up as Ransom swipes up the dice. This is humiliating. It’s one thing to be dragged off behind closed doors but these men are as good as starting an orgy. For what? Because they’re bored? 

Steve helps you onto the chair. You brace the back as you sit on your knees, shaking. You don’t know if you can handle this. He rubs your shoulder, gripping it hard enough for the tendon to tweak. You wince and he lets go as he walks away. You watch after him as Azalea starts to snivel. 

You look over as Lloyd keeps his face buried between Zinnia’s legs, his hand on her tits as he devours her. She puffs and pouts and squirm as Loki pets her cheek and coos. Ugh, god! You can’t keep doing this.  

For now, you have to. You have to bide your time. You have to get rid of these necklaces and those damn cameras. You have to wait for these men to turn their fangs on each other instead of you. 

Steve comes back as Dahlia’s snarl rolls through the air. There’s a struggle behind you on the floor you can’t see. Andy’s no longer by the kitchen door. It must be him. His voice confirms it as he calls for Rose too. 

Shit. The chaos breaks out quickly. Steve startles you as he squirts a slick flow between your cheeks. You squeak as he pushes his fingers along your ass as rubs your tight hole. He clicks shut the bottle of lube and reaches to put it on the table. 

He grips the back of your neck and forces your head straight. You his and latch tightly to the chair. You sit on your heels as he bends against you, contorting so he’s flush to your back. He pushes his head next to yours and growls. 

He rescinds his touch for just a moment as he jostles around. His brings his firm tip up along your cheeks and presses against your ring. You babble and reach back to press on his hip. 

“Please, no--” 

He loops his hand around the front of your neck and chokes your voice away. You gasp and wheeze as he pushes into you. He stretches your ass just around his tip, just enough for your to let out a whistle through your tight throat. Ow. Oh shit.  

He rocks and dips a little further inside. Your eyes prick and you shake your head, grinding your teeth as you quake. He thrusts again, deeper. Several more times, sinking in as your insides burn. Even the lube can’t help the resistance of your body. 

He brings his other hand to your throat, crisscrossing his fingers in front of it as he forces your head up and back. Your spine arches as his pelvis claps against your ass and he grunts. The chair rocks with his motion, teetering dangerously as your tears stream down your cheeks. 

The pain is blinding. Your eyes roll back as you puff out shallow breaths through the constriction of your throat. He snaps his hips harshly and you spasm. Again, again, again. Each time crueler than the last. 

Steve shifts his feet and moves closer again. He bucks into you so that the agony radiates from your core. You would sob if your could breath. He adjusts his hands, wrapping them full around your neck. Your lashes flutter as your vision speckles with black dots. 

“Steve, take it easy--” you hear someone warn but you can’t make out their timbre. 

“Hey, whoa, slow down. She’s--” 

Your tongue lolls out as all the air traps in your chest. The heat in your lungs is as fiery as that in your ass. The slap of flesh and the cracking force mingles with the swirling in your head. Your eyelids close of their own volition as all resistance gives out and your body goes limp. The world fades though the pain remains. 

🌸

“You could’ve fucking killed her,” A snarl seeps into your ears, making them itchy. “What the fuck are you thinking?” 

“Whatever. We can get another--” 

“Fuck off. The new one’s already pissing me off,” Bucky’s deeper tone breaks through the veil over you. 

“Like you even like the one you got--” 

“Lily,” another voice drifts in and your eyelids part, your vision hazy as Dahlia’s blurry figure sits over you. 

“Keep it down,” Lloyd sneers, “some of us are trying to eat.” 

“Don’t be a jackass,” Andy barks as he stands behind Dahlia, looming over you both, “if we lose another one, maybe you should just sacrifice the tall one.” 

“Don’t be so fucking dramatic. He was getting kinky--” 

“She’s awake,” Steve looks over at you, his pants still undone but his dick tucked away. 

“Fucking lucky,” Ransom shoves him and sidles through. “Lily pad, you okay down there?” 

You blink at him as Azalea sways nearby, twisting her hand around her finger. You look at the faces you can make out and Dahlia helps you sit up. You nod and rub your temples, wincing as your ass throbs. Oh, yeah... 

“Come on,” Ransom bends over you and hauls you up, “someone send that douchebag to his room.” 

“Who put you in charge?” Steve growls, “not my fault she can’t take it. Maybe you’re getting soft.” 

“Some of us don’t wanna fuck a corpse,” Ransom retorts as he wraps an arm around your back and lifts you. 

“I’m sure you do so much work, pillow princess,” Lloyd cackles from his knees. He has three fingers inside of Zinnia as she continues to squirm and squeal. 

Ransom huffs and carries on past the others. You lean your head against him, blocking out the rest of the room with his body. You can’t look. It hurts even more to see the rest suffer. 

He takes you into your room and elbows the door shut with a quick jerk of his body. He tuts and put you on the bed. You can’t help but curl up, hugging your legs as the ache pulses from within. 

You’re groggy with the aftermath of Steve’s strong hold. You rub your cheek, trying to get some sense back. Ransom paces, a hand on his hip, the other opening and closing in silent monologue. He’s uptight. You haven’t seen him like this. 

“I told him to stop. Fucker. Can’t fucking listen to save his life,” he snarls and stops, facing you as he stomps. “You heard me tell him to quit.” 

You bat your lashes and nod. Slowly, you muster your strength to sit up. You wince as you do. You stay balled up small as Ransom pushes his chin up and heaves once more. You consider him and his frustration; the words from before. How the men constantly battle for control, not just with you but each other. 

“He should listen,” you croak, coughing and rubbing your throat, “they should all listen to you.” 

He lowers his head and looks at you with an arch in his brow. 

“Sir, I’m sorry,” you drop your shoulders. 

“No, what are you saying?” He narrows his eyes. 

“It’s only... Maybe... if you’d been upstairs, you could’ve saved Iris. And... and if they’d all just listen it wouldn’t all be a mess. You always tell them not to... not to go so far,” you temper your words as you speak them, uncertain and yet you think that makes them seem more genuine. “They don’t listen. First Curtis with Violet, now this.” 

You chew your lip as he stares. Your heart pounds in your chest. Does he know what you’re doing? You’ve never been a very good liar. 

“They’re all breaking the rules but didn’t you all agree to them?” 

He comes forward and you fight not to cower away. He reaches for you and you expect a slap or a grope or jab. Instead he strokes your cheek and bends to meet your gaze. He looks you in the face, his blue eyes searching. 

“You know what, lily pad, you’re right,” he sits lightly on the edge of the bed and draws you close. “that’s why I like you. ‘Cause you know better. You listen.” 

He shifts and lays on his side, pulling you with him. You let him. You put your hand on his chest and rest your head on his shoulder. 

“You’re... you’re the only one who doesn’t hurt me,” you say. 

He hums and sucks his teeth, “I know, lily pad.” He exhales and closes his eyes, “this can’t go on. I gotta get these guys in check.” 

You nod and nestle closer. Not because he makes you feel safe. Not because you meant any of it. Because it makes him think you do. That sliver of doubt is under his skin, it will only continue to poke until he has to rip it out. 

[lightlycareless]

I found a picture of Naoya playing the piano and want to show it to you. My fav scene where naoya teaches his wife piano. I love the scene sm 🤭🤭

HIIII how are you!!!!??? Thank you for patience 🥺

Omg thank you so much for sending me this ajkghajgajgs Naoya is a man of many talents, and him using them to brighten your day is 🥺 I'll always hold that scene close to my heart, them bonding together is just 😭 oh, I wish we could have more moments like that.

And we can... I mean, I wrote a little something, like a deviation from what I have planned lol a what if, if you must 😏

warnings: none. fluff. it's based on this fic. now that's a whole can of worms. proceed with caution.

Imagine you deciding to continue your piano lessons after growing somewhat genuinely interested in learning.

After a few sessions you’ve began to show improvement. Sure, you still struggle with certain things, such as jumping from one octave to the other, but anyone could easily admit you were not the same amateur from before.

And yet… there seemed to be something holding you back from taking the next step. You were already a master of twinkle twinkle little star, so why couldn’t you move onto something a bit more difficult?

Well, it was plain simple. Quite obvious, actually, for an outsider that is. Naoya was too blinded by his role as a teacher to even notice.

It was all intentional, made from your desire to keep him close, enjoying the way he’d place his arms around you, his large hands over yours as he guides you into the correct position to play even if you already knew how.

All to keep feeling his breath on your skin, the cologne you now solely associated with him, and you suppose his attention too, especially when you played the shy, tense student that desperately needed the guidance of her sensei.

To voice such ploys made you feel silly, if not selfish, but you didn’t know how to voice your need without feeling embarrassed. You didn’t want to appear needy before a man that is always busy, and yet, here you were, acting as if you’d never seen a piano in your life.

Now, don’t get me wrong, Naoya loves spending time with you, even though seemingly mundane activities. But even he was getting a bit… frustrated with these lessons that were quickly growing repetitive. His perfectionist temperament demanded he’d do everything right, or at least strive for it, naturally extending to you. Obviously for you, the woman whom he wanted to please more than anything in this world.

You showed enough promise, a talent that could be polished if pursued, so why weren’t you advancing?

Was it… him, perhaps? Your actions consequence of his failure as a teacher?

Maybe. Naoya isn’t known for being a particularly good listener, less of an educator. There’s enough witnesses to asses to it.

Your husband just hopes his incapability doesn’t push you away from wanting to learn piano, Naoya would rather die than to cut short these already scarce moments with you.

Though it’s more likely that he’ll do that anyways, a well-prepared teacher appears to be a better alternative.

“… but I don’t get it. Maybe there’s something I’m not seeing.” Naoya frowns, adjusting his position near you and taking your hands with him once more, hoping that it’ll come to him. The solution to your problem.

He sighs when it doesn’t. For the nth time. Maybe he is a bad teacher after all.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I don’t think I’ll be able to teach you anymore.”

“Huh? Why?”

“I’m just having a tough time figuring out how to help you.” Naoya laments. “I may have underestimated my skills.”

You know what they say, the best way to check if you know something is by teaching it to someone else. Something like that, or so he’s heard.

“Don’t say that I think you’re doing great!” You encouraged, looking over to Naoya and his deep frown, evidence of the frustration your little ploy has inflicted on him. Had you known he would be so affected by it you would’ve gone easier with your obliviousness…

And yet, it was endearing to see your impact on him. How hard he was trying to make things work for you—you still couldn’t believe how much of an influence you had on him, even if he’s already proved the lengths he was willing to go to make you happy.

…Like the protective husband he swore to be on your wedding day.

“You don’t have to mock me, mochi” Naoya insists. “I think you’d be better off with an actual teacher if you still want to learn.”

You do, but…

“…I want you.” You murmur, so lowly, so… sweetly, that Naoya had to double check he heard you right the first time around, quickly swirling his head onto your direction, frozen the moment your doe-like, hypnotizing eyes, those he could never get enough of, landed on his, with such intensity that let him know it was all true.

The purpose you were attempting to convey many lessons ago instantly becoming clear to him. The intentions you were too shy to speak out loud, but not enough to sway you from trying, an unknown edge of yours that had him both impressed and absorbed.

One never stops knowing their partner, do they?

What an enthralling thought to have.

“Is that so?” He murmurs back, leaning closer to you. “You’d be fine with someone like me as your teacher, princess?”

“I couldn’t think of anyone… better.” You blush. And though intimidated by his piercing gaze, you persisted. When you once cowered away, you now wished to be the only person his eyes saw.

“Then I guess I’ll have to try harder.”

Maybe it’s because he was within your reach, or because you had enough of going around in circles, whatever it was, you couldn’t hold back anymore; and with the noise of your heart deafening your ears, you lean closer to him, removing the gap between the two and placing your lips over his. Gently, sweetly, like it was your first time, and took him in—sealing your newfound sentiments with a kiss he’s long been dreaming of.

So much that he’s almost in disbelief, remaining still as he tries his best to both contain his excitement, heart ready to burst through his chest, hands itching to pull you closer and keep you there, afraid that the moment he peels away you’ll disappear, just as he’s forced you to through the beginning of this marriage.

Naoya too felt like it was the first time he’s ever kissed anyone—perhaps kissed anyone with love. With that soft warmth he could only label as true love. What he feels for you now, has always been so, and hopefully, you too.

After a few seconds, much to Naoya’s dismay, you’re the first one to separate, slowly pulling away and opening your eyes to the sight of your flustered husband, the adorable face of a man that has dreamed of this day for god knows how long, giving you the impression (alongside a sense of guilt) that maybe you should’ve been a bit more direct with your actions.

Though how everything came to be… wasn’t that bad.

“You didn’t have to go through all that, you know?” Naoya teases, his attempt to cool down the heat on his cheeks. “If you just wanted to kiss me, you just had to say so.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” you joke back, and he smirks, letting out a chuckle. “…But I guess I shouldn’t have wasted your time.”

“Being with you is no waste of time.”

Now it’s your turn to grow speechless, face red, perhaps even more than Naoya’s, due to the vast, unexpected sweetness of his words, and the overwhelming embarrassment it provided you, leading you to cover your face with your hands and making him laugh even louder.

“You don’t need to act this way with me, love.” Naoya says, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close. “We’ve done more… heated things, after all. This is nothing.”

“Oh, stop it! Is that your way of comforting me?!” You gasp, burying your face deeper into his chest.

“It is the truth, love. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.”

“You know well I wasn’t referring to that” you murmur. “…but… do you really feel that way…?”

“I’d give you the whole world if you asked.”

But even if you didn’t, he was going to do so, because he has long sworn in his own life that he’d do everything in his power to make up for all the wrongdoings he’s inflicted upon you. His best to erase the vile acts he did when he called himself your so-called husband.

For as long as it takes, all of his lifetime if so needed, and the next one, and the next one.

“I think I’ll be happy just to hear you play the piano for now.” You eventually add. “If you don’t have anything else to do.”

“I’m all yours today—”

“And...” you interrupt, Naoya blinks.

“And?”

“If I can kiss you again.” You say, shyly looking up to him. “If you want…”

“Hm, I don’t know… you’ll have to convince me.”

“How do I do that?” you tilt your head.

“By giving me a kiss for each time you had me going around in circles.”

With unprecedented speed, you quickly grabbed his face and begging to pepper kisses all over his face, Naoya more than happy that you were, and a bit startled too.

“Wait, Y/N—did you even want to learn how to play??” He rightfully concludes.

“A bit, I guess.” You giggle. “But really I just wanted to be with you.”

Naoya immediately succumbs to your gestures soon after that, putty on your hands as he lets himself be appreciated by the woman of his dreams, the love of his life—the owner of his heart.

Your heart squeezes with longing. Who knew Naoya could be this… adorable? So sweet, you didn’t have the heart to deny him—

Nor would you, setting to live out the rest of your life as his wife.

For good, this time.

I always liked the idea of you being able to feel Naoya's heart. Like, how fast it is beating because of how happy he is with you 🥺 Thankfully I do have another prompt with that exact same situation, though it's a HS au. Also, this is not their fated kiss I owe y'all, I think what I have planned is much better 😏 (or so I hope)

Now, thank you so much for waiting for my answer 🥺 I'm still slowly but surely working through them requests :> I always appreciate whenever you send me something (so don't be afraid of sharing more hehe)

Take care and hope to see you soon!!

[missvelvetsstuff]

No Benefits

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Reader and Bucky are best friends until a drunken hook up. Bucky wants a friends with benefits situation because he doesn't feel ready for a relationship but reader knows that will lead to a broken heart.

Then Sharon Carter comes to work with them.

Notes: Steve and Tony are around but retired, everything else is mostly canon

Chapter 10

Warnings: swearing, angst

Notes: I'm sorry this update took so long. I had a big dramatic scene in the meeting with Nick Fury planned but I wrote and rewrote it for three days and it just never hit right so, hopefully this works.

Lemme know what you think, I live for likes, shares and notes.

Nick Fury landed at the compound late Monday afternoon and went straight into Maria Hill's office to meet for over two hours. He left to go back to his quarters for food and sleep.

Maria immediately logged on to her computer to send a meeting invite to the Avengers for the next morning.

The team discussed the email over dinner in hushed and worried voices. Even Tony and Steve seemed concerned. Sharon was done with her treatment and appeared to be back to her normal self, even if she did act like the ankle monitor she was wearing weighed a ton. There was an ongoing investigation into when Antonia first gave her the serum, before or after Sharon became the Power Broker, so the ankle monitor helped Friday keep track of her and prevented her from going outside of the residence floor, common room and medbay.

Sharon grabbed the seat next to Bucky and was flirting with him, although more subtly than previously. Bucky moved his chair over as far as he could to get away from her until Sam elbowed him in his ribs. Sharon didn't get the hint and tried playing footsies with Bucky until he 'accidentally' kicked her in the shin while still wearing the steel toed boots he had on when he was playing keep away with Sam's shield earlier.

Sharon yelped "What the fuck Barnes? Are you wearing steel toes? You nailed me right in the shin. It's not bad enough that my other leg has that stupid monitor which makes my leg ache, if anyone cares."

Bucky shrugged "Shouldn't have been trying to play footsies." He smirked at her "and, No, no one cares. Maybe deciding to become a crime lord wasn't your best call, huh?"

Sharon shook her head as she felt her face heat up and stammered out "B-b-but I, I w-was just uh st-stretching mmmy legs."

Sam choked on his drink as he tried not to laugh "Fuck! Sorry, went down the wrong way."

Bucky smirked as Sharon glared at Sam then looked down swearing under her breath. "I helped you assholes and ended up an enemy of the state, I should have let Ross deal with all three of you."

Steve cleared his throat and looked at them like a disappointed father whose kids are acting up during dinner, which made Sam laugh out loud.

Tony sighed "Alright children. A little play to ease the tension is fine but this shit is serious. Fury is going to come down on all of us and I don't feel like taking his abuse for something that I wasn't involved with. You!" He pointed at Bucky and Sharon "And Romanoff, are the reason Cookie left so I vote for you taking the brunt of his anger."

Bucky looked down at his plate as he moved the food around. "I know and I plan on accepting responsibility for my part in it. I've been trying to figure out how to convince her to come back but I'm stuck. I'm open to any ideas."

Tony nodded, unconvinced "Riiight, good luck with that.

Well if anyone's interested, Romanoff is still in a holding cell while medical takes care of her. She's reportedly a difficult patient but seems to be improving."

There was a collective groan before Bucky shook his head "Pffft, not interested."

Sam snickered while Steve gave Bucky that dad look again to which Bucky just shrugged. "Well, I don't care. She's caused me too much trouble."

Steve sighed "She was being controlled, Buck. You can't hold her completely responsible."

"Maybe not but that doesn't mean I'm interested in her condition. I'm sure that the medical team will take care of her and it's not my problem. She was being weird even before all this drama. She tried to restart the whatever we had in the Red Room and I don't want her." His face dropped and he muttered sadly "I just want Cookie."

"Right, jerk." Steve looked around "It's getting late, we should all get some rest so we're up to dealing with this meeting tomorrow."

The others nodded and mumbled agreement before getting up to clean and heading to their rooms. Sharon tried again to talk to Bucky but he strode away too quickly for her to catch him.

Bucky tried to sleep but couldn't, like most nights since he pushed Cookie away he laid in his bed staring at the ceiling. Looking at the 'glow in the dark' galaxy and blue twinkle lights that Cookie decorated his room with. She said it was too impersonal and decorated with posters, soft pillows with matching blankets and such. All space related, galaxy patterns. Usually it was calming but not right now.

Now he spent most of his time either in therapy, writing to Cookie or wallowing. Feeling angry at being controlled again, feeling sorry for himself, feeling empty because she wasn't here.

He got up to sit at his desk and write another letter to her. The letters started as declarations of his love and apologies for his actions, whether he was in control of himself or not. Now they were a running commentary of each days events and activities, plus whatever topics branched off from that, like they used to have in the evenings after dinner. They would lay on his bed with his music playing softly, holding hands and staring at the galaxy overhead, talking about their day and whatever else came to mind. Sometimes they had stayed awake talking until the sun came up.

Bucky fell asleep at his desk as he was writing, only to be jolted awake by Friday. An alarm and reminder of the meeting in 1 hour. A hot shower didn't help wake him up so he headed to the kitchen for coffee. He grumbled the entire way, Fury scheduling a meeting at 5am was just cruel and unusual, Bucky knew it was just the beginning of the punishments they would endure until things were set right.

Just to ensure that this day was shit from the gate, the first face Bucky saw was Nat, in the kitchen. He sighed and cursed his luck.

Nat smirked "Morning Barnes, you look like you haven't slept. I can come by later and help tire you out." She practically purred.

Bucky scoffed "Hard pass." Proud of himself for remembering some of the current slang that Cookie had been trying to teach him. As he looked down he noticed Nats ankle monitor and chuckled "Nice jewelry you've got there."

Nat scowled at him "Fuck you, Barnes."

Bucky smirked "In your dreams" as Nat stomped off.

He poured himself a cup of coffee and headed towards the conference room where Steve was already waiting. He grunted a greeting to Steve and took a seat. The rest of the team trickled in until a few minutes before 5 when Nick Fury strode in, Maria Hill following right behind. Tony ambled in shortly after and sat down.

Three hours later, everyones ears were ringing from the yelling. As they walked out of the conference room, Bucky and Sam were arguing over how many times Fury hollered "mother fucker/s" over the course of the meeting.

Sam just shook his head "I've never met a man who could yell for that long without losing his voice." He looked at Bucky then towards Sharon and Nat

"All y'all better get your acts together because if I ever have to sit through 3 hours of being yelled at by Nick Fury for something I didn't do again, someone's gonna pay."

Fury had cancelled all leave, every extra perk the team had and assigned additional training and chore duty. None of them would be having much fun anytime soon.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Every day Cookie came home from work there was another letter from Bucky. She ate dinner alone, staring at the stack of letters, afraid to find out what they said.

Every time she thought about it she started thinking he was ending their friendship for good, then argued with herself that he wouldn't keep writing if that were the case.

On Friday night she sat on the couch eating takeout with the news on in the background. It almost felt like the letters themselves were calling out to her. Once she finished eating she cleaned up her mess and poured a second glass of wine. She sat back on the couch, turned the news off and turned some soft jazz music on before looking at the stack and sighing.

Cookie took a long drink of her wine before finally picking up the first letter. She looked over it for a few minutes, searching for any hint of what was said inside but it was just a plain envelope with Bucky's writing.

She carefully opened it and pulled the papers out. She took another drink to calm her nerves and unfolded the papers, gasping when something fell out, onto her lap. She looked down and her eyes grew wide as she picked up Bucky's dog tags. He never took them off, being one of the few items left from his past, he was very attached to them.

Cookie looked at the tags only to notice a second pair of tags. They were nicer than the set the Army gave Bucky when he enlisted. They had his full name and nickname, birth date with his birthstone and instead of his serial number it said 'Property of Y/N Y/L/N, bka Cookie, please call or return to the Avengers compound.' She laughed and couldn't hold the sob in.

With tears running down past the smile on her face, she put the dog tags over her head, held them against her heart and started reading.

Dear Cookie,

I'm not sure where to start, I have so much to say and the words keep getting mixed up in my head.

I miss you, more than I ever imagined missing someone. This place feels empty and cold without your warmth, your smile lit up my days and now everything seems dark.

I'm so, so sorry for everything, I never wanted to hurt you. I've only ever wanted to love and worship you like the goddess you are.

You probably already found my dog tags, I want you to have them. The other set were kinda meant as a joke but it's true. You own my heart and I think you always will.

I knew, that first day we met, that you were it for me. I know it might not have seemed like it at first but you scared me. The way my body reacted to your simple handshake scared the Hell outta me. I was a mess and you were so beautiful and smart. And caring, patiently waiting for me to come out of my shell. I know you deserve a better man than me but my time with Doctor Raynor has taught me that I do deserve happiness and good things.

The night we spent together was the best night of my life. I was finally feeling like I could be the man you deserve and even if you hate me and never want to speak to me again, I will Always hold the memory of that night, of being with you, making love to you, that feeling that everything is exactly how it's meant to be. I'll never let that go, even if I live another 107 years.

I'm sorry that our bliss was destroyed so quickly but if you let me, if you want to, we can rebuild it into something stronger.....

The letter went on with an update on life in the compound and Bucky's thoughts about everything. Cookie skimmed through that part, Sam had been keeping her updated on the gossip so she barely paid attention.

The letter finished....

I hope you are happy where you are now and I'm sorry for avoiding you. I didn't think I deserved your forgiveness or grace but now, I'm hoping I can earn both and prove to you that nothing is more important to me than your happiness.

All my love,

JBB

Cookie held the letter and dog tags to her chest as she cried herself to sleep, a deep restful sleep like she hadn't experienced in a long while.

@erelierraceala @capswife @ozwriterchick @cjand10 @wintrsoldrluvr @mrsbuckybarnes1917 @browneyedgrli @greatenthusiasttidalwave @hhiggs @dontworryboutitsweetheart-blog @behindmygreyeyes @pattiemac1 @calwitch @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @ordelixx @blackhawkfanatic @casey1-2007 @scott-loki-barnes @selella @hiireadstuff @winterschildren8

Chapter 11

[storydays]

Overture: Part 2

(3rd POV)

*With Charlie*

"Hello? Creepy..." Charlie called into the building as she looked around, walking towards the front desk. "Oh!" Charlie watched as a scroll and quill came in front of her. "Also, creepy." she smiled awkwardly, as she signed her name. A door opened up into a dark room, and Charlie walked in, calling out again, "Hello?" 

" 'Sup." A male voice startled the demoness, making her fall on the floor. "Holy shit!" She yelped. Light had came on to reveal two angels, one sitting and the other standing behind the first. 

Standing up, Charlie pushed her bangs back. "Hi! I'm Charlie, and my brother has sent me to meet you." "Yeah, I know." replied the yellow angel, lazily. "Okay, well, it is nice to meet you." Charlie held her hand out to shake, the angel leaning forward to shake it, "Totally, nice to meet you too." Charlie gasped when her hand passed through his. 

"Ha! I fuckin' got you! DId you fuckin' see that?!" He cackled to the grey angel beside him, who nodded at his answer. "Good shit." He laughed to himself. 

"Uh, so wait, you aren't here?" wondered Charlie. "No, you think I'd come down there?" He laughed again. 

"No, I mean, I love the vibe, totally; I love your tunes. Pretty fuckin' hardcore, don't get me wrong. But it's such a bummer, man. Everything down there, is so..eugh, ya know. Ew." He cringed at the thought. 

"Right..so I'm happy that we got this opportunity to meet! There's a project that I've been working on that I really want to talk to you about--" Charlie eyed the angel as he shushed her.

"Hey, hey, hey, slow down. We got time; how about we get to know each other, mm? How about some lunch? You hungry? I got you!" The yellow angel held up a plate of ribs, offering it to the demoness. "Here's my personal favorite. You'll love it."

Charlie smiled politely. "Um, thanks." As she reached for some, her hand went through it. The angel laughed loudly. "I got you again, bitch! Haha! Fuckin' hilarous! Haha!" The princess laughed sarcastically, annoyed by his childishness. 

*Back at the hotel*

Vaggie had gathered everyone in the main foyer. Angel had his legs on (Y/N)'s lap again, and was enjoying how flustered the prince looked. The blond tried to ignore the spider but was failing miserably. 

"Okay, Charlie's doing something very important, so while she's gone, we are making a new commercial." Vaggie smiled, thinking of her energetic girlfriend, before holding her hand out expectantly. "So, we need  a camera. Alastor?"

The deer demon snapped his fingers and an old fashioned camera meant for photos appeared. "A video camera." snapped the Latina woman. "Hmm." Alastor hummed before giving her the requested item. "Alright, let's do this." Vaggie grinned. 

"Aaand action!" 

" 'Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel. Can I help you?' " Husk read from the script, from where he was standing behind the bar. 

"I've been a bad boy, and I need a big, strong Daddy to put me in my place....on the path to redemption." Angel started sultrily, purposely stretching his body out, showing himself off. (Y/N) snorted behind his own script; that spider was such an idiot sometimes. 

"Well, you come--" Husk started before being interrupted by Angel's moan of , "Oh yes!" (Y/N) started laughing harder, as Husk continued his lines through gritted teeth, "To the right place." 

"Cut!" Vaggie sighed, putting the camera down and turning towards the men. 

"Okay, Angel, I need you to be less horny, if possible.  (Y/N), stop encouraging him. And Husk, can you not have the script right in your face?" Vaggie commented. Husk bristled, clearly angry, "I ain't no act! I can't memorize this shit!" He slapped the paper in his hand as Angel leaned in closer. 

"Well, we could improve this shit, babycakes. Rawrr." The Italian spider purred seductively. 

Husk frowned and pushed the spider into (Y/N) who wasn't even paying attention, and sent both men to the floor. "Oof," grunted Angel as he landed on (Y/N), knocking his glasses off and--

"Fuck, my nuts!" groaned (Y/N), curling in a fetal position. 

 Angel had accidentally kneed him...right where the sun don't shine.

"Whoops." Husk winced; he'd only meant for the spider to get out of his personal space. (Y/N) was really one of the only people he'd gotten along with. "My bad, (Y/N)." 

"I could do something with your nuts, (Y/N)." Angel teased, but shivered when the prince shot a icy glare in his direction. "Or maybe later," he muttered, rubbing (Y/N)'s back soothingly as he waited for the pain to stop.

"Guys, come on." Vaggie sighed, as Husk picked up a bottle and started drinking again. 

*Back with Charlie*

"So I was playing this gig, and for some fucking reason, this virtue chick was diggin' on the drummer and it's like, do you know who I am? I'm fuckin' Adam! I'm the original dick. All dicks descend from me! You think you want drummer dick? No way! I'm the fuckin' dickmaster!" Adam obnoxiously slurped on his ribs before continuing his story. 

"So anyway, we fucked and it was awesome. What'd you do this weekend?" He asked a very bored looking Charlie. 

"Wait, your name is Adam? Like the first man, Adam? That means you--Ohhh, that explains so much." Charlie realized. "I know, I fuckin' rock." Adam sent the princess a 'rock on sign'. "Well, Adam, sir. Mr Adam, sir--" 

"Call me dickmaster." smirked the angel. 

"Adam," Charlie emphasized, clearly done with Adam. "You seem like a smart--well, stand up guy." 

"Uh-huh." Adam agreed as he picked his teeth. 

"And I know you are the leader of the Angel Army and you are a big thinker, a revolutionary, a--a genius," Charlie complimented. 

"I mean your words, babe." Adam was clearly enjoying the compliments. 

"Who would really love to put his name on something." Charlie kept revving Adam up. "Fuckin' love puttin' my name on shit!" Adam stood excitedly. "Shit's the best!" 

Charlie nodded along, "It's a solution to our biggest problem!" 

"Ohh, herpes! Yeah, that's a bitch." Adam cringed. 

"No! Our other biggest problem." The princess tried hinting at again. 

"Oh, uh, ugly people? Math? Global warming? Nah, wait, that's Earth's problem. Umm...." Charlie blinked at the Angel...there was no way he was this stupid, right?

*Back at the hotel*

Niffty giggled as she chased a bug with a giant needle in her hand. "Hehehe, stab, stab, stab!" "Alright, Niffty." Vaggie called before turning to kneel in front of the cyclops. "Niffty. Niffty? Niffty! Your line is, 'We have the cleanest rooms.' Okay?" Niffty nodded excitedly, "Got it! I'm ready!" Vaggie grabbed the camera and started to record. "And action."

Niffty's smile dropped immediately and she zoned out, her pupil shrinking to a little dot. Vaggie stopped recording and lowered the camera,as she, Angel and (Y/N) stared at the cyclops with wide eyes. "Uhh...cut." 

Niffty smiled, "How was that?" "Well Niffty, you have to actually say the line. Let's try again." 

Same results as last time. 

Angel leaned down to whisper in Vaggie's ear, "Yo're doing great Vagina." He whispered, mockingly.  "Cut! Alright, um, maybe we can try to fix it in post." Vaggie thought aloud. "Do you even know what that means?" asked (Y/N).  "I'll figure it out." the white haired woman snapped, not noticing the looks that the two men exchanged. 

Vaggie went into a room and groaned in annoyance as the TV showed a lot of static,and barely audible sound. "Seems like you're having a bit of trouble there, eh?" Alastor grinned as he watched Vaggie. 

"Ugh, este pendejo. " She cursed, before turning to the deer demon. "Why are you even here?"

Alastor sat on the opposite couch of Vaggie, his shadow crouching behind him with a sinister smile. "I came here because I love seeing wasteful souls struggle to accomplish something meaningful and fail spectacularly, like you are doing now! Good job!" He mocked cheerfully. 

Scowling, Vaggie turned the camera on, and started recording, "And here is Alastor, an egocentric piece of shit--" She yelped as the camera shorted out from the demon's power. "I wouldn't try that, my dear. This face was made for radio." His eyes changed into radio dials, his mouth changed to a speaker,and  his body began changing in bendy ways, as voodoo symbols floated around him.

Vaggie narrowed her eye at him. "That's it! I don't care who or what you are. If you're staying here, you are going to make this work. Because it won't be so 'entertaining' to watch over a empty hotel, will it shitass?" She snapped, walking back to her chair. 

Alastor's eyes and smile narrowed before he shrugged. 

"Fair enough. I'll tell you what: let's make a deal." Scoffing, Vaggie flopped back into her seat. 

"You think I'm that stupid? Making a deal with a demon like you?"

"Not for your soul." The Radio Demon rolled his eyes before continuing, "Just a simple deal: I do this for you, and you never ask me to engage with this frivolous television technology again." He narrowed his eyes at the television. "Or...Charlie comes back to absolutely nothing!" The deer dropped the radio effect from his voice as he turned to smirk at Vaggie, "Your choice."

Sighing heavily, the purple demoness agreed. "Fine." She handed the video camera into Alastor's waiting hand, sealing the deal. 

"Now then!" Alastor clapped his hands, and the hotel occupants and a camera crew appeared with equipment. With another snap, the Hotel company were all dressed in outfits from the 1920's. 

"Alright, let's make a fucking commercial." 

*Back with Charlie*

"When you take her out for the fifth time, and she still expects you to pay the check, but you're like, 'Hey, I thought you want equality/'?" Adam mocked a woman's voice.  "NOO! Our shared problem of overpopulation in Hell!" Charlie snapped, a desperate look in her eye.  "Ohh! Well, that's not a problem. We've got that covered. Lute, how many demons did you kill this year?" Adam asked the silent lieutenant. 

"Got a good 275, sir." she replied, coldly. 

"275?! Woah, badass! Awesome job, danger tits! Pound it." The two angels shared a fist bump.  

"Uh, no, that's not awesome! Those are my people, you know that, right?" Charlie stood, worry written on her face. "Ohh, yeah....That must suck for you! Hahaha!" Adam laughed. 

"But these are souls. Human souls, just the same as you have in Heaven." the blonde frowned. "They are not the same." Lute said bluntly, "They had their chance and they earned damnation." 

"You're wrong!" Charlie disagreed. "Sinners made mistakes, sure, but everyone makes mistakes." "ANGELS don't make mistakes." hissed Lute. Charlie crossed her arms, "You really think that?" she raised an eyebrow. 

"I know that." replied the exorcist. 

"Yeah, I've never made a mistake in my fuckin' life." Adam agreed as Lute circled the princess. "The only reason you're still here, is because Daddy gave you and your Hellborn kind, a pardon from an exorcist blade. How's that you feel? To know how little you matter." Lute said coldly, returning to Adam's side. 

"Oops! Almost out of time. Guess we should get into it." Adam sighed lazily. 

"Oh fuck!" Charlie face palmed, and rushed closer to the two angels."Okay, I've got a lot to get through and not a lot of time." Charlie summoned a stack of paperwork. "And I feel like you weren't hearing me before, so here it goes." 

"Awh, shit!" Charlie cursed banging on the door from where she was thrown out.

*Back at the hotel*

Charlie walked into the hotel sadly, before being greeted by her brother, who was sitting at the bar, with paperwork and a another strawberry Daiquiri in front of him, glasses perched on the edge of his nose. 

He looked up at the young woman and smiled, waving his hand to send the paper work away, and taking his drink in his hand, before going over to Charlie. "Hey, sis...how'd it go?" 

As he got closer, he noticed his sister's bubbly demeanor  was gone, "Hey, what's wrong?" 

Charlie opened her mouth before being interrupted by Vaggie hugging her. "Charlie! How'd it go? Did they listen?" Vaggie looked at Charlie hopefully. 

"They sure did...hear it. But um,--" "Oh! Come here! We have something exciting to show you!" Vaggie excitedly dragged Charlie to the living room where everyone was gathered.

"Alastor pulled a few limbs, and it's about to air." (Y/N) grinned as he came to stand in between Husk and the Radio Demon, as Charlie and Vaggie sat on the couch by Niffty and Angel Dust who lounged on the floor.

"I pulled a few limbs, too!" Alastor laughed. (Y/N) shook his head at his antics. 

"Wait, the commercial? You all made a new one?" Charlie asked. 

"Yeah, one of my better performances if I do say so myself." Angel smiled lazily as Charlie teared up, holding her hands over her heart. 

"That's amazing." She said, tearfully, before Angel shushed her. "SHH! It's startin'" He growled. 

On screen, we see the hotel members dressed up; Angel blowing kisses to the camera and at (Y/N) ,who was fighting the urge to blush, before sending smirk at the spider followed by a playful middle finger. Husk was drinking his cheap booze, Niffty staring at the camera, and Alastor wasn't even facing the camera, and glitching slightly.

Vaggie smiled at the camera, "Welcome to the Hazbin Hot-" Suddenly, it was cut off to reveal a news story. 

Vaggie and Angel both shouted in their native languages at the TV and the royal demons' eyes changed to their demon form eyes, both barring their teeth in anger. 

"Breaking news in Hell today! We have just received  word from the Heaven Embassy that the next extermination is happening sooner than ever before! Do you know what that means, Tom" asked the female reporter, turning to her co-host. 

"What does that mean, Katie?" Tom asked with a head tilt. 

"It means we are all royally fucked." Katie replied as the screen showed the clock changing the days to 176. 

"Wait, what? Why" demanded Angel.

"Charlie...." (Y/N) turned towards his sister, "That'd be the kind of thing that's important for me to know before hand." "Sorry, got distracted by the commercial." Charlie sighed, placing her head in her hands in dismay.

*meanwhile*

A angelic hovercraft was scanning over the rummage of the remains of the extermination. 

"We found the body, sir. They've never managed to kill one of us before. We should just go down there now and destroy them!" Lute hissed, her wings fluttering in anger. 

"No,no. We can't risk them catching on. But don't worry, when we come back, there won't be a demon alive to pull a stunt like this again!" Adam yelled, smashing the projector, before smiling wickedly.

*With (Y/N)*

With a groan, the prince of Hell flopped back onto a couch. Bending over paperwork for hours on end, did nothing for his back. 

Fuck, he was only 225, why did his back hurt so much?

(Y/N) sighed, closing his eyes as the little cat from earlier came over, and curled up on his arms, purring loudly. 

"Hey, KeeKee. Hey pretty girl," he cooed, running his hands over the cat's soft fur.

"Ugh, my back." He groaned, feeling his muscles protest at the movement.

"Hey, sweetcheeks." A voice purred in his ear, making him lazily open his violet eye to peek at the spider who grinned widen seeing he had his attention. 

"Mm, not now, Angel, my back his killing me."

"Oh, as much as I'd love to take you in position, big daddy, I was actually coming to offer another one of my services." Angel held up a bottle of oil. "Being bent over something for a long time can really be hard on the back. Lemme help?" 

(Y/N) eyed the spider, looking for any of his usual antics, but found sincerity. "Okay, let's go to my office. I have a spare bed, for nights I don't feel like going to my room." He used his magic to transport himself and the spider, before lazily walking to the space bed.

Angel looked around the office, smiling softly at all the photos of the prince and his family. "Take your shirt off, and lay on your belly. Don't worry, I'll be careful with your wings." He waited patiently for (Y/N) to take his shirt off, smiling as he took in the view of the blond's body, clearly he took care of himself.

"No funny business." (Y/N) said, groaning softly at the pain in his back. "No funny business," agreed Angel before he straddled (Y/N)'s butt, causing him to blush slightly. "Um, what--" "I won't be able to properly massage you from the side. I swear, no funny business. Just wanted to help ya," Angel waited until (Y/N) nodded. 

Angel poured the massage oil in his ungloved hands, all four, and warmed it up in his hands, before getting to work.

(Y/N) sighed softly, enjoying as the Italian spider worked out his sore muscles, being sure to include the demon's wings as well. 

"Thanks, Angel."

"Qualunque costa per te, bambola." 

(Y/N) smiled to himself, deciding to keep the fact that he knows every language in the world to himself as Angel hummed an old song from his childhood. 

The two sat in silence as unaware as Charlie closed the door, smiling, letting the two be.

'They would be so cute.' she grinned to herself. 

[whenrainhitsmyskin]

Five Times Bakugo Katsuki Fell in Love with You

pairing: bakugo katsuki x reader

word count: 7.2k

summary: He doesn’t really know when it first happened, the longing looks in your direction, holding doors open for you, or making sure he attended your shared groups movie nights when he knew you would be there, but he does remember the first day violent butterflies swarmed his gut and attacked him from the inside.

warnings: mentions of blood and injuries, talk about anxiety, hospitalization, emotional vulnerability, so much fluff it’s sickening.

The First Time

During the first semester of their second year at UA, Mr.Aizawa had begun instructing more hand-to-hand combat training exercises. It started with demonstrations from the pros and some lessons, and then finally the real deal, to put their learning into practice. 

Aizawa had put together partner rotations, first starting out with people around the same weight class or height, but as the lessons went on the partners became mismatched so the class could learn how to fight someone smaller and more nimble than them or taller with a longer arm reach.

Today, Bakugo was paired up with Mineta, the small fry of the class. Although he always was very serious and dedicated to hands-on hero training, he couldn’t help but take it easy for the day considering he was way out of his competition's caliber.

And he guesses this also caused him to be more distracted than usual as well, considering he usually never lost focus, but today must be an exception when he can’t keep his eyes away from you and your training partner Kirishima. He turns in your direction as soon as he hears you raise your voice at the red head.

“What the hell are you doing Kirishima?” You ask with your hands on your hips staring at Kirishima, who is sitting on the mat in front of you.

“What do you mean y/n? I’m not doing anything?” He asks.

“Why are you going so easy on me, huh?” You shout, lifting him by the collar of his gym uniform. It’s like watching a bad car crash and not being able to look away. By this time the whole class and Mr.Aizawa had stopped what they were doing to get an understanding of what was going down.

“I swear I'm not man!” Kirishima explains, he looks mildly scared even though he’s a few inches taller and his biceps are probably double the size of your own, “You just got the jump on me.”

“Bullshit Kirishima, hand-to-hand combat is basically your specialty considering your quirk is better in close range.” You let him go with a small push, Bakugo swears he can see steam coming out from your ears, “I saw you beat Midoriya multiple times the other day, and I didn’t win against him once last week, so stop going easy on me, it’s not doing either of us any good.”

He would laugh if he couldn’t see how fucking serious you were, calling out one of your closest friends on his bullshit in front of everyone, even though he’s the nicest person in the class. He’s impressed, although he would never admit that.

“She’s right, Kirishima.” Mr.Aizawa cuts in, “This training is supposed to help everyone improve, so fight her like you would a real opponent. Now everyone get back to work!”

That’s what gets Bakugo to finally snap out of his daze from you and back to sparring.

The Second Time

The class was sent away to different locations to complete the practical part of their midterm for their second year. The goal of the exercise is to retrieve the dummy “civilian” from the pro hero who is acting as the “villain”. Class 2A has been split up into several teams, which is why Bakugo just can’t seem to wrap his head around how he is stuck with the Dunce Face who never fails to irritate him, the Icy-Hot bastard that is constantly getting on his nerves with everything he does and then there's…you, the only one apart of this shitty team he can kind of tolerate.

The “villain” his shitty group was up against is a holder of an animation quirk, who can bring inanimate objects to life. It’s already been proven to be a real pain in the ass considering every bush, rock and flower has been coming at them from every angle.

It’s around 1am and everyone is cold and exhausted, so the group decided to set up camp for the night. Himself, you and Todoroki were resting while Denki was meant to stay on watch, but he abandoned his post in favor of peeing somewhere deeper into the woods, which is when the villain decided to animate nearly every tree surrounding their camp site.

Bakugo woke up to the sounds of rustling and a violent scream from your mouth. The three of you start fighting back. How did nobody notice the trees were being animated? And where the hell is Dunce Face? 

He’s probably taken down about a fourth of them himself by the time he hears Sparky running back behind him.

“What the hell happened?” Denki screams, as he joins in on the fight.

“You weren’t doing your damn job Sparky, that’s what happened!” He berated him. Just before Bakugo was going to take down the next one, he noticed your quirk getting weaker, and you were taking longer to defeat the enemy than you should.

“Take this last one!” Bakugo commanded, in order to make this way over to you. 

“On it!” Denki said from a distance.

Bakugo quickly jumped in front of you and took down the last tree, Denki and Todoroki finished off their own as well.

“That one was mine, asshole.” You say, sounding winded. 

“Yeah, well it looks like ya needed the help.” He responds, and that’s when he finally gets a better look at your injury. 

The sight is absolutely gruesome, there’s a nasty gash in the middle of your thigh that’s definitely going to need stitches and recovery girls help, the blood is dripping down the span of your whole leg and onto the grass.

“Oh my god…” He says, not able to take his eyes off of it. You end up following his line of sight and look down. Your eyes widen when you finally see it.

“Oh shit.” You say, lowering yourself to the ground. He can see tears start to prick your eyes as Todoroki and Denki make their way over to you.

“Everything okay?” Todoroki asks, squatting down next to you, “That doesn’t look good.”

“Yeah, no shit moron!” Bakugo points out.

“Oh my god I can’t look!” Denki says, putting his hands over his mouth, “I’m gonna be sick.”

“Do it somewhere else.” Todoroki says, seemingly disgusted.

“You guys are the absolute worst!” Bakugo says in an aggravated tone, “This is all on you Sparky!”

“Everyone shut up!” You yell, Bakugo can see you trying to work something out in your head, a moment later you finally voice what you’ve come up with, “Denki get me your water bottle and-fuck, Bakugo, I need you to put pressure above the wound, lots of it and Todoroki rip off both of your sleeves.”

Bakugo thinks you seem pretty calm for someone that could potentially bleed out at any moment, given that a major artery could have been hit. He determines it is probably a mix of shock and the adrenaline from the fight.

He lowers himself to the ground and puts both hands above your upper thigh, using lots of pressure like you said to do.

“Fuck, we need to call off the mission and get you to a doctor y/n.” He says, his voice wavering, as Todoroki hands over the torn off sleeves and the water Denki retrieved, who is now standing a few feet away.

“Absolutely not, we are gonna carry on with the mission and pass this final.” You say sternly, grabbing the mask right off of Bakugos head and ripping it. You push his hands off of you and tie the mask tightly around where his hands once were.

“Don’t be so stubborn, we can’t-“ He begins.

“Well fucking deal with it!” You say as you begin pouring water on one of the sleeves, “I’m not going anywhere until we pass, I’ll be fine. Now I need you to clean this thing.”

He gives you a hard look and then does what you say. He pats the wound and tries to clean it out as much as he can. You hiss out in pain and fist the grass underneath your palms, he hears Denki gagging in the back.

“Okay-okay that’s good.” You say, he pulls the cloth away and watches you tie the dry sleeve around the wound, he supposed you must have learned more in that Health and Safety class than he did. 

“Well, what now?” Todoroki asks, awaiting your response.

“We go get that dummy, get the hell out of here and pass the exam.” You state with conviction, he can’t tell if you're trying to trick yourself into believing it, or if you are fully confident. You reach your hand out to Bakugos own, “Now help me up.” 

Bakugo grabs onto the hand you are holding up and swings your arm around his shoulder, trying to relieve you of some of the weight you would normally be using on that leg. The group starts heading to the location where the dummy is supposedly located. Denki and Todoroki are a few feet in front of the two of you, but he can make out the faint sound of their whispers and catches them glancing back a few times.

“Thanks.” You sigh, you sound tired and worn out and he thinks you look slightly pale, but he knows if he even attempts to call off the mission you would probably try strangling him to death.

“You did good.” He says, thoughts slipping out, “You stayed really calm in a high stress situation. It’s…impressive.” There’s a pause filled by only your silence, he’s worried he caught you off guard with such a direct compliment, considering he’s probably never given you one before.

“Yeah, well if I wasn’t going to help myself, who would?” You ask.

“Me, it obviously wouldn’t be either of those two idiots.” He doesn't think the two of you have ever talked this much without other people being involved. He guesses you’re just trying to keep your mind off of your injury, he reasons talking with you in favor of passing this exam.

“You got some of the worst scores in our medical training class because you claimed it wouldn’t be useful to you.” You chuckle, giving him a look, unfortunately for him, he looks back.

You’ve got a small smile gracing your lips, even though you’re probably in an immense amount of pain. But what he really can’t wrap his head around is the fact that you’re smiling at him. Why does he even care?

“Yeah well maybe I’ll brush up on it.” He says, his ears are burning, and his heart is beating faster than it probably should be, considering the fight ended over twenty minutes ago.

The Third Time:

When Mina asked him before dinner if he wanted to watch a movie tonight with their shared friend group, he wasn’t all that interested. He would much rather get to bed at a decent time, wake up early tomorrow and use their one day off to study for Monday's Hero History exam.

“No, I'm not watching another shitty movie.” He says, grabbing his plate of food and sitting down at the common room table, right across from you, a recent development in the class's seating arrangements.

“Oh, come on! They aren’t that bad.” She says, taking a seat next to you, “y/n, movie night, are you down?”

“Yeah of course!” You say, seemingly excited to spend the night with your friends, “As long as Sero doesn’t choose it this time. Are you gonna join us Bakugo?”

He pauses, he can’t remember a time where you directly invited him to something before. He thinks you look sincere, and your question makes it seem like you actually want him to be there. Why does he care if you want him there or not?

“Fine, whatever.” He begrudgingly agrees and continues eating his meal.

“Okay cool.” You say, he notices the smile on your face when you speak.

Meanwhile, Mina's jaw is on the floor when she stares between the two of you, but eventually it turns into a sly smirk.

About an hour after dinner everyone meets in the common room for movie night, he notices that most of the class is there, taking up nearly all the space on the couches, besides the one to the far right where Sero, Mina and Kirishima are sitting. Bakugo sits on the edge closest to the tv, leaving space between him and Mina.

He looks around the room. On the couch across from him is Denki, Jirou, Yaoyorozu, Ojiro and Shoji and on the center couch across the tv is Todoroki, Asui, Uraraka and Deku with an empty space next to him. He notices that you aren’t anywhere in the common room like you were supposed to be.

Almost as soon as Sero starts the movie, he sees you getting out of the elevator with Shinsou, the pair of you are laughing. He sees you’re wearing pajamas, frilly little shorts and a sweatshirt, he thinks it's kind of cute.

The two of you make your way into the common area, still talking and giggling, he doesn’t like it and he is unable to pinpoint why. Shinsou splits off and sits next to Deku and you slot yourself into the seat next to your best friend and him.

“Anything happened yet?” You ask, not really to anyone in particular, but he takes it upon himself to answer.

“No, just started.” He says, watching you grab a blanket from a nearby basket, “You’re late.”

“Yeah, I wanted to get ready for bed so I don’t have to after the movie.” You say. He just grunts in response and brings his attention to the screen. 

Once you get situated in your seat, he realizes just how crammed the small couch is, your legs are brushing against each other and he swears he can feel your breath, causing bumps to arise on his skin.

About halfway through the movie, which consists of sharks coming out of a tornado-seriously, who lets Sero pick the movie every time?-, he feels your body weight shifting on the couch to get comfortable, and your knee ends up hitting the top of his thigh.

“Oops, sorry.” You apologize to him in a whisper, he feels you trying to move away, but are unable to since Mina is right up against you.

“It’s alright.” He says, turning from the tv and looking at you instead, “Don’t mind.” He can see you start to get red in the face.

“Oh…” Is all you manage to let out in response, he gives you a hard look, your face exudes embarrassment, seeing as you are looking everywhere but his direction. He finds it within himself to turn his attention back to the movie, he wishes he could have seen the adorable expression on your face just a little bit longer.

With just a few minutes left of this god-awful movie, he feels your head hit his shoulder, he goes as stiff as a board and his stomach drops at the foreign feeling. He turns his head and see’s you knocked out by tiredness and unfortunately for him, he can also see Mina and Kirishima giggling, he mouths “shut up” to them.

When the movie credits finally start to roll, everyone begins making their way up to their respective rooms. Denki gives him a thumbs up as he walks away, making Bakugo unironically slap his forehead, not knowing what to do about you sleeping on him. 

After the common room is completely cleared out and he looks at the clock and sees how late it is, he finally builds up the courage to wake you up. He pokes you in the forehead to start. All you do is stir a little in your sleep but nestle into him further and get more comfortable. 

“Oh my god.” He says under his breath, “Time to get up.” He shakes his shoulder to move your head and then he tries nudging your own, but still no luck. He realizes you sleep like a fucking rock, and he is probably just going to have to carry you to your bed. He scoops you up in his arms and gets into the elevator. He arrives on the fourth floor where the both of you reside and if he remembers correctly, you are the last room on the girl’s side of the hallway.

He opens the door to your room, and it looks a lot different than what he would have expected. A lamp emits a soft light on the nightstand next to your unmade bed, which has gray sheets and a green blanket, an abundance of live plants sitting on the windowsill, your school books are piled up on your desk and a hanging black punching bag in the corner across from your closet, clothes and other items are hazardously thrown across the span of your floor. He’s surprised at how messy it is, considering how organized your thoughts and ideas are projected.

As soon as he lays you carefully down on your bed you stir awake. Of course, that’s the one thing that will wake you up.

“Bakugo?” You ask and look at your surroundings, “What are you doing in my room?”

“You fell asleep downstairs and nothing I did seemed to wake you, so I carried you.” He says, standing awkwardly at the side of your bed as you sit up and rub your eyes.

“Oh, well thanks.” You say, he takes a look at you, and he thinks you look kind of cute when you're all sleepy, and that's when he sees the long and jagged scar on your leg that was left on you as a result of last semester's final exam. When you finally open your eyes again, you catch him staring it at.

“Yeah, I know, it’s really ugly.” You state, with a pout on your face, you rub your thumb against it, like you're trying to erase the scar.

“Shit, I’m sorry.” He says with a confused look on his face when he sees tears form a glassy sheen over your eyes, “Didn’t mean to stare.”

“It’s fine.” You say in a tone colder than he has ever heard you use. He can’t wrap his head around on why you’re so upset about the once damaged skin that is now healing on you. Had he done something else to offend you? Did his staring make you insecure about your skin? He racks his brain, trying to come up with something, anything, that could possibly help make you feel better.

“It’s just skin.” He tells you how it is, he doesn't know why he felt the need and desire to say something, “All scars are just skin.” He finally looks at your face and you look like he just rewrote the stars for you, with just a few short words. You look back down at your leg, seemingly in a different light.

“Yeah, just skin.” You repeat him.

“Right. Goodnight y/n.” He says, before going to exit your room. He closes the door behind him and lets out a deep breath. He touches his pulse, its fucking racing, his skin feels like its buzzing.

The Fourth Time:

The third year at UA for the hero course students consists more of hands-on experience through their work studies, rather than being in the classroom. Because of this it’s rare for the class to be there all together, when everyone is out doing their own things for their respective agencies.

Today, Bakugo, Midoriya and Todoroki were called into Endeavours agency for a meeting on an upcoming mission. The first person Bakugo notices when he walks into the conference room is you, to his surprise, seated next to Miriko, who you do your work study with. After him, Deku and Todoroki walk in and the door closes behind him, you take a glance over your shoulder and your eyes meet his own. You give him a smile and a short wave.

His face feels hot, and his neck is sweating, he pulls at the constricting collar of his school uniform, in an attempt to keep it from sticking to him. How is it that even the smallest of friendly gestures you make towards him has him feeling this pathetic?

He sees Deku pulling out the chair next to you to sit down, but before he can, Todoroki grabs him by the shoulders and moves him to the next seat over, causing Bakugo to sit next to you. He thinks the act is strange, but Icy-Hot is one of the strangest people he has ever met, so it adds up.

When Bakugo sits down next to you, he can see you looking at him from the corner of his eye, he fidgets with his thumbs under the table, he blames it on nerves for the upcoming mission and not the attention you have on him.

The plans for tomorrow's mission are all drawn out and prepared to be executed. The Pro’s take their leave in a hurry due to their busy schedules and Deku and Todoroki booked it out of there suspiciously fast as well. He stands up from his seat and notices that you are also.

“I was surprised when Miriko told me we were meeting at Endeavors Agency today,” You say to him, “I never thought we would be paired up for a mission together.”

“It’s weird they have such an uneven ratio of pros to students, makes me think this is going to be an easy one.” He responds. He reaches the door handle and before he can even think about it, he holds it open for you to go through first. He mentally slaps his forehead, for such an obvious gesture by his standards.

“Yeah, I really hope so.” You say with a smile on your face.

The next day rolls around, and the mission is finally a-go. Bakugo and you have been stationed on the roof of another building to stake out the old manufacturing warehouse where there have been reports of illegal drug and weapon distribution. 

They haven't been given any details on how many villains there are or what kind of quirks they have, so the mission needs to be treated with caution, hence the stake out, that has been going on for nearly two hours to see when the van's leave. That time mainly consisted of small talk between the two of you and building a strategy.

The first sign of movement is the back door opening up, three people with cargo loading up three different vans. He eyes you touching your earpiece.

“Miriko, they are loading up the vans with the contraband, what's the move? Do we stop them from taking off?” You ask for command.

“Negative, let them get far enough away where they can’t receive backup, but not too far where they will reach a heavily populated area.” She responds, her voice is a little staticky, but just clear enough to make out.

The pair of you turn towards one another and give each other a nod. Once the vans depart the two of you are off, jumping from building to building, to keep up with them, Bakugo takes a second to look back and sees the other teams heading into the building.

“I’ll get the one in front and you take the last one, ready!” He pauses, “Now!”

The both of you land on two separate vans, Bakugo kicks the front windshield open and throws the villain out the car door, he grabs onto the wheel, slams on the brakes and puts it in park, causing the vehicle to come to an abrupt halt. He gets out, pins the villain to the ground and restrains him with quirk prohibiting handcuffs. 

He turns around and sees the van you were assigned to has been flipped over onto its side, and you are fighting the villain that was in the middle van, you’re putting up a good fight, but that doesn't discourage him from running over to assist you. The two of you start tag-teaming him, but its nearly fucking impossible to get a good hit because his body keeps disappearing and reappearing right before his eyes.

He hears the sound of metal being split in half behind the two of you, so he takes a look in the direction he hears it coming from. He sees a villain holding some type of hand-held machine pointed directly at you. The villain presses a button and all of a sudden, his feet are taking him in your direction, and he ends up on the other side of an extremely powerful blast of air. 

It has him skidding down the road a few meters, throwing his body against the concrete. His ears are ringing, and his vision is blurry, he feels like he can’t breathe. He can just barely make out the sound of your voice and your blurry figure taking down and detaining the other two villains. And then you're rushing over to him. You fall on the ground, press on your earpiece and scream to whoever may be listening on the other end of it, it sounds like he’s under water. 

“I'm sorry, I'm so sorry Bakugo.” You put his head on your lap, you brush back his hair with one hand and put the other on the left side of his chest. You start crying, tears fall onto his skin, he feels your hands shaking, “You shouldn’t have done that for me, what-what were you thinking?”

He tries sitting up to get a better look at you, but his chest and ribs ache so bad he’s unable to, he hisses in pain and gives up. Instead, he says your name and covers the hand that’s on his chest with his own.

“It’s like holding a door open for ya, didn’t even have to give it a thought.” He says, and before you can even process his words or give him some words in return, exhaustion finally takes over him and everything fades out.

The next thing he knows, he’s stirring awake to an irritating beeping sound in the most uncomfortable bed he has ever had the displeasure of laying on. The air smells sterile and that’s how he concludes the beeping is probably coming from a heart monitor and he is currently laying in a hospital bed. The first thing he sees when he opens his eyes is Icy-Hot, who is standing at the foot of his bed and squinting at him.

“Guys he’s awake.” Todoroki alerts the others in the room. Bakugo tries finding his voice, but his throat is too dry and they won’t come out.

“Oh good!” Midoriya says, sitting up from the chair against the wall, “How are you feeling Kacchan?”

He points to the water bottle on the bedside table, Deku hands it to him, he takes a large sip, then two, then three and next thing he knows the whole thing is gone.

“M’fine, how did the rest of the mission play out?” He asks, more concerned for the villain's arrest than his own physical being.

“It went well, we arrested the villains inside of the warehouse and thanks to you and y/n, a good portion of the drugs and weapons never got distributed!” Midoriya chimes, and that's when he sees you over Todoroki’s left shoulder, looking out the window. Your eyes are a little red and your face is puffy, he wonders how long you had been crying for.

“Hey Midoriya, you and I should probably go find the doctor.” Todoroki says.

“Oh okay sure.” Deku responds. They make their exit out of the room and the door closes behind them. Bakugo sits up on the bed and leans against the frame. You still haven’t looked or said anything to him, which is weird because anytime one of your classmates gets injured you always rush to their aid and attempt to comfort them.

“Well, it seems like the mission went accordingly.” His pathetic attempt at making some kind of small talk with a little more substance. All you do is scoff at his words. “The mission is over, we won, what’s wrong with ya?” “Really, what’s wrong with me? The hell is your problem, Bakugo?” You ask, that’s all it takes for you to finally look his way, even though you are kind of half-yelling at him, that's all he really wanted.

“I am just fine y/n, you're the one that’s sulking right now.” He fights back because he thinks it’s what you need right now. The only way most people can get you to reveal your true feelings is by getting you fired up.

“I’m not sulking!” You move to the side of his bed and start talking with your hands like you always do when you’re passionate about something, “You’re the one that nearly got themself killed out in the field today.”

“What, so you're mad I took a hit? So, what, it happens all the time, get over it.” He says with a roll of his eyes.

“No-no, that's not, that's not what I’m talking about Bakugo.” You say, awaiting a response from him. All he does is shrug his shoulders, when you realize you aren't getting a proper response you continue, “You-you took the hit for me, why would you put yourself in danger like that?” He sees your eyes start to water, but no tears fall. They sit there at the brim of your waterline ready to release everything pent up inside. He supposes his heart sort of feels the same way. Ready to unleash every emotion that has been stored up inside for so long, yet there is still something holding it back. Maybe he’s embarrassed or thinks it’s unnecessary, which is probably how you are feeling about releasing your tears at this moment.

“Cause I didn’t want you to get hurt, dumbass. You wouldn’t have been able to brace for the impact, but I was because I knew it was gonna happen, it would have hurt you worse than me.” He says, but what he really means is that it was because he cares more about your comfort and safety than his own. He sees you mulling over his words, processing everyone individually and trying to interpret exactly what he means.

“Fine, I can accept that. I have a question for you though, what did you mean when you said-” You are abruptly cut off to the sound of the door opening. The doctor, Deku and Icy-Hot walk in, much to Bakugos displeasure.

“Glad to see you are up Bakugo!” The doctor says, flipping through his papers attached to the clipboard he’s holding, “Your parents are on their way, but before they get here, I want to run some additional testing. You three should probably head back to UA, Bakugo is likely to return by tomorrow morning if all is well.”

The doctor ushers the three of you to the door, he watches you cross the room and get ready to close the door behind you, but before you do, you give him a small smile, the tears at your waterline are gone.

The Fifth Time:

As a last hurrah before the school year comes to an end, class 3-A decided to go on a camping trip for a three-day getaway. The class started by loading all their supplies off the charter bus and completed their three-mile hike to the camping ground they rented out. Everyone stayed busy until the early afternoon setting up their tents, getting logs for the fire pit, finding the bathhouse and scoping out the nearby lake.

When everyone was just about to get settled in, Mr.Aizawa reminded everyone that UA was only able to grant this excursion because he promised the class would be doing some endurance training while they were there. So, the class was ordered to go on a run on one of the trails. Little did they know it was by far the longest one there and it took them until the sun was about to start setting to complete. 

“Good job everyone, now head to the showers you all reek,” Mr.Aizawa says, covering his nose slightly, “Once you're all done everyone will help with dinner preparations.” 

Once the class is dismissed and everyone takes turns cleaning up, Iida takes it upon himself to assign everyone jobs, so the preparations go smoothly.

“Shoji, Koda and Tokoyami you will be in charge of setting the tables, Sato, Tsu, Kirishima and Bakugo are on grilling duty and y/n, Hagakure, Todoroki and I will be doing food preparation!” Iida announces, Bakugo eyes Todoroki and him talking with one another, “Actually I'll have Todoroki and Bakugo switch places, in the name of efficiency! Everyone else is in charge of setting up the campfire.” Bakugo walks over to his assigned station and sees you and Hagakure unloading the groceries onto the pop-up table, he slots himself in the space to the left of you and takes an extra bag from your hands. He pulls out a few eggplants, zucchini and shishito peppers.

“Well, what do we start with?” He asks, not really to anyone in particular.

“I was thinking that Hagakure could rinse off the vegetables while I scrub them and then you can chop and then you hand them to Iida so he can season them.” You say.

“That sounds like a very efficient plan y/n.” Iida praises you; Bakugo can’t tell if you're blushing at Glasses, or if it's just the sun, he’s hoping it's the latter.

When the four of you begin, Hagakure, you and Iida begin easy conversation, he finds himself unable to partake in most of it because every time you pass him another vegetable your fingertips brush is own. It has his brain short-circuiting and he’s unable to comprehend what exactly is being talked about, which is proven to be problematic when you ask him a question that he doesn’t know the context to.

“Bakugo, are you gonna join?” You ask him, he can tell you’re looking at him, waiting for an answer, but he just keeps his focus on chopping.

“Join what?” He responds.

“We're all gonna hang out by the lake tomorrow!” Hagakure says excitedly, “Were you seriously not listening that whole time?” 

“Yeah whatever, I’ll be there.” He responds.

“Good, I'm glad.” He hears you say almost in a whisper. He pauses his movements and takes a look at you, your face is beat red, and he thinks your hands look a little shaky, but then he realizes his are too and he tightens his grip on the knife. 

Once dinner is done and the sun has fallen, everyone gathers around the campfire to roast marshmallows and hang out. By this point there’s multiple conversations happening and it’s all a little difficult to keep track of, besides the one he sees you and Shinsou having.

You’re leaning closer to him in your seat and then Shinsou says something you find particularly funny, it has your shoulders jolting, eyes watering and a big smile on your face. He hates it. Not because you are smiling, but the fact that it’s because of someone else and not him that he finds an issue with it. He needs it to stop, or he might go crazy, so he walks over to your seat.

“Come get more firewood with me.” Is all he says before he’s walking away, he hears you following behind him almost immediately, “You and Shinsou seem awfully close.”

“Uh yeah I guess so?” You sound estranged, “I mean we are friends.”

 All he does is grunt in response as he begins cutting some firewood. He can feel the jealousy radiating off himself, he hopes you can’t. When he hands you a piece of wood you speak up again.

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t care.”

“Well then why did you ask?”

“Why are you reading so far into this, huh?” He fights back, “I don’t care if you two are together, it was just a statement. Now get over it.”

He sees your entire demeanor has changed. Your shoulders have slumped, your face has fallen, and you have turned away from him. You look like he’s just killed your dog. He goes back to cutting firewood and once you have gathered all you can carry, you storm off, back to the fire pit he supposes. When he gets there a few minutes after you, he sees you aren’t there, and neither is Mina.

“Bakugo, what happened?” Todoroki asks him.

“Nothin’ happened; the hell are you talkin’ about.” He says back, with a little bite to his words. 

“She came back without you, so Mina asked where you were, and y/n just walked away. She looked pretty upset.” Todoroki responds. Bakugo’s heart drops to the pit of his stomach, did his words really affect you this much?

“Like I care.” His words betray his heart, “I’m going to bed.”

He unzips the tent and crawls into his sleeping bag. Unfortunately for him it’s a restless night, filled with tossing and turning, and feeling regretful for his heart fleeing so far.

The next afternoon, the entire class spends the day hanging out by the lake. Some of the class is playing beach volleyball, a few people are swimming, some others are tanning on the sand and then there's you, making a point of talking to every guy in the class besides him. 

He pretends not to notice the way you laugh at nearly everything Denki says to you, he ignores the fact that you asked Ojiro to help you get some more towels for the rest of the class, he tries to forget the hug you gave Sero after he scored the winning point in the volleyball match.

However, the one thing he cannot get over is that he knows you are doing all of this because of him, it’s his own fault, he thinks the torture is deserving. But what he doesn’t deserve is that you look so good hurting him. The sun brings out the color in your cheeks, the bikini top and shorts you are wearing compliments your skin and you look happy, being around everyone other than him. 

The rest of the day is spent in agony, and it follows him even when his head hits the pillow. He can't stop thinking, his thoughts are running rampant. So, he sneaks out of the tent, trying not to wake up Kirishima and walks over to the dock. He sits down and takes a deep breath. He looks at where the darkness of the sky and the lake meet. It isn’t hard to see because of the soft glow the moon is casting overhead.

He is left there, sitting with his thoughts, trying to find some sort of solace when he hears the creaking wooden floorboards behind him. He probably woke Kirishima in the process of leaving, and he knows the red head is too good of a friend to not go searching for him.

“Hey.” He hears, but it’s coming from a voice much to feminine to be Kirishimas, he sees you lowering yourself to sit next to him, your feet are dangling above the water, and you lean back on the palms of your hands, “What are you doing out here?” “Nothin’.” He sighs, he doesn’t have the heart to say why. All you do is hum in response and look out at the lake with him. Just for a second there’s a comforting silence between the two of you, but it is soon disrupted when his chest starts feeling tight and violent butterflies swarm his gut. 

His heart rate is picking up and he’s starting to sweat, but he knows the sun isn’t to blame this time. It's you. The only one capable of making him feel like this. It’s intense and anxiety inducing, and he can’t imagine there will ever be a day where this goes away. He needs to get rid of it, so he thinks a swift confession and quick rejection will be the remedy.

“y/n.” He starts with your name, easy and familiar, the sound draws your eyes to his own, “I’m gonna tell you something and-and it’s okay if you don’t say what I want to hear or if you have nothing to say at all.” 

Your eyes go wide, and he gives you a hard look, he lets out a deep breath and finally unravels is heart like he has been wanting to do for so long now

“I don’t know how or when it started, but every time I see you, I want to see you more. I like seeing you smile, but I really like it when it’s because of me. Your determined, smart and so fucking pretty that even a complete idiot could see it.” He lets out a deep breath and his eyes are covered with a glassy sheen, all you do is look at him, “And I know you don’t feel the same, but I needed to say it so you can put an end to this feeling that I have every time I'm around you.”

“Bakugo…” You say his name and the corners of your lips are turning up, “You actually feel that way about me? This isn’t a joke?”

“Why the hell would I joke about this?” He scoffs, turning away from you and back towards the lake.

“I don’t know. Maybe, maybe it's because I feel the same way and always thought it was unrequited.” You say, and that gets him to look at you again, he’s really hoping this isn’t some sick joke, “I think you're really nice. You always hold the door open for me, you took a hit for me on our mission, and you-you once told me something I really needed to hear, and it changed my perspective on so many things. You make me feel valued.”

He thinks of those examples, he remembers all of them so clearly. He never had to think about doing anything for you, it’s automatic, he likes making you happy. So, when he grabs your face with his hands and brings the pair of your lips together, he also hopes this makes you happy. 

Your lips are soft and plush, unmoving. He is testing out the waters between both of your feelings now, trying to mend them together with one simple act. He pulls away. Your face is still being held in his hands, and yours are on his wrists. He looks at your expression and you are fully smiling, all because of him, his heart swells in his chest.

The feeling he now describes as butterflies in his gut never ceases, but he learns to like it because he is with you, and he now knows you feel like that when you are with him as well. 

visit my: masterlist

a/n: I am so sorry for the delay on getting this fic released, I expected it to be a lot shorter and I got so busy I just couldn’t find the time for it. However, I hope you enjoyed this read ! 

sidenote: I also head cannon this to be an alternate universe to my fic Only Ones Who Know.

taglist:  @mysideeffectsofyou 

[gasolinerainbowpuddles]

𝙲𝚑𝚛𝚢𝚜𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚖 · · · · 𝙸𝙸𝙸. 𝙾𝚌𝚝𝚘𝚋𝚎𝚛 ║ ⓒⓗⓐⓟⓣⓔⓡⓔⓓ

𝙲𝚑𝚛𝚢𝚜𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚖 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 || 𝚗 𝚊 𝚟 𝚒 𝚐 𝚊 𝚝 𝚒 𝚘 𝚗 || 𝚏𝚒𝚌 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 | PAIRING(s): Joel Miller x fem!OC/reader

| RATING: explicit material | 18+ | CHAPTER CONTENT: trauma responses disguised as life skills, angst, fluff, pining, soft!Joel, protective!Joel, girldad!Joel, lots of flirting, inherent power imbalance due to boss/employee dynamic, financial/mental/emotional/physical abuse, mentions/depictions of childhood trauma, high functioning alcoholism | WORD COUNT: 9.7k

| CHAPTER SUMMARY: All the progress you've made is jeopardized by a chance meeting. Joel begins to worry the nagging feeling he has about your home life might just have more truth to it than he knows.

Joel had a good feeling about you even before you started helping out Miller Contracting, but he’d never been so optimistic to think you’d be this quick on your feet with pivoting. He hesitated to call it embellishment or outright lying because it was never an ill-intentioned or malicious thing from what he’d seen. It was more along the lines of a finely tuned social skill, something that could be implemented to mitigate a client’s frustration or labile moods. It was a mastery of sorts that might be used by somebody to change the energy of a room or quell fits of chaos into a more orderly, civil atmosphere.

You’d surprised him with that line to Mr. Dillard about Jennifer having some mystery health concern that required a sudden departure. It was such a simple explanation – and not entirely false. Her mental health had taken quite a hit, and she’d made the decision to preserve what was left of it when she stepped away from the job. It was an understated but effective approach on your part, and possibly the best thing about it all was that it put the ball right back into the client’s court. They really only had two choices then: keep kicking up dust and silently admit you were an asshole or show a little empathy and save face.

Much to his delight and seemingly your relief, most clients chose the latter. After all, it didn’t require much mental capacity to understand that sometimes bad things often happen at the best times. It let Miller Contracting off the hook a little bit as to why there was a sudden hiccup in the daily operations. Even some of the more irascible clients had asked for general updates or news on if there’d be any improvements to Jennifer’s condition. Yet again you handled the conversation with devastating perfection by falling back on not going into much detail to “respect her medical privacy during this difficult time.”

Joel had picked up a few gems from you and used them himself. His go to’s were “it’s one day at a time” and “the prayers really keep her spirits up.” It addresses the situation without saying much of anything, and he gets to move on with his day swiftly.

He wonders where on earth you learned to be so quick on your feet with the perfect thing to say at the perfect time with the perfect delivery. He wonders what sort of life experiences you’ve had that gave you enough practice to hone such a skill. Maybe one day he’ll learn enough about you to fill in the blanks, but for now he’s just grateful you’re here to help him.

Your heart slams into your stomach when you round the corner to your street. Your dad’s car is parked in the driveway. He’s home early. You were going to get all the housework done with the couple of hours you had ahead of you before he got off work. His unannounced, premature arrival meant you had to think of something to tell him about why you were out somewhere on your day off instead at home tending to things. You park your bike and keep a steady pace to the door in case he’s looking through a window somewhere. If you acted out of sorts, he was going to wring you for every last detail. You slip inside the front door and gently close it. You flick the lock just as his voice breaks through the dead silence.

“Where were you?” The question comes out calm like a snowdrift creeping along the edge of an avalanche.

“Just around the neighborhood,” you reply plainly. You can’t sound too evasive, but you most definitely can’t sound too indifferent. He has to know you aren’t just carefree and lazy on your days off. You earn your keep around here and then some. You can’t give him a reason to think you’re not taking things seriously.

“Just around the neighborhood?” he parrots. “You have friends in the neighborhood?” The dubious slant in his tone is meant to be cutting, but the knowledge of that doesn’t stop it from being hurtful. You hear what he’s really saying: you don’t have friends in the neighborhood or anywhere else for that matter.

“Well, sort of. You’re home early. Is everything okay?” Maybe directing the conversation to him and his day will nimbly refocus the attention off of you, your whereabouts, your comings and goings . . . 

He sighs and stands from his irritated slump in the plush living room recliner. The nearly empty bottle of beer sways in his hand. “Denise got into a fender bender. Called me in fucking hysterics. You’d think the whole front end had come off her car.” He pauses to take a swig of beer and shake his head with a derisive tut. “Typical woman driver, though. At least you know it’s better to stick with the bike instead of terrorizing the road with your driving.”

You swallow past the words in your throat and ignore the flood of thoughts about why you actually have anxieties about driving. One too many times of getting into his car as a kid while your mom turned a blind eye or was just altogether out for the night. Your legs were barely long enough to reach the pedals from where you sat on his lap, and it was nerve-wracking to help him “keep the wheel steady” while he drove to get himself something else to drink because he’d run out. All those times he’d run into the store and tell you to sit tight and wait felt like centuries. Being alone with your thoughts meant your mind wandered into full blown paranoia, making you feel so sure you could hear sirens and that the police were going to catch you. 

The cadence of your inhales would outpace your exhales, and soon enough you were in tears trying to strain your ears to hear all the impending catastrophes coming your way. Your brain would race to formulate an explanation you could offer law enforcement so you wouldn’t get in trouble or your dad wouldn’t get arrested or they wouldn’t think a home visit was warranted. You were always so, so afraid that you and Calum would get separated, and then who would he have to protect him?

“You didn’t answer my question,” he points out in a deceptively collected tone. “Where were you?”

You freeze up. Oh god, you can’t freeze up. Not now. He’ll know something is different. He’ll know you’re lying. He’ll—

The steely grip of his fingers across your lower jaw anchors you in place for closer inspection. “You keeping something from me?” His nostrils flare at the mere idea of you having the gall to lie to him. You try to shake your head, but his hold tightens on you. “Don’t. Lie. To. Me,” he seethes.

You try to speak, but it’s garbled around the cage of his hand. He lets up just enough for you to form words. “I-I didn’t want to get your hopes up yet until I–until I knew I had gotten the job,” you plead.

His eyes narrow with interest. “What job?” he demands.

“It’s–It’s a customer at the store. Their secretary quit, and I’ve been helping. I’m trying to get the full time maybe, but I didn’t—”

He covers your mouth with his hand. It reeks of beer. “You quit your job at the grocery store?”

You shake your head, and he drops his hand. “No! No, of course not!”

“Well how THE FUCK am I supposed to know what bullshit you’re getting up to when you’re running around hiding it from me?” he bellows. You flinch when he raises his voice and his arms to the side in a gesture of righteous anger.

Tears start to pool at the corners of your vision. “I wanted to surprise you when I got good news. I wanted to try to get this job, but I didn’t want to get anybody’s hopes up yet!”

He stares at you with empty, cold eyes. “So, what? You’re doing secretary stuff? How much are you making?”

Of course that’s his first concern: how much more money could you be feeding into the joint account? You lie and tell him it’s a dollar less than the grocery store. Before he can lash out too much, you emphasize the long term growth an opportunity like this could offer. There’s more room to go up, and the experience is something that could translate to a lot more stable, higher paying jobs. His brain isn’t wet enough with alcohol to keep him from considering the validity of your statement.

“I want to see your pay stubs.”

“I-I don’t have it set up yet. I’m not in their system yet. I don’t technically have the job yet.”

His eyes thin into scrutinizing slits. “Fine. Write down your hours so I can compare it to your pay. The last thing we need is you getting swindled because you’re too fucking stupid to keep track of your finances.”

“Okay,” you choke.

He juts a finger out and pokes your shoulder with it. “Next time you want to make a big choice like that, you come to me first for permission.” He leans in closer to tower over you. You drop your gaze to the floor. “Do you understand?” Each word is accentuated with a stabbing finger to your shoulder.

“Yes, sir,” you utter. “I’m sorry.”

“Now quit your crying and get the hell outta my face,” he snaps.

Without a word you turn on your heel and rush to your bedroom. You fumble with your door, hands trembling so hard you feel like they’re not even a part of you. You still and listen to your dad go into the garage for another beer.

“Oh, I got somethin’ for ya,” Joel announces as he stands and starts rooting through a desk drawer. His home office is a mess as he’s transitioning everything back into the actual office now that things are back on track for the most part. “Forgot to charge it, but Jenn finally returned her work phone. Figured you might have some use for it since you’ve sorta taken over her duties.” He hands you the nicest phone you’ve ever held in your possession. You look up at him, thinking of how you should turn it down because you couldn’t possibly accept such a nice thing, could you? You don’t even have Jennifer’s old job, so what would make you entitled to Jennifer's old phone?

“I–Are you sure, Joel?”

“Yeah, of course. It just makes your life easier, really. You can forward calls from the office to it if you need to. You know, like if you’re working from home or somethin’ one day. And then if I’m texting you I’m not usin’ up all your personal data plan, you know? Work related things means the company should cover it.”

He explains it simply enough, but you still feel uncertain about him entrusting you with it.

“I mean, I know it ain’t the newest on the block, but–”

“What? Are you serious? This phone is amazing.” You barely hold back a laugh as you pluck your dingy old flip phone from your bag. “Literally, this thing is, like, a million times nicer than this thing.”

“What’d you lose a bet or something?” Joel snorts as he takes your phone and turns it in his hand. You are distracted for just long enough by the difference of how small the phone looks in his hand compared to when you hold it that Joel clears his throat. “I, uh, I didn’t— it’s a fine phone, is what I meant. Perfectly functional.”

Oh. He thinks he said something to make you feel bad. “It’s a piece of shit, I know.” Your lopsided smile and shrug probably aren’t enough to entirely convince him that you aren’t embarrassed about your ancient phone, but it would have to do. There’s no way you’re explaining to him that it’s all you’re allowed and that your dad won’t let you get anything nicer because it would “just be a waste of time and money.”

“Well, it’s…. Yeah, it’s a piece of shit. Sorry. Didn’t mean to be so rude about it.”

“Not rude. Just stating the obvious.”

“Well, still.”

“Besides, it’s nice of you to let me use this phone anyway seeing as I don’t even have the job to justify it. Doing some real charity work there, boss man.” Your cheeks plump up in a self-deprecating smile.

“Yeah, about that….” Joel clears his throat again, but this time it’s a more hopeful sound. “What if you did have the job?”

“Ppffftttt yeah. Real funny.”

“No, I’m bein’ serious. Would you– Are you interested in it? You’ve taken to it like crazy, and you’re already gettin’ things closer to how they were. I mean, I know it’d mean stepping away from the grocery store, but—”

“You can’t be serious.” You sit there, staring at him like he’s grown a third ear on his chin.

“Well, I know it’s a bit of a leap, but I mean… I don’t wanna pressure you, and if you need time to think–”

“You want me to have the job? Jennifer’s job?”

“It’d be your job if you say yes, but, yeah, Jenn’s job.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really,” Joel laughs.

“Oh my god! I– Are you sure? You’re sure? Tommy’s okay with– you really — you mean–” You jump to your feet with a burst of energy and try not to get too ahead of yourself. Maybe you heard him wrong. Maybe he’s playing an elaborate joke on you. So many other things would make more sense right now than what you think he’s saying.

“So is that a yes?”

“I– Of course! I would – oh.” Your shoulders slump in disappointment. Of course this was too good to be true. “I just remembered that I don’t exactly have a, um, have a way to get– I mean, I have my bike, but–”

Joel waves you off like it’s no issue at all that you don’t have a way to get to the office except for biking a long commute. “I’ll take ya with me. I live just around the way. It would actually be kinda silly if we didn’t carpool.”

“You mean you’d take me to work?” You can’t imagine why someone would go out of their way to be so kind to you. “You’d drive me every day?”

“M’already goin’ that way anyway,” Joel points out. “It’s not like I’m goin’ outta my way.”

“It just doesn’t seem…. Are you sure? I don’t want to put anything on you. It’s still a big commitment. You don’t have to, um, you know – I was sorta joking about you doing charity, but I don’t want you feeling like you have to—”

Joel holds up a hand to stop your running dialogue. “It ain’t a big deal, and even if it was, I’d still do it. You’re good at the work, good with the customers, a fast learner. You’re reliable and a hard worker. Seems like a pretty fair exchange to me.”

You practically strain your eyes trying to keep the hot pinching feeling from blooming into full on tears. “Joel, this is so– I can’t thank you enough for — this is so… thank you. Yes, I would love to have the job. And thank you for taking a chance on me. I won’t let you down.”

Joel grins at you and shakes his head like he’s thinking through some inside joke with himself. “Same to you, sweetheart. Took a chance on me when you agreed to help out, so I think we’re in the same boat here.”

“Here’s to taking chances then, I guess,” you giggle after a loud sniffle.

“Here’s to taking a chance on each other,” he agrees with a wink.

The more downtime Joel has, the more opportunities he has to sit and think about you. It’s one of the reasons he’s been trying to keep himself busy, to keep himself from blurring that line between professional and personal with you. He’s your boss for chrissakes – officially now that you accepted the job offer. Not to mention he’s much older than you but apparently missing the wisdom that was supposed to come with that. 

It was his responsibility to set clear boundaries and make sure he was fostering professional relationships with his employees. The problem when it came to you was it felt personal no matter what he tried to do. The more you two got to know each other, the more you eased into conversation and opened up. The more you opened up, the more greedy he got to unravel some other tangled string about who you were and what made you tick and what things you liked and what he could do to make you smile.

It was a death knell in his delusions that he didn’t feel anything for you when it became clear that you shared the same dumb brand of humor, taking delight in the small, nonsensical things that cropped up everywhere and anytime. You’d surprised him a few times when you’d have some smartass little quip out of the blue, looking nervous for a moment that it would be taken the wrong way, but of course it never was. He loved those random moments where you’d come out of left field with something and make him laugh in the sort of carefree way kids do when they’ve stayed up too late and had too much sugary soda and junk food.

And just when he’d gorge himself on those little moments, there was an undeniable, unsettling feeling he got sometimes when you’d talk about things. Carrying yourself in a way that seemed like you anticipated censure even when you’d done nothing wrong. Acting surprised when he’d compliment something you did, even if it was simple. You had a hard time accepting and believing all the good things but no difficulty whatsoever in assuming the worst about yourself. He couldn’t understand it, especially when you were so easy to get along with and so good with people.

Sure, your old boss Jeremy was a jerkoff, but you hadn’t seemed fazed too much the handful of times Joel was aware of his mistreatment towards you. There was something else going on there, but he wasn’t sure what. He wasn’t exactly close enough to you to ask about your mom leaving all those years ago. He’s wondered more than once if you struggle with feelings of being unwanted or not good enough – things that Sarah had struggled with when her mom up and left without so much as a backwards glance.

It was painful enough to see Sarah go through it, and he wasn’t sure watching it happen to someone else would be much easier to witness. You seem sensitive and ironclad all at once, but he’s not sure if that’s just the protective shell you’ve built up over the years. All he knows is that he doesn’t want to contribute to any notions you have about low self-worth or lack of talent.

And then even after all that, the more he learned about your home life, the more muddy the waters became. You’d mentioned your brother – Colin? Calum? Calvin? – had moved out several months ago with stars in his eyes and dreams of living a bigger life than what he could ever make here. It all sounded a bit too much like those perfectly curated responses you always had – like the one you’d skillfully delivered to Mr. Dillard to get him to warm up to you.  Joel didn’t like to press you too much about your brother, and you didn’t say much about if you two had a good relationship or a relationship at all. But you always seemed a little sad whenever it came up.

He knew your dad still lived in the house with you, and that was maybe the most perplexing piece of the puzzle yet. Joel had seen his newer car parked in the driveway before, knew from what you’d told him about his job title and where he worked that he must have a pretty decent salary and selection of suits and ties, and he had a house in the same neighborhood as Joel. All signs pointed to doing pretty well in life, at least enough to be financially comfortable, but then why didn’t you seem to have those things? 

You didn’t have a car. Maybe you didn’t have any interest in driving? But it didn’t seem that way. And regardless, your bike had certainly seen better days. At the very least you and your dad could pool finances together for a newer bike? And you wore a lot of the same clothes over and over again. He hadn’t said anything about the business casual that was loosely encouraged for the job you just accepted. Maybe you just had a few clothing choices that made you feel the most comfortable? He didn’t want to risk stepping in it by mentioning something other than the plan t-shirts and jeans you often sported.

Joel glances at the clock on the wall of the car shop – 11:30. His mechanic buddy was supposed to be done with the company truck by now. Not wanting to sit and mull over every tiny tidbit about you and your life, he got up and headed for the front desk to check with Susan about how much longer she thought it might be. Before he got there, she called out for someone else. A someone else with your last name. It was a unique enough name to make him wonder if there was some relation, but the man’s face confirmed it. There was that stony, cold face Joel had conjured in his mind’s eye a few months back. He hadn’t just imagined that distinct lack of warmth after all.

The woman with him seemed impatient and jumpy, following behind him like a petulant shadow. The cut of your dad’s voice to Susan made Joel’s head clock to the side. He hadn’t said anything rude, but he didn’t need to. The tone there expressed all the disdain and irritation left unspoken. Susan responded with something about the cars getting backed up because someone called out sick, and your dad’s companion rolled her eyes and crossed her arms.

“I can’t attest to the reliability of your staff, but I hope your work on her car is more promising,” he says plainly. His posture was so rigid and lax all at once. Everything about him was a bit of a contradiction. Joel noted the clean, shiny watch on his wrist where his pressed dress shirt grazed against it in a crisp, starched line. His hair was groomed without a single strand out of place. His shoes looked freshly polished. Between the attire and his demeanor, he certainly commanded respect and attention.

“Again, I apologize for the inconvenience,” Susan replied in a bored tone. She had never been one to take anybody’s bullshit in all the years Joel knew her. “If you would like the mechanic to review the work with you, I would be more than happy to call him in.”

“I don’t think that’s necessary, but I appreciate the offer,” your dad says without sounding much like he means it.

“Alright then. I’ll call you up shortly once I print out the paperwork and detail. You can take a seat. And you can come on over, Joel.”

Susan waves him to the desk. Your dad meets his eye and seems to vaguely recognize the name and the face together. Joel puts his hand out for a shake. “Yeah, hi there. Joel Miller with Miller Contracting. Unless I’m mistaken, your daughter has been helping us out these past few weeks.”

Your dad gives him an up and down before offering a tight handshake. “Mr. Miller, yes. Joel. Nice to meet you. I’ve been wondering who this mysterious side job had come from.”

“You’re lookin’ at him,” Joel laughs low with a shrug. He waits for him to introduce his companion, but he doesn’t. “And, uh, nice to meet you….?”

“Denise,” she sniffs. She takes his hand in an awkwardly pinching grasp before tucking her arms across her chest again.

“Denise, nice to meet you.” The insincerity in his voice came through, but thankfully Denise didn’t really seem to care regardless.

“So Miller Contracting is doing pretty well these days?” your dad asks.

“Yeah, can’t complain. Projects are steady. Customers are good.” Joel tucks his hands into his pockets, calm and friendly.

“Good, good. Maybe a bit more growth and that starting pay could get bumped up a little, huh?” your dad chuckles. His tone is light, but the underscoring message is clear that he’s serious.

“Uh, definitely like to share the success of the business with our employees, for sure,” Joel answers back stiffly. How did your dad know exactly what you made? Had you talked to him about it? Were you upset at the amount? Did you think it wasn’t enough? It was more than the grocery store, and you didn’t have any experience in the field. He was covering transportation for you and setting you up with a better work situation than what you’d had before, right? And he and Tommy always did their best to show appreciation to their staff with things like holiday or hire date anniversary bonuses.

Most of all, you hadn’t ever seemed concerned or upset about your pay. Was this just another example of you tamping down a reaction or thought to something just to keep the waters smooth?

“She’ll never ask for it. Probably wouldn’t occur to her,” your dad laughs at your expense. “Never been too financially savvy. Takes after her mother, unfortunately.”

Joel doesn’t know your mother and doesn’t know the circumstances of her leaving, but it’s clear a comparison to her is not in any way intended with kindness. A burning hot impulse to stick up for you rolls in his gut.

“Well I don’t know about not bein’ savvy. She’s been doin’ a knockout job so far. Got a good head on her shoulders for sure.” It’s a harmless enough claim to vouch for you, but Joel feels a bit at odds with himself trying to balance the instinct to defend you with the logical, benefit of the doubt sort of way he usually handled things. After all, your dad was a finance and economics guy. He probably thought most everyone was lacking in that area of finesse and knowledge. He probably didn’t mean to single you out specifically.

“We’ll say that’s where she takes after me then,” he laughs with a tight smile. “Well, it was nice talking to you, Joel. We’re gonna go take our seats now.” He glances back at Denise, who immediately turns to sit down.

Joel shakes your dad’s hand again and waves at Denise when she makes no move to interact with him again. He doesn’t miss the unimpressed yawn that Susan does while watching them go sit back down.

He doesn’t mention meeting your dad at the auto shop. He wants to see if you bring it up first or at all. He wasn’t sure he’d do very well communicating all of his thoughts and feelings about it, anyway. It bothered him to imagine you being upset, feeling taken advantage of, and then not feeling comfortable enough with him to say anything about it. Every imagining of it always ends up with some saddened version of you badmouthing him to your dad. Now your dad thinks you’re being underpaid by some random asshole, and Joel knows how he’d feel if Sarah was ever in a situation like that.

But then he couldn’t stop thinking about how there was something peculiar about your dad. Maybe it was the stress of haggling for a fair price over the repairs? Maybe he was feeling like he had to act like a strong, stand up guy for Denise and handle business? Maybe maybe maybe. There was still something so detached in the way he spoke about you. 

His plan to not bring it up falls through halfway through the week. He can’t take the idea of you seeing him as unfair or cheap or deceitful. “Hey, uh, so I ran into your old man a coupla days ago.” He clocks the way your entire body freezes for a moment before stiffly sitting up straight and chewing hard around your bite of sandwich in the break room. 

“Oh?”  

His brow pulls together at your forced casual inflection. “Yeah. Yeah, he was, uh, he was giving my mechanic friend’s shop a bit of a hard time. Think he was just tryna impress his, er, lady friend that was with him? Denise?” Joel cringes at his bumbling explanation, but your split second sneer tells him he’s probably on the right track thinking it was a girlfriend. Maybe one day you’d get to know each other well enough for him to ask about whatever happened with your mom. When the neighborhood gossip had made the rounds about her abrupt departure, leaving behind two teenaged kids with her husband of 16 years, he’d been so curious to know what had happened there.

“Yeah, I guess she was getting her car repaired. She was in an accident a little bit ago. My dad is helping her out with it.”

“That’s nice of him,” Joel supplies with a pleasant but neutral tone, searching your body language or expressions for any tells or clues.

“It is,” you agree. Your answers always veered into this curt, factual sort of expression whenever your dad or family came up.

“And, uh, well he mentioned somethin’ to me that’s been sorta buggin’ me if I’m bein’ honest.”

Your eyes snap up to his, panic swelling and being forced back so quickly he almost misses it. “What did he say?”

“Just somethin’ about the pay, and I guess– well, I’ll just come out with it. Do you feel like you’re not bein’ paid fairly?”

That quelled panic now cannonballs back into the picture. “What?! No! Of course not! I’m very happy!”

“Now listen, it’s okay if you don’t. I want you to be honest with me. I want you to know you can talk to me about that sorta stuff, and—”

“I’M VERY HAPPY!” You say it like you’re begging him to believe you, so he does.

“Okay, alright alright. It’s okay. I’m not upset with ya,” he assures you. That seems to take some of the edge off. He hated whenever he got you into these little destabilized whirlwinds. You had several tripwires of interaction that he’d come to learn and try to maneuver, but he was trying to get better at figuring out what made you feel calm again, too.

“Listen, my dad is just— he’s protective or whatever, okay? He’s just very— he takes— he wants to make sure the money goes into the account like it should,” you flounder. “He keeps tabs on it because I’m just–I’m just not good with that stuff. I’m not— I just make stupid choices. I’m stupid about stuff a lot, so he just– he wasn’t—”

“Hey now, whoa whoa hold on,” Joel interrupts with a partially raised hand. He turns to face you at the table and makes the bold choice to cradle your bicep in his hand. A part of him sings and swells with delight when you don’t pull away and actually look a bit comforted by it. “You aren’t stupid. You’ve got to quit with that shit.”

You stare back with a deer in headlights look. “I’m– what I meant to say was that he’s– I’m not a finance person like him, is what I meant. So, in comparison or whatever, you know? That’s what I meant.”

“Well then say that instead. Don’t call yourself stupid because it’s not true. Okay? You hear me?”

You nod, eyes dropping down to your lap, and fiddle with the fabric of his jeans taut against his knee. “Okay.”

Your deliberate choice to make physical contact with him overwhelms him with a sense of pride he doesn’t fully understand but recognizes nonetheless.

“Listen, I gotta head out in a few minutes to meet with a client, but I’m gonna call to check in on you after when I’m on my way back, alright?”

You smile a little at that. “Okay.”

He can’t shake the strange feeling about your dad and your pay and why he’s apparently managing your money for you. His words come out before he’s really even thought about what he’s saying. “I think if you’re okay with it, we’re gonna keep doin’ the cash payroll for the time being. Might switch over after tax season is done.” He doesn’t even know if that’s a thing or what it even means, but it’s all he can concoct on the spot to keep your finances in a gray area until he gets a better hold on what the dynamic is between you and your dad.

Your face brightens and relaxes. “Oh, okay. Yeah. No, that’s fine. I’m fine with that.”

Way to fucking go, you idiot. 

You’re practically seething at yourself after Joel leaves to meet with a client. Why why why had you given your dad such a low number? You got greedy, that’s why. You could’ve just said it was a 50 cent pay cut instead of a whole dollar. Now Joel thinks you’re an ungrateful employee after he hired you even though you weren’t qualified whatsoever, and now your dad has made some point of contact with Joel. What if they run into each other again and your dad confronts him with the number you gave him? What would he do when Joel corrected that he in fact did pay you a whole two dollars more than what you were claiming.

You can imagine it now, the way your dad would go back through every timelog and bank statement to calculate how much you’d diverted. A cold snap runs up your spine when your mind starts to wander into the “how would he reprimand you for your dishonesty and disregard for his rules?” territory. You grab your flip phone to distract yourself for a moment in the hopes you can shove all this mental disequilibrium to the side until you have time to process and deal with it. 

You mindlessly read through Kenzie’s texts about meeting up with a classmate last night to study, only for it to end up with “lots of not studying oops lol” and a winky text emoji. She goes through her usual Dicking Down Rubric as she liked to call it, and ultimately gives her “study buddy” a 2.9 out of 5. Any hopes of getting your mind to a clearer spot have gone out the window. You wish your biggest life issues right now were how to grade someone’s sexual presence and prowess. You hadn’t been laid in forever, and you briefly wonder if your pussy could wither away permanently if the dry spell was long enough.

Maybe you could still become a nun or something one day if things don’t work out.

You sigh and shake your head. This wasn’t helpful, and it was keeping you from getting your work done. So, you force yourself to open an email, return a voicemail, open another email, double check the calendar for next week, open another email…..

Joel’s picture is taking up your phone screen before you know it. Your heart does a little leap just seeing it. “Hey,” you answer in an unbothered, collected sort of way. You hope, at least.

“Hey, just checkin’ in,” he says.

He remembered to check in on you after he said he was going to. The notion is enough to make you feel a tad too emotional for a work setting. Pathetic. Get it together.

“What a good boss,” you hum – light, bubbly, playful. Definitely not still reeling from your earlier conversation. Definitely not spiraling into the abyss. Definitely not panicking. Definitely not wishing you could feel him wrap his hand around your arm again or anywhere else he pleased.

“Just a perk of the job,” he chimes in with a hearty chuckle. He clears his throat. “So, uh, you’re doin’ alright? You feelin’ okay from earlier?”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” you exhale.

“You’re doin’ it again,” he gently chides.

You aren’t sure what he means at first, but then you realize you must’ve apologized. At this rate you were downright curious as to what he deemed apology worthy because anything you’ve ever felt bad for thus far hasn’t met the criteria. “I guess I shouldn’t say sorry for saying sorry, huh?”

He breathes a little laugh over the receiver, and you want to melt into your seat. “And you have the nerve to call yourself stupid?”

Ever since that afternoon discussing his run in with your dad, Joel has been doing his little check ins more frequently. Chats in the car. Calls to and from clients or job sites. Little texts here and there over the weekend when he didn’t see you. You’d always regarded attention on you as a harbinger of corrections and judgements, but this sort of attention was different. It was nice. It made your chest feel more open, like you could breathe a little easier. It inserted a strange sort of hard stop to your day no matter what was going on, and it provided a clear moment of pause for you to check in with yourself.

You’d never been good at checking in on yourself. You were always too consumed with taking the temperature of everyone else around you. It was always harder to gauge your own thoughts and feelings without someone else’s mood and mindset acting as the measuring stick.

The entire month passes with these threads of outreach and gentleness and concern and support. Before you know it, the threads have woven into a tapestry of care and a true connection with somebody you might’ve never expected it from. How is he so soft and solid at the same time? How is he so commanding and comforting at the same time? How is he so steadfast and sympathetic at the same time? How is he so action oriented and receptive at the same time?

How was he so many things that your whole life you thought you had to pick one or the other when apparently you could be both without contradiction?

“You keep starin’ at me like I got barbecue sauce on my mouth or somethin’,” he laughs. His eyes stay fixed on the road, but his grin is so broad it bleeds into his entire side profile.

“Maybe you do,” you laugh back with a nonchalant shrug. You fix your eyes ahead now, too. Caught red-handed.

“I told you after y’all let me walk around with that booger in my nose for pretty much the entire day last week you’re required to tell me if I got somethin’ goin’ on.”

“I didn’t even see the booger,” you giggle.

“Liar,” he huffs. “Kept lookin’ at me so much I got to thinkin’ I musta looked real nice that day. Then I go to the bathroom and see that giant bat in the cave. Crushed my heart. Ego up in flames.”

“If you want me to say that you’re handsome even with a booger hanging out of your nose, you’re gonna have to promote me to CEO.”

He chuckles at that and fake pinches your leg. “Better read your contract again, ma’am. It’s right in there: employees must lie to Joel about how handsome he is.”

“Hm, sounds like a lawsuit waiting to happen,” you muse.

“The only crime bein’ committed is y’all hurting my feelings by letting me walk around with delusions of grandeur,” he charges. “And I think that deserves jail time, honestly. County jail. None of that cushy stuff.”

You whistle low and cock an eyebrow. “Judge, jury, and executioner?”

Joel pulls into your neighborhood, and your heart sinks a little bit. It was always too short of a drive, always too short of a day. It wasn’t fair.

“Shame, isn’t it? And all you had to do was lie and tell me I’m handsome,” he tuts.

You angle your body towards the driver’s side and prop your elbow into the headrest. You rest your head against your hand and prop one leg on the seat. “So you go out of your way to hire liars then?”

He glances at you now with an impish little grin. “Sweetheart, if they’re as good as you are, I don’t care if they’re a liar or not.”

“Well in that case, you are devastatingly handsome.” You bite back a smile and pray to god he can’t feel the heat in your cheeks radiating off you.

“Knew it,” he declares in mock vindication.

You pretend pinch his leg back, and he grabs you before you can pull it away. His hand is so warm and big and safe.

“You better quit it,” he warns. You have a moment of internal shock when his words – words you’d heard spoken a million times in a million different variations, all intended to elicit compliance out of fear – don’t make you afraid. Nervous? Yes. Nervous in the stage fright sort of way. Nervous in the first day of school jitters sort of way. Nervous in the first kiss on a first date kind of way. But there’s no fear here. Just heady anticipation.

He drops your hand to make the turn onto your street, and your heart plummets through the floor. Everything with him always ended too soon.

Joel: Paul Revere here to tell you the trick-or-treaters are out and about.

Joel: The kids are coming! The kids are coming! 🐎🕯️Ready the candy bowls!

You: what’s with the horse and the candle lol

Joel: Paul Revere’s midnight ride. It’s not midnight, but you get the idea.

You: wow I’ve never met an emoji artist before

Joel: Ha ha very funny.

Joel: You get any trick-or-treaters yet? I don’t know what half of these costumes are.

You aren’t sure you want to tell him you’re currently sitting by yourself in a pitch black house so no kids come to your door thinking you have candy. Because of course your dad was out with Denise and her two kids, so of course he didn’t give a shit about putting out candy or what your plans were. He hadn’t even bothered to invite you, but you suppose that’s fair because you probably would’ve declined anyway. He was just saving you the extra step, really.

You: yeah funny enough we didn’t get any candy so I’m hiding out in a dark house so the kids don’t get mad at us

Joel: You’re by yourself?

Your heart did little flips every time he showed a modicum of protectiveness and thoughtfulness.

You: yeah it’s no biggie though I can just live vicariously thru you

You: you can tell me about the best costumes tomorrow morning and I can try to guess what the character is based off your terrible descriptions 🥲

Joel: Or you could just pass out candy with me? Unless you like sitting in the dark by yourself.

You: lol you tryna con me into passing out your candy for you?

Joel: Yes. 😎

Joel: Is it working?

You: be there in 5

His heart leaps into his throat when you cruise around the corner on your bike. God he hadn’t in his wildest dreams expected that texting you that stupid Paul Revere joke would result in you spending the evening with him. In truth, he’d just wanted to talk to you again. He couldn’t count how many times over the past several weeks he’d picked up his phone to send you a message and thought better of it at the last second. Can’t cross another line when he’s already crossed too many. 

He’d usually just stare at your contact picture for more time than was appropriate – a little consolation prize for barring himself from sending inane messages and calls your way – before shoving his phone back into his pocket. But now he didn’t have to settle for a static image of you. Now you were here in the flesh and going to spend a couple more precious hours together. He knew he shouldn’t make his giddiness too obvious, but christ was that becoming harder and harder the longer he knew you.

He takes your bike and props it against the porch railing. He makes a mental note about getting you a new one or at least letting him fix this one up for you. You settle onto the bench where he has the candy bowl already set up. He kicks himself for not knowing your favorite candy so he could’ve dumped a few bags of it into the mix.

“You want a beer or anything?”

You scrunch your nose and wave him off. “No, I’m good. Thanks, though.”

He settles onto the bench and can’t quite muster enough genuine regret about the tight fit it is for you both to share. You don’t lean away or adjust in your seat, so he takes it as good a sign as any that you don’t mind your thighs touching. You draw your legs up and place them criss-cross, apologizing for how your knee rests against his leg, and he takes a deep gulping swallow. Nope. Certainly no regrets about not building this bench bigger in the first place.

The first few trick-or-treaters come springing up onto the porch with their sights set on candy acquisition. You keep laughing at him trying to ask the kids what their costume is or who they’re supposed to be, only to have them flying off the porch in search of the next house.

“Quit it,” he laughs with a prod to your side. You squeak and nearly fold in on yourself towards him. “Oh, ticklish, huh?”

“Don’t you dare,” you warn. You sound like you might really mean it.

“I would never,” he huffs. “I’m the handsome gentleman boss, remember?”

“You’re just adding adjectives now, huh?”

“Caught me,” he concedes with a wink.

You’re icy when he asks about why you were holed up at your house by yourself. You tell him your dad is out with Denise and her two kids. There was that same odd energy from you whenever your dad cropped up in conversation. Trying to change the subject and lighten your mood, he asks about what sort of costumes you wore as a kid. You give him generic, vague answers — princess, witch, princess again, witch princess — and don’t seem all that nostalgic about any of it. 

“What about Sarah? What sort of costumes did she have?”

He loves talking about Sarah and all the things she’s done in her life and all the places she’s going next, but other people weren’t always as invested so he kept it simple. He laughs as he recalls the one year she insisted on being a hot dog for some reason but ended up stomping around and crying when all the other kids kept calling her a wiener. “It wasn’t funny, but shit… I mean….” He breaks into another round of laughter, and you join in.

“You’re a really good dad.” It’s a gentle remark, a tender observation. It makes Joel’s throat feel tight how delicately you share the sentiment, how soft it is on your tongue. It almost sounds wistful the way you say it. You reach over and squeeze the hand not holding onto the candy bowl. “Sarah’s really lucky.”

He squeezes your hand back. “Well, I’d say the same about her. Hard to not try for a kid like her, you know? She was better to me than I deserved most of the time. The least I could do was show up for her.”

Your sad smile goes tight as you look off into the front yard at the dwindling number of kids. It’s almost time for you to go home, and Joel knows it. He hates it. Every time he’s with you, the clock goes too fast and the time is up too soon. It’s always over too soon.

“Well, I’d better head out,” you announce. Your eyes drop back to your hand in his. He nearly slots his fingers into yours when you gently rub his hand with your thumb before standing up.

“Let me drive you,” he blurts out. Anything to make this last longer. Anything to spend more time with you.

“Oh, that’s silly. It’s just around the corner. That’s really sweet, but I—”

Joel hops up and abandons the nearly empty bowl of candy on the bench. He’s grabbing your bike and putting it into the bed of his truck before you can talk him out of it. “Just grabbin’ my keys,” he says as he skirts around you to the front door and swipes them from the console table.

“C’mon,” he insists. He places a hand on the small of your back. Your lashes flutter in a syrupy haze at the contact. He ushers you to the passenger door. He opens it for you and shuts it behind you.

“You really don’t have to,” you contend. It’s a weak appeal. He knows you don’t mean it. He doesn’t want to get his hopes up that maybe you like spending any spare second possible with him, too.

“It’s dark out, and who knows what kinda weird pranks some teenagers are tryna play. Gonna get yourself hit with a water balloon full of pee or somethin’ if you bike home.”

You exhale a shocked laugh through your nose. “A what? Is that the sorta thing you and Tommy got up to as kids?” You lean closer to him in the front seat.

He laughs and swears he never did more than TP a house or two or play ding dong doorbell ditch. He drives as slow as he can to your house, but it’s not very far. He’s helping you out of the car and unloading your bike for you before he knows it. Your dad’s car isn’t in the driveway. He hates thinking about you being in the house by yourself late at night like this. You walk him into the backyard where you store your bike in the shed. 

You walk so close to him side by side that he can feel the heat coming off you. He jokes that he really just wanted you to come over because he’s a big scaredy cat on Halloween. You snort and give him a light bump with your body. He gives you one back, and you grab onto his arm with the claim that he “could knock you flat on your ass” if he wasn’t careful. Joel lets himself be delusional and believe that you just want to hold onto him the way he wants to hold onto you.

“Ya know, talkin’ about being scared of things. I’m so fuckin’ glad I didn’t scare you off when I came with that offer to work in my house out of the blue.” He shakes his head and chuckles at how odd it probably was for you to be approached with it. “It was a weird situation, but I’m glad you don’t spook easy.”

You shoot him a soft, wistful smile from the porch steps where you turn to meet him almost eye level. “Spook me? No, hardly. Not when it’s more like you’re the one keeping The Scaries away.” Your eyes glance down to where your hand eases into his. You look up at him again and give his hand a little squeeze. “Get home safe. Don’t get yourself pelted with piss balloons.”

Joel grins and shakes his head instead of what his body is compelling him to do because he knows it wouldn’t be right to snatch you up right now into a kiss. “I’ll text you when I get home to let you know my fate.” He reluctantly drops his hand before he does something stupid that he can’t take back. You wave him off and head inside. 

Joel’s tail lights disappear around the corner, and your entire body feels like it could collapse under the taut band of whatever your relationship with him was turning into — or had already turned into weeks ago.

No. No. This isn’t a relationship. It’s a work relationship. It’s professional. 

He’s your boss.

The house is empty. Your dad is still trick-or-treating with his ready made, play pretend family. You thought you’d be used to it by now, the nauseating sensation of someone else always being picked instead of you, but it still feels like a scab being ripped up every time. Even during his love bombing phases, he never showed up for you like that as a kid. He was almost always putting most of his energy into keeping your mom complacent enough to stay.

There wasn’t ever any leftover energy or motivation after he charmed and conned your mom into believing this time would be different. You’d always felt even as a child that she’d been the one who wanted to have kids and that he obliged but resented her for it, even all these years later. Kids were a means to an end, a bandaid on a broken relationship, and you wonder if it ever occurred to him that you and Calum were actual people with actual feelings and individual hopes and dreams and thoughts and aspirations. More often it felt as though he regarded you much the same as some household pet or other dependent thing that was more trouble than it was worth.

It always seemed so obvious that he cared mostly about the projection of family life rather than the actual family unit. Appearances were something him and your mom could actually agree on, and they both exacted their demands to fit the mold in different but equally excruciating measures.

You feel like crying, but you aren’t sure why. You don’t want your mom to choose you. You don’t want your dad to choose you. Not when all the destructive, dysfunctional aspects come with it. It’s a package deal you never truly want, even if sometimes your heart tried to tell you maybe it was okay if you did want to be chosen by your parents just once to know what it felt like.

The gleam of light from your work phone illuminates your room. It’s Joel.

Joel: Made it home dry. Didn’t get hit by any pee balloons either.

You: is that a double pee joke??? 😭

Joel: Yes.

You: wow all I can say is that urine luck that I like you so much because otherwise 😐

Joel: Please never tell Sarah I was bested in a toilet humor joke-off. I have so little, and I can’t lose this.

You: oh you want my silence huh what’s in it for me?

Joel: My undying love and gratitude.

Your heart swells at his words, and you allow yourself to slip into the fantasy of it. The alternate universe where Joel Miller truly does wish to give you his undying love and gratitude. In text land, though, you play it cool. Or try to.

You: hmmm idk anything else on the table?

Joel: Breakfast tomorrow morning on me?

You: ok now we’re talking

Joel: See you bright and early. 😎

You: lol ok see you in the am

Joel: Night. 🎃💤🧸

You: what’s the bear doing?

Joel: That’s his favorite stuffed animal, thank you very much!

You: the pumpkin?? 

Joel: Yeah. Because it’s Halloween. Get it? Goodnight? Jack-o-lantern with his favorite teddy bear going to sleep?

You: wow you should write books

You feel a rush of excitement and nerves when his contact picture takes up the entire screen. You answer almost immediately, eyes fluttering closed at the sound of his breathy chuckle on the other end.

“Well, hello, Joel,” you hum.

“You makin’ fun of me?” he demands in feigned indignation.

“No, not at all. In fact, if you wrote that book I’d read it one hundred percent,” you assure him in an over the top sweet voice. “I’d be first in line at the signing and everything. I’d have on my jack-o-lantern and bear t-shirt with my matching wristband and baseball cap. I’d be decked out. Totally. Your number one fan.”

He scoffs and fakes offense. “You mean you aren’t already my number one fan?”

“I dunno, where are you buying me breakfast?”

He laughs hard now and mutters under his breath about you being a wolf in sheep’s clothing. You tug your lower lip under your teeth and stifle a giggle. “Wherever you want, princess.”

“Oh, now who’s brown nosing who, huh?” you lob back with a tiny titter, trying with all your might to not scream into your pillow and the way his voice dropped with that last line.

“So what if I am?”

Maybe he hadn’t meant to come across so charged and weighted, but it landed like a lead brick in your lap. A beat of nervous silence and then–

“Well, then I’d say it’s working,” you tease. He breathes a little laugh, a relieved exhale more than anything. “And I don’t care where we get it. Just some random drive-thru would be fine with me, honestly.”

Joel tuts in disapproval. “C’mon now, you can do better’n that.”

“I’ve never been a huge breakfast person, so I don’t know all the good spots. I mean, why don’t you just pick whatever your favorite spot is, and we’ll do that?”

He considers this for a moment before agreeing. “Yeah, alright. I’ll figure somethin’ out. I’ll pick you up about 30 minutes earlier tomorrow. You get some rest now and don’t let me keep you from it, alright?”

“You’re not keeping me from anything,” you softly correct. When the quiet passes between you two again in that weighted, charged energy, you add, “Tonight was really nice. Thanks for letting me pass out candy with you.”

“It was nice,” he agrees. “And I enjoyed the company and conversation. Brought up lots of good memories for me all while makin’ some new ones.”

Your heart feels like it could burst at any moment.

“Definitely some wholesome piss balloon memories made,” you joke.

He laughs again, a sound you’ll never tire of hearing. “Absolutely. Now on that wonderful note, I’ll let you get some sleep. Goodnight, sweetheart.”

“Goodnight, Joel.”

trying to do the tags even tho they didn't work last time:

@witchy-and-persnickity @tuquoquebrute @ellenmunn @akah565 @goodwithcheese @koshkaj-blog @umnitsa @jupiter-soups @pastelnap @fadajnaoqkzalq @confusedpuffin @zooty-and-fruity @drunk-and-capable @cumberpegg @persephone-girl @lovelyjess69 @verybigvag @nutterbitter @sunshinehaze1 @beelzebeth87 @bizarrelove-triangle

[mishsymishy]

Digital circus/Reader

Angst¡¡ Part1-

-

( first ,If there is any language error please tell me, English is not my first language lmao , and I never write angst gonna be honest)

You can take it as platonic or romantic, although it is more romantic

Warnings!!!: A LOT OF ANGUST! , insecurity, bothering others, suicidal thoughts, self-blame, insanity, self-hatred.

You end up abstracted.

—

Ragatha¡

—She will definitely feel like it's her fault, Even if you became distracted by something else unrelated to her or your relationship with her, she will feel that she is guilty and will have a hard time thinking otherwise

—She won't reach the point of also falling into the madness (I hope), After knowing that you are the black thing with eyes, she will try to act as if everything is fine so as not to get more nervous, (failing in the attempt)

—Ponmi really cared about her, I mean, she lost her loved one ,her even saw her in the hallways talking to herself, many times stopping in your room with your photo crossed out.

—Little by little she will improve, although not completely, she will always have a void in her heart or mind, now feeling guilty of anyone who also abstracts

—She misses you too much, she misses her morning talks with you, she misses your voice and your touch.Her didn't sleep digitally because I was thinking about you, And she will spend days thinking about you again

-

Ponmi!

—She already has traumas, losing you would be like a double punch in the stomach. She will never be the same again, even if others try to help her, she is convinced that without you there is no point in even smiling. He feels guilty for not having been with you at that moment, she feels that she failed you at the worst moment.

—When they gave her the news, she already expected it, she didn't see you all day even if you told her yesterday that you were going to meet her to play some strange thing or try to remember things from back

— she wants to cry, but nothing comes out of her eyes ,Her pupils simply dilate every time she thinks about being with you again, you were her support .The reason she hadn't gone crazy yet

— She goes literally crazy, isolates herself from everyone and starts trying to find a way out sooner or even tries to convince herself again that everything is a dream no matter how real it all was, she laughs to herself and starts not even paying attention even Ragatha and no one

—

Jax!

-Firts think it's a joke, that they want to get revenge on him for the jokes using you.Don't believe anyone even if they are panicked or gleeful about abstraction.I mean, you were fine..right? He saw you very well the last time he see you, it doesn't even make sense.

—He stands still when he sees everyone gathered..and you missing, watching as Caine takes the abstraction to the basement, saying your name in a really dramatic sigh.

He don't believe it ,he doesn't want to believe it.

—Feel bad for Ganglee, because now he is going to bother twice as much and with more pain , even taking her mask and breaking it into pieces in front of her face.

He's twice as serious and doesn't even smile that shit-eating smile anymore, not even when someone falls or starts to descend into madness. Just making practical jokes to annoy and get revenge for everything with everyone.

—If someone else abstracts themselves, he will feel proud but also painful, as if it were revenge for taking you away from him (Even if it is not the fault of others, he will think that others are to blame, especially Caine)

—He will secretly cry for your loss, wishing you were there to ask for your forgiveness and he alsowould secretly tell Caine that if he finds a way to fix the abstracted ones, you have to be the first one, And fuck the rest. he doesn't care anymore

—He carries his depressed and angry feelings towards other people, without caring about the consequences, he no longer even cares if he becomes an abstraction, or rather he doesn't even see the bad thing about that

-

Gangle!

—

-God, not even the happy mask can fix it, She will cry and sob every night , every hour, every moment. It's really fucked, because Jax will remind you of you at any second ,And it's not unintentionally.

_- Oh yeah.. s/o can fix it ..oh sorry_- Jax says, watching the mask hide in its ribbons as she runs away from him , crying quietly

—She will hide in her bands or cover her eyes every time someone tries to support her, she will feel bad for not being with you and leave you alone in the basement, although she doesn't know what's going on there , she knows that you probably don't want to be there and you're trapped there with people that you don't want. ( like her )

Thinking about that, she quickly panics, sobbing your name while tightly grabbing her happy mask and accidentally breaking it by crying ,and accidentally putting pressure on her mask. She cries more and runs to her room, again not even wanting to go on missions with the others to distract herself, don't want to see anyone any more. Even if it makes her abstract. She could make company there. They are totally not going to notice her disappearing.. she is no one on the team, no one cares about her like you did.

—

I need to study so I split this in two

Byebye people , don't cry and be happy , yay.

[marie-snape]

"Shhh"

Severus Snape x professor!slytherin!reader

Chapter 1, part 2

Previous part: here

Word counter: 1k

Warnings: -

Movie/book: Philosopher/Sorcerer’s stone

================================

You were drinking coffee in the staff room after the school day, when Pomona Sprout opened the door and said "Did you hear that Harry Potter is the new Gryffindor’s seeker?!" then she took her stuff and left the room.

You were confused. First-years don’t play quidditch.

"Wait, WHAT- "

"Do you have any hearing problems? She said that mr. Potter is the new Gryffindor’s seeker." said a low man’s voice.

When you turned to where the voice came from, you saw professor Snape sitting in an armchair and reading a book. How i couldn’t notice him sitting here all this time?, you thought.

"I heard it. I am questioning the fact that they allowed a first-year to the team."

"Certainly, it is another act of Gryffindor captain’s incompetence."

"Or perhaps their past seeker was so bad that any first-year who never got to fly on a broomstick would play better"

Snape was definitely satisfied with your words. Before you there weren’t many teachers to mock Gryffindor with him.

"They say he got the “talent” from his father."

"Oh, i think i knew him. James Potter, wasn’t he?"

"yes." Severus’s face expression turned into a tense one.

"Pitiful that one. I think he spent every moment of his school life on bullying Slytherins."

"He definitely did." he was more pleased with the mention of James in that way.

The next day, you were in Dumbledore’s office, suggesting what you could do to increase the Stone’s protection.

"Is the Mirror of Erised still in the property of Hogwarts? I could put a spell on it so if someone wants the stone but does not intends to use it, it will be given to them. And if someone wants to use it, it won’t."

"Yes, it is. Very ingenious, Y/N. I need to check something, but i’ll send you an owl when we’ll need you. Thank you for your help."

You left Dumbledore’s office, when you accidentally bumped into Severus and fell on the floor. As he watched you trying to get up, he said:

"A truly entertaining spectacle."

Then Snape gave you his hand and helped you.

"Thank you, but it was possible to do without mockery."

"I do not think so." He smirked and continued walking to his class.

Over time, your relationship with Severus has improved. Almost to a friendship. He even allowed you to call him Severus.

It was Halloween. The Great Hall was decorated and you had themed meals. You sat next to Severus and Hagrid, talking with the half-giant when professor Quirrell ran in screaming "T-TROLL IN THE DUNGEON! T-T-TROLL IN THE D-DUNGEON!"

Dumbledore told teachers to go with him to stop the troll, when Severus was going somewhere.

"I think the dungeons are that way."

"And i think that someone should go check if the Stone is safe."

"I’ll go then, you should go after the troll."

"No, you should go after the troll."

Minerva came up to you. "You two idiots, there’s a troll in the castle!"

Snape went to the third floor, you went with others to find the troll.

After you saw that three young gryffindors fought the creature, Severus joined you. You noticed Snape's leg which had a large cut on it. Snape noticed and covered it up.

"You alright?"

Minerva then talked loudly, not allowing Severus to say anything, probably because she didn’t hear you and was talking to the students.

"5 points will be taken from Gryffindor for your serious lack of judgment. As for you two gentlemen I just hope you realize how fortunate you are. Not many students could take on a full grown mountain troll and live to tell the tale. 5 points...will be awarded to each of you. For sheer dumb luck."

Severus then talked "I consider that taking away only five points from mrs. Granger isn’t quite right. It may escaped your notice, but mr. Potter and mr. Weasley were acting unwise too. Also, I can’t remember that house points can be given for “sheer dumb luck”. I’ll take them from Gryffindor, so we won’t have problems later."

Then he came back to where he stood, next to you. You smiled and whispered: "That’s how you win the House Cup."

"I don’t really care about the House Cup. Winning it just keeps my students motivated."

"Really?” You smirked. "Not even a bit of proudness for your house?"

Severus rolled his eyes.

When the teachers were finally allowed to go, you and Snape headed to the dungeon.

You came up to the door to your chambers. Severus was about to go to his, but you stopped him.

"Not so quick."

"What?"

"There’s a thing that a certain three-headed dog left on your leg."

"Why would you care?"

"Because, you know, some nasty Gryffindor students could notice it and think-."

He interrupted you. "I will repeat my question. Why would you care?"

"Uhm, maybe because i care of my friends?"

Severus stared at you for a bit. "How did you call me?"

"A friend."

"Why?"

"Tell me then, how i should have called you? “Man with whom we talk shit about students every day in the staff room?”?"

"Alright. I think i will allow you to call me this."

You answered sarcastic. "Thank you, my lord." then bowed jokingly.

"This one would be better." he smirked.

Severus was sitting on your sofa in the living room, with a rolled-up trouser leg so you could see the injury. You were looking for something on your bookshelves.

"Why would you have so many books if the school has a library?"

You mocked him. "Why would you care?"

"Right. I got that it’s annoying. Instead I will say “it is none of your fucking business”."

You laughed. You read something from a book and went to your bedroom. There you have a shelf with potion ingredients. Snape knew it, he stole from you few Ashwinder eggs for his lesson when he brought you drunk and asleep there.

You poured phoenix tears over his injury, and casted "Vulnera Sanentur". Then you took out of your bag a white plaster.

"To hide the trace." "Alright, now get out." you stayed with a serious expression for a moment, then laughed.

"You behave like a muggle nurse that hates her job."

"Shush!"

"Thank you, by the way." Severus left.

================================

Masterpost

If i made any writing mistakes, please let me know in the comments section.

Also sorry for this one being too short.

Would appreciate if you follow me 💚

With love (for Snape), M.S.

[echoric]

FIRST OFF I ABSOLUTELY LOVE YOUR FICS!! Secondly I was wondering if I could request a little Drabble? Maybe a “Iceman is openly gay with slider, Hollywood and wolf man. But Maverick isn’t as comfortable with his sexuality and thinks he still has to act straight even though he’s got it BAD for ice”

first off thank you so much!!! :DD im glad you like my writing <3 & secondly of COURSE i can write that, i love a bit of closeted angst (i hope i got everything the way you wanted) this got a bit longer than i expected lol, it is crossposted to ao3 (HERE) if anyone prefers that format

standing face to face with "i told you so"

icemav angst (Word Count: 3,488)

Ice was staring again.

Maverick could feel those intense blue eyes burning into the side of his head as he intentionally stared forward, scanning the crowd at the bar as if he were actually looking for someone or something. He’d already gotten caught twice by the man when he had chanced a glance back to see if he was watching or not, and Maverick wasn’t sure his heart could take anymore eyecontact with the other pilot. Goose had kicked him in the shin in time for him to look away before an approaching lady caught him staring at Ice last time. But Goose had since drifted away to join the other pilots and RIOs in conversation, leaving Maverick alone at the bar and painfully aware of Ice’s attention. His pulse was racing, making his cheeks flush slightly as he thought about meeting his gaze again just to see.

“Right, Maverick?”

He almost jumped. He had forgotten completely about the lady at his arm – Sandra…or was it Sarah? He scrambled, but flashed her a smooth, well-practiced grin, and laughed, not knowing at all what she was asking him and hoping it was the right resposne. She seemed pleased with his laugh, giggling to herself as she leaned into his side to distance herself from the tall, frustrated-looking man who had followed her up to Maverick’s spot at the bar. Maverick gave the man a sharp, teeth-baring grin as he draped his arm over Sandra’s shoulders, leaning into her like a confident boyfriend.

“In fact, everyone keeps asking when we’re going to be engaged. This scoundrel just can’t commit, isn’t that right, Maverick?”

“You know what they say about us sailors. Brandy, you’re a fine girl,” Maverick crooned, half-singing with a wink. He placed a chaste kiss on her temple to keep up the act.

She laughed and put her arm around his waist, squeezing him as she looked up through her eyelashes, “What a good wife I would be?”

“But my life, my love, my lady–”

“Is the sea,” they finished in sync, laughing together. The man at her heels finally seemed to take a hint and walked off with an irritated huff, muttering under his breath.

Sandra stayed close up against his side for a while as she watched the man leave. She relaxed as Maverick leaned back against the bar, sighing and shaking her head. Her arm fell from around his waist and he took his arm back. She smiled at him, a sad look in her eyes and exhaustion in her voice as she spoke quietly enough that the music would’ve kept it a secret from anyone else, “Thank you for being a good man, Maverick.”

“Pete,” Maverick said with a smile, holding his hand out like it was a business deal. Her smile softened and she took his hand in a firm grip.

“Sandy,” she said as she shook his hand once, “but you can call me Brandy, sailor.”

Maverick grinned and tilted his head with a shrug, “It was improv.”

“It was good. Really,” she waid with a grin. She pulled a small compact mirror with an ornate carving of a flower on it from her bag and checked her reflection in it. She ran a hand through her hair and sighed again. “Some men can never seem to understand that some ladies just aren’t interested.”

Maverick raised an eyebrow, slightly caught off guard by the change in topic. He was about to respond when his eyes scanned over the crowd absently and caught another pair of eyes watching them. Ice still hadn’t looked away – or if he had, he was looking again. Maverick felt a thrill shoot up his spine as he locked gazes with the man, dangerous and electric, but it was overpowered by the familiar urge to smother it and push it back down deep where no one might see it. Not even him. He cleared his throat and tore his eyes away from Ice, looking back to Sandy.

“Mhm. Can I buy you a drink, Brandy?” Maverick asked waving to the bar behind him and pointedly ignoring the stares he was getting from Ice and the other pilots and RIOs. “Just between friends. I understand when a lady only wants to use me for her protection.”

Sandy laughed and snapped her compact mirror shut. She turned to lean against the bar with her forearms crossed. Maverick caught a flash of a white handkerchief in the left pocket of her jeans as she hummed, scanning over the bar’s options. Sandy eventually smiled and waved the bartender over, “I’ll have a whiskey, neat. Put it on the sailor’s tab.”

“Mitchell,” Maverick said in response to the glance from the bartender. He nodded and turned to make her drink as Sandy turned to face Maverick more. “So, Brandy, what brings you here if not to flirt with all the sailors? Everyone knows that’s the main crowd at this dive.”

“My taste is less…salty, more sweet,” Sandy said with a wink. She nodded to the bartender with a smile as he handed her the drink she requested. “If you know what I mean?”

Maverick had no idea what she meant. He nodded anyway, pretending to understand with a quiet hum. He waved to the bartender and he slid Maverick another glass of the tequila that he’d been sipping on all night. He couldn’t resist glancing tot he side out of the corner of his eye as he waited for the drink to be poured, seeing if the attention from the table across the bar was still on him – it was. Sandy lifted her cup when he picked his up, they clinked them together before tossing them back in sync.

“Put it on my tab this time. Tequila,” Sandy called out to the bartender. She ran a hand through her hair again before sliding a shot to Maverick with a grin. “You up for a challenge, sailor?”

“I can drink in circles around you, Brandy,” he said confidently. His mind was already drifting back to Ice even as they clinked their glasses on the bar before tossing them back in sync. 

It wasn’t the first time he’d felt the sharp, nervous edge around the other pilot, but the awareness of that was always muted, vague. He blamed the tequila for how loud it seemed now. Maverick smiled easily at Sandy, feeling easy and in his element even if he could pick up that it was strictly platonic competitive energy between them. He was good with women. He’d dated countless women he genuinely liked; he could talk with them easily, laugh with them, play the part of a flirt without breaking a sweat – it was easy. Comfortable. Ice broke away any part of that comfort with his harsh words and challenging stares. He wasn’t simple or easy to get along with, and it was equal parts thrilling and terrifying.

“You’re not as oblivious as other men, are you?” Sandy asked before their next shot arrived. Her eyes were studying his face intensely, softened by alcohol and maybe a bit of camaraderie that Maverick wasn’t sure why she’d feel with him. Her eyes flitted briefly over to wher eIce was sitting, one eyebrow lifted just slightly out of his neutral resting face as he watched them – watched Maverick. “I mean, you’re clearly aware of your surroundings.”

Maverick shrugged and gave Sandy the grin that had saved him countless times in the past. “Iceman? Yeah, he’s competitive and a good pilot. We’re just…you know, rivals.”

“Oh, is that what they call it now?” she asked, her voice low and teasing as she grabbed two more shots for them from the bartender. For a split second, he felt his heart lurch into his throat and his face felt hot, a definitely blush creeping over his face that he couldn’t blame on the alcohol – an embarrassing reaction to what was likely just a harmless question. 

Sandy gave him a sympathetic smile and pushed the shot into his hand, tossing hers back. “Relax, sailor. Just a friendly observation.” She didn’t look away from him though, and her expression softened a little as he took his shot and forced his eyes away from Ice for what felt like the umpteenth time. There was understanding in her eyes, sad and compassionate. “Listen, Pete, I know we don’t…know each other at all. But if you ever need to, you know…talk through it, or whatever, I get it.”

“Get what?” he asked – too quickly. She gave him a look that let him know that she could see straight through him. A slow grin worked across her face as she ordered another round.

“Oh, nothing,” she said lightly, “just some people like their whiskey neat, others like it with a twist.”

Maverick forced himself to laugh at Sandy’s comment, but her words lingered, stirring something he didn’t quite want to confront. He swirled the tequila in his glass, downing it quickly – he was drinking too fast, too much, he should cut himself off, but he lifted his hand to order another round from the bartender. Sandy simply watched him with a calm, knowing smile. After a moment, she leaned in with a conspiratorial grin.

“You know, Pete, I think I’ve had enough of sailors for tonight. I’ve spotted someone who might be more might type, think she’d be interested?” She nodded subtly toward a tall brunette with a sharp undercut and a black leather jacket, looking just a bit out of place in the sea of Naval whites. Maverick raised an eyebrow, watching Sandy adjsut her hair and straighten her jacket. She looked at him and gave him a playful wink and sly grin. “Wish me luck, sailor?”

He grinned back, feeling a strange sense of relief as everything clicked into place. He lifted his new glass to her, “Good luck, Brandy. I doubt you’ll need it.”

Sandy winked again and, with a confident sway to her hips, headed off across the bar with an impressively steady gate for taking so many shots with him so quickly. Maverick once again was alone with his own thoughts at the bar. He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck as he felt the full force of Ice’s stare on him again. He tossed back the drink and slid his card to the bartender to close his tab. He’d probably regret his game with Brandy in the morning, but he didn’t care in the moment as he gathered himself and headed over to the table where the other pilots and RIOs were laughing and talking.

“Hey, Mitchell!” Slider called, smirking as he looked to where Sandy was now talking  to her new interest. “What happened to your date? You let a catch like that slip away?”

“Oh, come off it, Slider, she was just looking for help to get away from that creep,” Maverick said, shrugging it off. “She wasn’t my type anyway.”

Slider gave him an exaggerated look of utter disbelieve. “Not your type? That was probably the hottest lady in here, man. You’re slipping.”

“Maybe my standards re higher than yours,” he shot back, crossing his arms defensively and rolling his eyes.

“Please,” Hollywood chimed in with a grin and chuckle. He leaned back with his drink and pointed at Maverick. “Just face it, Mav, you just got friend-zoned by one of the hottest girls in this dive. Maybe she could tell you were already in love.”

“Or maybe I don’t chase after anything with a pulse unlike some people,” he snapped, his tone a little sharper than he had intended – the tequila. He glanced away as everyone went silent, feeling uncomfortable and awkward from the tension he’d accidentally caused. It was broken after a few moments by a low chuckle from Ice, which made Maverick glance over at him.

“That’s bold, Maverick. Those ‘some people’ might be at this table, you know,” Ice said, making intense, pointed eye contact that made Maverick’s cheeks burn before sipping his drink casually – vodka and lime. The usual. Always so predictable, going by the rule book even when they were supposed to be relaxing with friends.

“I’m just saying, I’m not into the…what, all the new-age ‘free love’ shit going around lately. Some of us still have standards,” he muttered – the words tasted bitter even as he said them. It was a cheap shot, a low blow, and not even something he believed, but he felt cornered and couldn’t think of an escape besides digging his way out. The air around the table grew still, and Maverick had the feeling his escape had actually been his grave he was digging deeper.

“You’re out of line, Mitchell,” Hollywood said evenly, his usually easygoing tone long gone. “It’s one thing to tease, but you don’t have to be homophobic about it.”

“Mav, I think we should get going. You’ve probably had too much,” Goose said slowly. He’d been laughing a moment ago, Maverick felt guilty over being the reason why his RIO looked so uncomfortable. “C’mon, man–”

“You know, Mitchell,” Ice said, cutting Goose off with a calm and measured tone. His depression was impossible to read, ice-cool as always but his eyes were sharp, as if he were silently daring Maverick to say something else. “I wouldn’t have thought you’d have such a problem with someone like me. There are so many better things for you to hate me over.”

Maverick’s stomach dropped. He could feel his pulse pounding as he stared at Ice. His mouth felt dry, and suddenly, any bravado and defensiveness he might’ve still had disappeared. He glanced around, trying to gauged if the others known all along, trying to read their expressions – but the tequila was making his thoughts feel muddled. Hollywood seemed to take pity on him and sighed, “If you didn’t know, now you do. Ice here is about as interested in women as that lady was in you.”

“I didn’t— I mean, I don’t care if he’s— If you…I—whatever, do whatever you want,” he muttered in a voice that sounded defensive even to himself. He tried to laugh it off but it sounded hollow even to himself. Goose stood up and grabbed Maverick’s arm in a light grip.

“Let’s go take a breather, man. You’re good, just…let’s go take a break,” Goose said quietly, tugging on his arm gently. Ice’s eyes held Maverick rooted in place, steady, waiting. There was something like pity in his gaze, but there was something else too – a challenge. Maverick couldn’t look at him directly, so he looked away like a coward, mumbling something under his breath that he didn’t understand. Ice nodded to himself and stood up.

“You’re good, Goose, I’ll get him home. I was about to get going anyway,” Ice said, brushing Goose’s hand off Maverick’s arm and replacing it with his own.

“You sure?”

“Don’t play pansy with me, I’m the only one here,” Ice said, making the table erupt into laughter – the tension finally breaking.

Maverick felt like he was on fire, heat consuming him and originating from the spot where Ice’s fingers were holding his arm in a firm grip. He didn’t fight it as Ice tugged him gently to guide him through the bar. Maverick glanced around and saw Sandy with the other woman; she gave him a knowing once over before looking at Ice’s hand on his arm and back to his eyes. There was a glint of pride in her eyes as she lifted her glass to him, and then he was outside.

Outside and alone with Ice.

“Mind if I have a smoke while we walk?” Ice asked casually, as if nothing had been said inside. 

Maverick shrugged. Ice took that as permission and somehow fished a cigarette out of the pack in his pocket, lit it, and took a puff without ever letting go of Maverick’s arm. He blew the smoke out away from Maverick, which he appreciated – the smell of smoke was making his stomach suddenly realize how much tequila it had consumed in such a short amount of time. He was stumbling and swaying as they walked despite his best efforts, making his leg brush against Ice’s with every other step. Maverick felt like if Ice made eye contact or they touched one more time, his head might explode from the amount of blood making his face burn.

“‘m sorry,” Maverick said when he knew they were alone.

Ice glanced over, taking another slow inhale through his cigarette without saying a word. Maverick almost wondered if he’d even spoken out loud, or if his words had been too slurred for the other pilot to understand. Ice’s hand tensed around his arm and he pulled Maverick to the side, nodding politely to the man he’d almost walked straight into without even realizing. Maverick stumbled from the sudden change in direction, unable to stop his legs as he staggered into Ice’s side. The other pilot reacted faster than Maverick’s drunk brain could track, holding the cigarette in his mouth and catching Maverick with both hands, steadying him until he got his feet back under him.

“You’re a real piece of work, Mitchell,” Ice muttered, waiting for Maverick to start walking before he grabbed the cigarette out of his mouth again and exhaled the smoke. “Dangerous in the air, and dangerous on the ground. Never would’ve pinned you for one of those.”

“Of what?” Maverick asked, wincing at the look that question earned him.

“A homophobe.”

Maverick felt like the air had been punched from his lungs. He didn’t know what to say in response to Ice’s words. He’d said it so simply, so matter-of-factly, as if Ice was completely confident in Maverick being hateful and that he had almost accepted it as a fact just as easily as the sky is blue and Ice is the best pilot in the Navy. Maverick didn’t know how to convince him otherwise, he didn’t know what words could help him. 

So he didn’t say anything.

The rest of the walk was in silence. Ice eventually flicked the stub of his cigarette into a random ashtray. They stayed shoulder to shoulder, and the grip Ice had on his arm was the only thing keeping Maverick from falling into the street in front of oncoming traffic. Maverick didn’t really remember most of the walk, but Ice somehow got them both onto the base and into the barracks. He came back into his body sitting on his bed, swaying in place as Ice helped him pull his uniform off. Maverick blinked up at him when Ice stepped back. The silence felt heavy. Maverick needed to break it, or risk breaking the unsteady beginning of a friendship that he’d only recently felt starting between them.

“Ice–” Maverick staggered when he stood up too fast, feeling very underdressed in his boxers compared to Ice’s pristine and perfectly tailored Naval whites, but uncaring as he caught himself with his hands on Ice’s shoulders. Ice caught him again, hands gentle and firm on his upper arms as he helped Maverick find his balance. “Iceman, Ice, I–”

“Don’t say anything, Mitchell. You won’t remember it in the morning, and I need you to remember this conversation,” Ice said; his voice sounded sad. His eyes were sad. Maverick had made the steady, ice-cold Iceman sad.

“Ice,” Maverick repeated, shifting his hands to hold his shoulders more firmly. He licked his lips to moisten them and saw Ice’s eyes dart down to them before the man looked back in his eyes. “Ice.”

Maverick threw all caution to the wind, leaning in and standing up on his toes. A hand pressed over his face before his lips could reach their target. Ice’s expression was tense, eyes still sad but filled with understanding that made Maverick feel like his soul was laid bare between them for Ice to inspect. He shook his head slowly and pushed Maverick back gently, taking his hand away from his face as he helped him sit back down on the bed. Maverick stared at him with confusion and hurt probably written clear as day in his expression, and Ice gave him a sad smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He cupped Maverick’s face and brushed his fingers through his hair before pulling all of his touch away all at once.

“You won’t remember this in the morning, Mitchell,” Ice said softly, he tilted his head as he studied Maverick. “Go to sleep. If you remember anything, I’ll be at breakfast.”

Ice’s words felt like an order that Maverick couldn’t ignore as his eyes grew too heavy to protest. A gentle hand helped ensure he was lying on his bed as he tipped over bonelessly. He heard footsteps and shuffling nearby, but the world faded too fast. The last thing he thought he felt was a hand brushing through his hair as the sheet was pulled over his chest.