#at first when he wakes up and starts inspecting stuff like his jacket and his notes

[even-disco-baby]

SOLA — Her Innocence, Sola— the anti-innocence— turns to face you. In the distance, you hear the tattoo of propellers, turning, sucking all the air. A strong wind whips her long, dark hair around her face. Her simple black gown billows behind her. The same gown she wore the day she resigned.

She has your eyes.

“Hi, Kim,” she says simply. “You don’t look well.”

PAIN THRESHOLD — Her voice is so familiar, and yet the moment she stops speaking, you cannot recall its sound, no matter how hard you try. And you have tried. Innumerable times.

AUTHORITY — What makes her think she would even *know* the difference between you looking well or unwell? She’s being presumptuous. She doesn’t even know you.

INLAND EMPIRE — She never will.

“I’m doing great, actually. Never been better.”

“Hey, I’m trying my best.”

“I’m *not* well. I’m so fucking unwell. I can’t take it anymore. Please, help me…”

“I’ll live.”

SOLA — “Hm…” She smiles apologetically. “Well, that’s all we can really ask for anymore, isn’t it?”

EMPATHY — She wishes more than anything that this was not the case. That you could ask for the world and have it.

RHETORIC — She tried to give it to you, and this is how you repay her? You’re gonna be in *deep* shit trying to explain that insignia you stitched onto her jacket.

“Um, about the jacket. It’s not what it… well, no, it *is* what it looks like. But I don’t— it’s— there’s nuance.”

“Is that really all you have to say to me?”

“I don’t know what to say to you.”

“Where are you going?”

SOLA — Her Innocence looks away from you, toward the wind. “Away,” she says, her voice distant and strange. “Yes… I’m stepping down, you see. The world doesn’t need me. It never needed me, really. It’s best for humanity to think for itself. No… it already *does* think for itself.”

She turns back to you with a small smile. The thought brings her peace.

PAIN THRESHOLD — But what does it bring *you?* She’s leaving you forever. Abandoning you for lofty ideals.

AUTHORITY — Let her go. Let her see how little you care. Don’t give her any satisfaction.

HALF LIGHT — Stop her. You won’t be able to live without her.

VOLITION — You have already lived almost all your life without her. You don’t need her. You have *never* needed her.

“What if the world *does* need you? Who are you to make that decision for the entire world?”

“Fine. Go. It’s none of my business.”

“So you’re just going to leave me behind again.”

“Please, don’t go. *I* need you.”

SOLA — “What else is an Innocence appointed to do?” Her smile turns wry. “You see? This is why I’m stepping down.”

Distant propellers turn and turn in endless circles. She glances toward them.

YOU — “Fine. Go. It’s none of my business.”

SOLA — “I suppose not.” Her voice and her face betray nothing. No sign of remorse.

YOU — “So you’re just going to leave me behind again.”

SOLA — “That was never my intention,” she says softly. “Surely you know that.”

INLAND EMPIRE — You will never truly know. No one will.

SOLA — She stares out at the horizon through the tendrils of hair that almost seem to threaten to swallow her. Her expression is strange and ambiguous, shifting every time you try and look directly at it.

YOU — “Please, don’t go. *I* need you.”

SOLA — She looks at you, and her eyes are full of what might be genuine sadness. But they could also be full of anything else.

“Oh, Kim… You must make do with what you have. I don’t know what else you want me to say…”

RHETORIC — What?! There are a million other things she could say! Forty-one years worth of possibilities! She could say *anything!* Anything at all… Even if she’d only left you a single word, it would be better than this…

VOLITION — It’s pointless to wish. Please, no more of this. It’s too sad.

“You could say that you’re sorry.”

“Say that I turned out all right.”

“Say that you’re proud of me. That you love me.”

SOLA — “Then I’m sorry.” She closes her eyes. “It was terrible of us to leave you alone.”

Her voice is utterly calm and emotionless.

PAIN THRESHOLD — No… Wrong, all wrong…

YOU — “Say that I turned out all right.”

SOLA — “You’re a good man despite it all. That is all I ever hoped for you.”

Again, there is no warmth to her words. No conviction.

VOLITION — Lieutenant… Please, don’t do this to yourself.

YOU — “Say that you’re proud of me. That you love me.”

SOLA — “I’m so proud of you and everything you’ve accomplished. You wear that jacket well.”

Her eyes have nothing behind them. A pair of two millimeter holes in the world.

“I love you.”

PAIN THRESHOLD — Your lungs seem to constrict at her words. Your chest hurts more than it’s ever hurt. This wind is hard to breathe in.

YOU — “No! Don’t you fucking get it?! You don’t love me!”

SOLA — “Then I don’t love you.”

YOU — “You should be *ashamed* of me!”

SOLA — “Then I am ashamed.”

YOU — “I betrayed you! I betrayed everything you stood for! I’m a fucking cop!”

SOLA — “Then I am betrayed.”

She proclaims it as dispassionately as she proclaimed her love.

YOU — “For god’s sake, *say something real!*”

SOLA — She just looks at you. The propellers keep on turning.

DRAMA — She can’t speak for herself, sire…

LOGIC — Of course she can’t. Of course…

PAIN THRESHOLD — Your lungs feel like they could collapse. Empty, crumpled, dark. Hot tears prick your eyes for the first time in what feels like a long time.

SOLA — “Do you understand now?” she asks gently.

LOGIC — She cannot speak for herself because you do not know what she would say.

There are many memories that you have been slowly recovering, little by little. Your mother will never be one of them. Her, the revolution, the aerostatic brigade— they all died before you could even comprehend loss.

AUTHORITY — You did not become a detective so that you could find your lost mother. You became a police officer because you did not want to end up like her.

VOLITION — She can neither forgive you, nor condemn you. She is dead, Lieutenant. She can only be what you make her.

RHETORIC — You’re asking your own echo for answers…

SOLA — “Humanity must think for itself,” she says again, turning again toward the wind. “What point is there in asking me where to go from here? I’m a failure. We all failed…”

RHETORIC — The revolutionaries failed their children, and the children are failing their parents, and all of them are dying, dying, dead… What’s the point in any of this anymore? I cannot argue in favor of any of it.

VOLITION — There is a point. There is a way forward. But you won’t find it here, Lieutenant.

“I hate you. You made me everything I am and then you just *left.*”

“I miss you… How is it even possible to miss someone you never met? It’s like someone ripped a part of me out and all I can do is bleed.”

“I don’t know what I am. I need you to tell me what I am.”

SOLA — One last time, she turns back to you. She slowly bridges the gap between you and reaches out a hand to cup your cheek. Her fingers feel like your own.

“You are whatever kind of animal you choose to be,” she says, so quietly that you don’t know how you can hear it over the distant roar of engines. “I cannot make that choice for you.”

EMPATHY — She died hoping that you would grow up with the freedom to choose to be whatever you wanted. Instead, the world that raised you hardly let you dare to want anything.

VOLITION — But you can still make a choice. Humanity can still think for itself.

[little-ghosty-ghost]

Recap of Antwerp yesterday

We arrived at 4 pm and I spent some lovely hours with other Käärylet, we had a great time!

We got green glow sticks!

We were lucky enough to get a spot in the fourth row and besides of some dude spilling beer on us it was perfect XD

I personally didn't like the opening act

We cheered for Jesse and Jukka when they came on stage for some preparations

They translated the intro into english?! That was amazing!

Jere is pure magic live! His energy, his moves, his voice - it was perfect! That feeling I had the entire time was pure magic!

We sang Happy Birthday for him

Voittaja chant, he seemed to be very surprised and said: "You guys speak Finnish?!"

We shouted "Käärijä" after nearly every song

He slapped himself and said: "Wake up Jere, this is not a dream", that was really cute

His belly is a drum set now, apparently

Speech about consent and rules, I loved that he did that

Paidaton riehuja!!! It was amazing!

Jere inspected Häärijä's underwear for some reason

Obviously the rakastamme sua moment that's still in my head

He sent us so many air kisses and hearts!

When he started introducing Huhhahei I was the first one to shout Huhhahei XD

The crowd was absolutely crazy and sang along to most of the songs

He said that Huhhahei is "about friendship and maybe something more" and that "it's maybe based on my life... maybe not"

After Huhhahei he talked about Bojan's laundry and ended on saying: "The Bojan is good guy!"

Then he improvised a love song for Bojan in which he sang that he misses him and needs him to be with him again

The crowd went insane

The improvised love song seemed so genuine he felt slightly embarassed about it afterwards (but not for long)

Someone gave him a Käärijä-t-shirt and he ripped it and wore it as a jacket

He said that yesterday [17.10.] was not a good day, but today we make him very happy

He threw some water into the audience and I got hit by a drop of water!!

He often adressed us all together as family

He thanked us for not throwing stuff on the stage

At the end, he said that although we all go home today, we will always be in his heart

He did Bojan's hand-on-heart-thingy quite often

He was surprised to hear so many people sing along and called us the craziest crowd he's ever seen

Before the second cha cha cha, he wanted us all to kneel down and did so himself

Jere gifted Häärijä two air balloons and said: "Now you have big balls!"

He called his concert a "safety space" and invited us to take off our shirts ("When I can walk around like this, so can you!")

"Just maybe don't show your cocks around... although, you can do that, I don't care, this is a safety space" XD

He didn't want to leave at the end and seemed to be genuinely happy

After the concert, I bought the tour t-shirt ^^

I met a very nice Finn and we talked for a bit

The only bad luck we had was that we missed Käärijä before the concert (had we arrived a quarter earlier, we would've seen him) and after as well because we went home early (we thought he wouldn't talk to people/take pictures because he was tired and I didn't want to bother him)

Apart from that, the concert was absolutely great The vibe was amazing and it was genuinely the best evening of my life! Thank you all who were there who made this experience so amazing!

[aramblingjay]

When the bones are good (Chapter 1) Clegan, hurt/comfort, post-war (3K)

The thing is, Gale is safe. He knows it. But the only thing that has ever made him feel unequivocally safe is Bucky. And god, how he just wants to collapse into those familiar arms. - Or: After the war, Gale gets on a bus to Wisconsin.

ao3

-

The thing is, Bucky is safety.

Gale wakes up with a scream lodged in the base of his throat, the kind of scream that would’ve woken the neighbors if he wasn’t well-trained by now to endure even the harshest of horrors in absolute silence. His first thought, just as it is every night he wakes like this, is that they’re being roused for inspection at the stalag.

He’s already out of bed, eyes wandering frantically to take in his surroundings, before his mind catches up with his body.

There are no curtains on his window anymore, and enough moonlight shines through to illuminate a map of constellations hanging on the wall directly in his eyeline, placed there specifically for this purpose. Every window in the stalag was boarded up to keep out as much of the cold as a few slats of decaying wood could, and there was certainly no wall decor.

Gale sits on the edge of the bed and releases a long breath. He’s home. In Casper, Wyoming, under friendly skies on friendly soil, not a threat within miles except for the four-legged kind in the woods at the edge of the property.

He’s safe. He’s safe.

But it doesn’t feel that way. His heart still races in his chest, the sputtering engine of a fort needing to be feathered, and there’s a pit in his stomach as solid as any ball-bearing that refuses to budge.

A scuffling sound in the corner—he springs off the bed and whips around, eyes wide, half convinced a kraut is about to knock him to his knees for being up past curfew until he sees the sheaf of paper rustling on the floor. Probably fluttered off his bedside table during the night.

The thing is, he’s safe. He knows it.

But the only person, the only thing, that has ever made him feel unequivocally safe is Bucky.

He’s safe, but Bucky is safety.

And god—how he just wants to collapse into those familiar arms, curled between broad shoulders that could carry the weight of the world and have certainly carried him all the way around it. He wants and wants, just like he’s wanted every single night for the last three months, but today—

Today, Gale pulls on his boots, stuffs enough money for a bus ticket in the pocket of the first jacket he finds, and starts walking.

-

It takes three days.

Gale doesn’t sleep for a single second of the journey, when before the war he would likely have seized the chance for uninterrupted shuteye before the bus even started moving. Now, after, the hum of the engine is nothing like the roar of a fort—he remembers proudly writing home to Marge once, young and naïve and drunk off the thrill of flying, that there was no sound in the world better than the roar of a fort in the sky—but it’s just close enough to the low groan of enemy fighters thousands of feet overhead to keep his eyes wide open.

There’s not much to see along the way, just miles and miles and miles of fields that all blur together over the days. It’s not until he sees the Welcome to Wisconsin signboard through the window that he starts to pay closer attention to each stop they pass, waiting for the one he needs. It would be just like him, really, to make it all the way here and miss Manitowoc by one town, like flying a plane with barely a working engine all the way to Africa and missing the runway by three feet.

God, how he misses Bucky ribbing him.

Bucky sent him a postcard, their first week back stateside. It had a picture of the Eiffel Towel on the front—where Bucky found that in the middle of Wisconsin he has no idea, but Bucky’s always been the most resourceful person he knows. The card was short and simple—Buck, I’m back home safe. Come visit anytime—but Gale has traced over the scrawled letters every morning since it arrived on his front doorstep, like touching the words would feel almost as good as touching the hand that wrote them. It was the closest he knew he would get, certainly. Until now.

It’s raining when he gets off the bus, but he’s marched in worse conditions than a light daytime drizzle. The return address on Bucky’s postcard—which he knows was the real gift—is about a half day’s walk from the main city, not that he spent the better part of an afternoon in the Casper library weeks ago working that out or anything. He’s determined to make it there before nightfall.

A couple of people give him odd looks as he passes through the busy parts of town. Whether that’s because the stalag still lingers on his face in hollow eyes and sunken cheeks, as clear as if former POW was tattooed on his forehead, or because he really does look like this Buck from Manitowoc that’s supposedly his namesake, he ignores them all. There’s only one face he wants to see, and he’d bet all his money Bucky avoids town now just as stubbornly as he used to frequent it.

No other reason for him to pick a place on the very outskirts of the city, several miles from his family.

Twilight approaches. The rain worsens, falling in heavy sheets. He’s wearing a light leather jacket with no hood and is soaked to the absolute bone, but the steady left-right-left-right rhythm of his feet never wavers. He’s marched through Germany in the bitter winter, half-starved and crawling with fleas, waded through snow with threadbare shoes expecting nothing but a cold grave at the end of it all. This, good boots on his feet and the promise of seeing Bucky on the other side, this is easy.

What’s new is that now, there’s an ache in his right knee with every step. Another souvenir of the war. The doc asked him, when he got back to Thorpe Abbotts, if he knew what caused the initial injury. No idea doc, he remembers saying. Take your pick, I guess. Between bailing out, landing hard, interrogation, and the stalag, the opportunities were endless. The truth is that he doesn’t know, not because he can’t remember but because it wasn’t any single blow, just the relentless grind of one thing after another pushing his body to the limit until something finally broke.

His knee. And maybe, he thinks some days, his mind.

In any case, it means he can’t move quite as fast as he used to. By the time the moon is up in the sky, surrounded by constellations he once knew how to name, he’s not nearly as far as he hoped to be.

He briefly considers stopping for the night when he comes across an empty bench by the side of the road. It’s kind of place he’s spent the night more than once, but he’s no longer just the kid who learned to sleep rough anywhere he could get horizontal for a few hours. An uneasy fear crawls down his spine at the thought of lying in the open like that, vulnerable on all sides. There are no krauts this side of the Atlantic, but he dismisses the bench all the same and keeps walking.

Almost there.

He thinks of Bucky’s wide smile, the curl of the cowlick on the back of his head, the feel of his hand cupping Gale’s cheek in that bar a lifetime ago, and keeps walking. Almost there, almost there. God, he wants.

He’s just starting to think maybe he needs Crosby here to give him a more accurate bearing when a house comes into view. There’s a little porch light on, and Gale would cry if he could at the indication that someone is home. Bucky, hopefully.

He’s long past keeping up appearances, several states away from home with nothing but the clothes on his back, and runs up the dirt path to the house, bad knee be damned. Only when he’s already cleared the stairs, each one groaning under his weight like the wood has seen better days, does he consider that Bucky is most likely asleep.

Gale comes to a standstill in front of the door, suddenly nauseous, the decisions of the last several days catching up to him in a rush.

Shame rises like acid in his throat, hot and scalding.

He shouldn’t be here.

He shouldn’t be here, at Bucky’s doorstep in the middle of the night, disturbing him without so much as a warning. He should’ve written ahead, asked permission—he should’ve responded to Bucky’s postcard at least, something, instead of turning up unannounced like this, a bad smell that lingers, the stone in a shoe he used to accuse Bucky of being without ever really meaning it.

Goddammit, what was he thinking?

He shouldn’t be here, not like this.

There’s a raw, scratchy pressure behind his eyelids that he doesn’t think about, and his feet feel like lead blocks as he turns away, but he turns away nonetheless. If Bucky’s found some kind of peace here, he deserves to keep it.

“Buck?”

He stops. Flinches despite himself, despite it being the most beautiful sound he’s heard in three months, Buck in that familiar voice. Turns, carefully, like it might all be a dream.

And it’s not, it’s not, it’s not, because Bucky is right there in front of his eyes, alive and solid and so very real.

“John,” he whispers, like a prayer, and then the world slides away.

-

He comes to, if it can be called that when he hasn’t really passed out, on his knees on Bucky’s porch, warm hands pressed against his shoulders.

Bucky’s hands. He’d recognize them anywhere.

“Hey, c’mon. Scared me half to death storming up the stairs like that in the middle of the night. What’re you even doing out here in—jesus, you’re drenched. Get inside, c’mon.”

The words wash over him like a salve, the familiar drawl, the timbre, the cadence. He rises to his feet, helped in no small part by Bucky’s steadying hands gripping his arms, and staggers into the house. It’s not quite the entrance he was planning to make, even before he realized coming here was probably a monumentally selfish idea.

Too late, he wonders if maybe Bucky’s settled here with a nice Wisconsin woman, and he’s gone and interrupted that as well.

But there doesn’t seem to be anyone else around. Just Bucky, who deposits him on the couch of what looks like a living room, flicks on a lamp, and hands him a glass of cold water. Their fingers touch, briefly, as he takes the glass, and Gale doesn’t think about that.

He takes a sip, then another, only realizing after he’s drained every last drop how parched he was.

“You look like shit,” Bucky opens with, standing and leaning back against something he can’t make out in the half-dark.

Bucky’s eyes are roaming over his body in a precise, methodical scan—checking for injuries and signs of illness. Gale has no room to complain, because he’s doing the same back. Like they’re both still in the stalag, aware the other would sooner gnaw off their arm than admit something was wrong, but even more aware that the smallest thing could tip the scales of survival.

All in all, Bucky looks alright. He’s clearly been eating his portions, filling out his sleep shorts better than he would have when Gale last saw him. He’s freshly shaved, his clothes clean, his hands steady enough by his side that he can’t have touched a bottle in at least a day or two.

There are also bags under his eyes dark enough to be shiners, and his hair is long and messy and clearly a month or two out from having seen a barber, but Gale would be more worried if Bucky looked perfect, ready to stroll onto the front pages of a G.I. Joe magazine like he wasn’t on death’s door not four months ago.

“What’s the matter, huh? You’re worryin’ me here.”

Only then does he realize he hasn’t said a word since they came inside. It’s hard to find any, confronted with the enormity of Bucky in front of him. This is what he travelled three days and four states for, but now that he’s here, all the words shrivel up and die on the tip of his tongue.

I’ve been falling apart without you there to hold me together, he thinks, but couldn’t say all that even if he could shape the sounds.

“Fallin’ apart,” is what comes out of his mouth instead, raspy from having said nothing to anyone after ticket to Wisconsin ma’am several days ago.

Bucky’s face, illuminated in beautiful planes by the lamplight—not that there’s any kind of light that doesn’t love Bucky—softens into something so raw and fond that Gale has to look away.

There’s that pressure behind his eyelids again, every time he blinks, but he hasn’t been able to cry in years. This won’t be the moment that changes.

“Buck—”

“No one’s called me that in—” Well, three months and six days, give or take, except he knows exactly how many days and hours and minutes and fucking seconds it’s been since Bucky’s see you on the other side, Buck back in England, before they crossed the Atlantic in different planes and came home to different states and the only thing he had of Bucky was a few words on a knockoff Paris postcard. Knows exactly how long it’s been since he felt like Buck, or like a person at all, because he has no idea who Gale is and doesn’t really want to find out, but he’s always been good at being the Buck to John’s Bucky.

He’s had three days to plan what he was going to do after landing on Bucky’s doorstep, and spent every minute of it thinking instead about Bucky’s hair and his shoulders and his smile and his voice and the feeling of safety he’s been missing for so long. Still, that’s no excuse for what falls out of his mouth next.

“Feels safe.”

Maybe the excuse is that he hasn’t eaten or slept in days, probably weeks if he’s being entirely honest. He’s soaked to the bone and his knee hurts something fierce and the soles of his feet aren’t as accustomed to this after three months of sedentary life as they once were and there’s a great big fog in his head that’s making any kind of thinking quite difficult.

Or maybe the excuse is just that Bucky’s always been his weakness.

“Christ, Buck. Alright, c’mon, let me get you some dry clothes. C’mon. I’ve got a guest room, you can crash there. We’ll talk in the morning, okay?”

He stands and doesn’t think too hard about the fact that Bucky’s using his gentlest talking new recruits down from the ledge after their first mission voice on him, too busy drowning in the safety and comfort of it instead. “In the morning,” he repeats, and doesn’t even realize it’s a hidden question until Bucky answers.

“It’s my house, you numpty, of course I’ll still be here in the morning. Up you go, c’mon.”

Bucky shepherds him up a narrow staircase, a hand ghosting over his back but not quite touching. Gale briefly contemplates tipping backwards just to feel those hands catch him, but they’re at the top before he can decide—he thinks about before, when it was easier to count the days Bucky didn’t touch him than the ones he did, and wonders how it’s come to this.

Then again, Bucky hasn’t asked any questions and is offering him a place to sleep after letting him in during the middle of the night. Maybe what they are to each other now doesn’t look like shoulder pats and thigh grabs and a hand on his cheek anymore, but this. Maybe this can be enough.

He falls asleep in Bucky’s clothes, dwarfed by slightly-too-long pants and a slightly-too-broad crewneck that smells just like the man, and has never felt more at home in anything he’s worn.

-

Gale wakes up to a scream. It takes him a distressingly long time to realize it’s not coming from him.

After that realization, however, he’s out of bed and padding across the narrow hallway toward Bucky’s door before he’s really even conscious of having made the choice to do so, breath a harsh pant in the silence. He imagines he was probably reliving some vivid horrors of his own before Bucky’s scream broke him out of them—only difference is, whenever Gale wakes up he can’t find it in himself to make a single sound.

Bucky’s door is slightly ajar, but not enough to see inside without giving himself away. Would Bucky want him to come in? Would he, if the roles were reversed?

In the stalag every man had his own demons to fight in the night, whether the echo of flak or ghosts from the past or simply the winter chill. Men sniffling into their pillows in the small hours of morning or taking themselves into hand for a different kind of relief was all met with the same detached, resigned, whatever he needs to see him through. No one looked twice at the sight of two soldiers bunking together or otherwise finding comfort in whatever way they could, not in a place like that.

This is Bucky’s house, not the stalag, but most nights Gale wakes up and can’t immediately tell the difference. Perhaps, in some ways, it isn’t so different at all.

There’s only one decision to make in the end.

“Bucky?” He pushes open the door and walks toward the shape in the bed, taking care to announce himself well before he’s within arm’s reach. There’s a faint thought in the back of his head that a man shouldn’t enter another man’s bedroom for the first time without express permission, but he pushes it away. “You alright?”

“Was starting to wonder if you were gonna haver outside my door all night,” Bucky says, neither soft nor scornful, just a statement. But he shifts his pillow just a fraction, a clear invitation.

Gale shuffles over and maneuvers himself into the narrow space on the bed, hesitating only for a moment before pressing his knees to the back of Bucky’s thighs and throwing an arm around Bucky’s waist. They’re well-practiced at the art of fitting two bodies into a bed barely large enough for one, and though the Wisconsin summer is too warm for this kind of tangling of limbs, that’s a price Gale is willing to pay to have Bucky this close.

It’s been a long time since he’s been held. It’s been equally as long since he’s held someone—since he’s held Bucky, the only person who has ever offered their back to him in this way, not as a reproach but with an offer to guard it.

He shifts on his pillow to find a more comfortable position and resolutely does not think about why there was already a second pillow ready on the bed.

Minutes pass, long and short in the surreal darkness. He keeps time only by the steady rise and fall of Bucky’s chest beside him and lets the fragile peace of the moment stretch on. Sleep is a long way away, but that doesn’t seem like such a bad thing pressed up like this against Bucky’s warmth.

Bucky breaks the silence first, because he’s always been the braver of them both. Willing to tread paths anew, where all Gale has ever wanted to do is close his eyes and follow Bucky’s lead. “What’re you doing here, Buck?”

He knows how the question is meant, but that’s not something he can answer. His mind is clearer than it was just a few hours ago, could probably produce something better than feels safe, even though that’s still the truest thing he’s said in weeks, but he merely replies, “Heard you scream. I wanted to—” There are a million things he could add but Bucky knows all of them, doesn’t need to hear check if you were okay or be sure the krauts hadn’t come back or maybe even hold you in my arms. He falls silent.

Bucky, because he’s a kinder man than Gale deserves, interrupts before he has to decide which of those to say. “Sorry I woke you.”

It’s not really an apology, or at least not for that. If anything, it feels like a tacit acknowledgment of their situation—Gale is at Bucky’s house in the middle of the night, Bucky has nightmares that make him scream, these circumstances have led to them spooning in Bucky’s bed.

In some ways, this is everything he wanted in coming here. In other ways, the distance between them feels larger than ever, this close to Bucky but separated by all the things they aren’t talking about.

“Usually I’m the one screaming at night,” Gale offers, because Bucky might be the only person left in the world to whom he can say something more than stiff pleasantries.

“Is that why you’re here, then?”

Coming from anyone else, the question would be unfathomable. But Bucky’s allowed, has always been allowed, to peek into the parts of him that are fortressed off to the rest of the world—maybe, deep down, part of the reason he came here was specifically to be poked at in just this way.

“I don’t know what I’m doing here,” he says honestly. “Just—couldn’t be there anymore.” Whether there is Casper or the stalag he visits every night in his dreams, he doesn’t know himself. Couldn’t be alone anymore lingers in the air, unsaid but likely heard all the same.

“I’m glad you’re here, Buck.” Quiet and sincere, like a confession.

“Mm.”

Gale closes his eyes, and doesn’t dream.

[paperficwriter]

"The Second Floor" (Metal Bat x Garou)

I figured I'd go ahead and start doing some cross-posting here...I don't know if I'll post everything here because not for nothing but I get harassed more here than Twitter, which is saying something.

Regardless, here I am, coming back to my roots. It's my take on what all has been happening in the main comic, so a bit different from the 'Monster in my Bed' universe. Enjoy!

Cut is for length, not for content. AO3 link and tags in the reblog.

“Alright, so…here it is.”

Badd opens the door to the second-floor apartment, stepping inside of it to let Garou pass. He’s glad, then, that he came up before and gave it a good cleaning, got the windows open, the place aired out a bit. That was the first time he had been back inside since his parents died, and even though his uncle had straightened it out and made sure there wasn’t anything left for Badd and Zenko to have to take care of, the place had felt…strange, like it had been put into some kind of suspended animation for the past eight years.

Badd watches as Garou wanders around with the kind of caginess that Tama had when they brought her home the first day. There’s a wariness to his movements, and…did he just see his nose twitch. “This is the main room,” Badd says. “You can see the kitchen right there.” He nods at the window cut into the far wall, showing the small, sunlit space with a full-sized fridge, stove and sink. “The door across from that’s the bathroom…s’got a bath, though it might be small for ya. Then there’s a bedroom.”

Garou looks down at the squat table in front of an old television—already old when Badd was a kid, when he would come up here and pretend he was a squatter if there wasn’t anyone living in the apartment. “It’s gonna be a tight fit,” Garou finally says in his cold, rough voice. “But I guess I’ve lived in worse places.”

A flash of anger rises up suddenly in Badd’s belly like the gas on the old range had been turned on in a rush of blue flame. “Now, listen—”

“I guess I’ll take this front room, though.” He scratches the inside of his ear with a pinkie finger. “Just don’t wake me up when you’re cooking.”

“Wait…no, dammit, I’m not living here!” A warmth travels across his nose and pinks his cheeks as Badd stuffs his hands in his pockets. He’s not wearing his hero uniform today, but a bomber jacket with a tiger on the back and jeans. “This place is just for you.”

Garou looks surprised, white eyebrows going up and then back down. He starts wandering around again, somehow even more suspicious, touching the walls, opening the cabinets in the kitchen. Badd follows him.

“I got a couple of things…some basic stuff. Noodles, sauce, some canned stuff. There ain’t much in the fridge ‘cause I didn’t know what you liked other than…meat. Though I did get ya some of what was on sale at the supermarket.”

When he says that, Garou has his spiky head shoved into the fridge, taking out the wrapped packages, eyes gleaming. Badd can’t help but grin a little because he has the kind of expression he’d expect to see if he left him a basket full of candy and not a couple of strip steaks…

After a quick inspection of the bathroom and then the bedroom, which has a desk, an empty bookshelf (what the hell is going to go there, Badd wonders—this is Garou living here, does he even know how to read?), a dresser and a rolled up futon, the former Hero Hunter turns to Badd. His gold eyes are narrow as he steps up to him. “What’s the catch?”

“Huh?”

“You said you’re not living here. Is the old man paying you? Or are you going to start charging me rent or something?” He says it like he’s expecting Badd to tell him he needs to start selling his organs downtown.

“What? No!” Badd growls and cracks his socked toes against the soft wooden floor. “I don’t need any damn money, alright?! I live downstairs in the apartment under this place! The first floor!”

“Why do you have a spare apartment?”

“My folks bought the place like this and used to take tenants…anyway, it don’t matter! Do ya want it or not?”

It’s a little weird, but Badd only realizes after he’s said it that they actually haven’t discussed at all or not Garou wants to live here. Because initially, the conversation didn’t even happen with him. It happened with Bang, at a cafe, after Badd’s patrol but before he had to go pick up Zenko from piano practice. “You want me to let Garou come live with us. Are you serious, old man?”

Bang had picked up the tab for their tea and a few small desserts, and he was eating a pastry and taking a stupidly long time to answer Badd. “I am. He doesn’t seem…comfortable, living with me. Not that we haven’t mended some of what was broken between us, and I wouldn’t ask you this if I didn’t think it was safe.”

“Maybe he’s uncomfortable because he doesn’t think he can get away with being him when you’re watching.”

Bang shrugged, sipping his tea. “I think you two will have more in common with each other than he does with me. It’s good for young men to spend time together. They grow from mutual experiences.”

What planet was this geezer on?! “There is no way I got anything in common with that guy! And if it’s about age, why not one of the other heroes?!”

For a moment, Bang took a breath, like he was gathering his words. Then, finally, he said, “You two have the most shared history at this point. And I have caught him watching the news about your hero work from time to time.”

Badd didn’t know what to say about that. He didn’t know what to say when they parted ways, except that he did have some space and so long as Garou didn’t do anything to make him regret it, he could stay there. And he still doesn’t know what to say now, because Garou is staring at him like he’s still waiting for this all to be taken out from underneath his feet.

Finally, Garou shrugs. “Sure. Whatever. It’s better than being stuck up in that place above that smelly dojo.”

The tension in Badd’s shoulders lessens immediately. Even though he should be dreading the fact that Garou has decided he will be living above him now, having to deal with him thinking that he was trying to con him out of something was worse. And at least if he’s there, maybe Badd will be able to catch him if he tries anything…

When he tries anything, Badd mentally corrects himself. Because he will. He’s sure of it.

Once he’s handed him the key, Badd walks back down the same set of stairs that he ascended. At one point, before his parents bought the place, the stairs would just lead to different levels of the house, and the landing where Badd has left his shoes would be the foyer. Now, there is a door that leads to his apartment with Zenko. He’s about to open it when he feels a prickle at the back of his neck and—

Badd jumps back from the door to shoot his gaze at Garou, who is watching him with catlike eyes from his upper floor, leaning over like a burglar. “Oi!” Badd growls. “What’re ya doin,’ punk?!”

“What? We’re neighbors now, right?” Garou has a sly smile. “I can’t check out what my neighbor is up to?”

Nevermind, Badd thinks as he goes inside of his apartment and closes and locks the door. Probably nothing could be worse than this.

It’s quiet, for a while…and Badd almost thinks that Garou has changed his mind and decided to run out. He comes back from his hero work and hears nothing from upstairs, and at one point he asks Zenko about it. “Have you heard anything from Garou?”

She’s working on her homework at the table where they eat dinner, as Badd cooks. He’s cut up some bell peppers that are softening with onions, and there’s some beef browning in a cast-iron skillet. They’ll have it with rice. “Yeah,” she says. “I hear him go out before I go to school and you leave for work.”

“Huh?! Only then?”

“Is that weird?” she asks, raising an eyebrow. “You’ve been working day shifts since he started living here. Don’t you think he would be going to his job too?”

That’s true. He figured that if Garou was going to do something, it would be under the cover of night, now that everyone knows who he is. Badd grabs the pan handle and gives it a shake that’s maybe a bit too aggressive, because two green slivers of pepper escape onto the stove top. “There’s no way a guy like that’s got a job,” he mumbles.

Zenko puts her pencil down then and he hears her sniff the air. “Big bro…something smells funny.”

“Eh?” He frowns. Zenko’s always liked his cooking…but then he realizes there’s a tickle of something else…acrid and burning…and there’s a haze outside the window. Could that be coming from— “Stay here!”

Making sure to move his pans to other burners, Badd runs to the door and opens it into the landing. Sure enough, there’s more smoke in the hallway, and he leaps to the top of the stairs in one bound. “Garou! What the hell’re ya doin’?!”

When there’s no answer, Badd acts on instinct and punches a hole in the door, tearing his way through it. The apartment is cloudy, although the window in the kitchen is open. He darts in to look through it and there’s Garou, perched on a section of the roof, holding a skillet with something on fire in one hand and his phone in the other. “This recipe is bullshit!” he curses, and he seems like he’s about to throw the pan probably into oblivion but then he stops, showing a degree of self control that Badd didn’t expect.

So there he is, just pouting, the flames going out slowly…and Badd has to laugh. It’s not like there’s any damage to the apartment other than the smoke, so…

Garou’s eyes snap over to him. “Hey! Shut the hell up!”

“Okay, okay…you just…look like you’re having a hard time.”

“I followed the stupid video. It’s not my fault.”

Badd turns on the water and watches as Garou crawls back in the window and puts his pan under the running sink. Whatever it was, it’s charcoal now. Badd could leave him to it to figure out what else he’s going to eat, but…Garou looks so pathetic and angry, instead he finds himself asking, “You want to come down for dinner? I’m making bell peppers and beef. I usually end up havin’ enough for a few nights in case I gotta work, so…there’s plenty.”

Garou doesn’t reply for a second, and Badd prepares himself to get shot down, probably with some snide remark. But then, there’s a high, strange noise that ends in a sort of warbling grumble, and Badd realizes it came from Garou’s stomach. Garou puts his hand over it like he can push the noise back in. With his long fingers over his abs, Badd realizes for the first time how thin he is, and, sure, he’s lean with all those muscles but…then he recalls the report from the fight in the woods between that gang of heroes, Genos and Bang, the one that mentioned him being found in a shack.

And other than that kid…he was all alone.

“Well,” Garou says loudly, with an exaggerate shrug. “I guess I’ll try it. It can’t make me any sicker than this would…”

Any sympathy Badd was feeling evaporates like the water hitting the hot pan. “Ya know, you could starve for all I care.”

“Nope, you can’t take it back now.” As Badd goes into the bedroom to open the other windows in the apartment, he hears a sharp, “What the fuck did you do to my door?!”

“Shut up! I thought you were burning the house down! I’ll fix it!”

When they get back downstairs, Zenko has already set a second place. Badd returns to the stove, grateful he had the foresight to move the food so it wouldn’t burn up too, and he finishes getting the rice done as he carefully listens to Zenko and Garou talking.

“Do you remember me?”

“Yeah, how could I forget? You were the dumb brat who tried to butt in the middle of our fight.”

“Who’s dumb?! I got you all to stop, didn’t I?”

“Okay, maybe you have a point. What’s that you’re doing?”

“Math homework. It’s Advanced Geometry.”

“Ugh…what do you need that for?”

“I want to be a veterinarian!”

Badd is ready to interject if Garou makes a smart-ass remark, but then he hears him go, “Yeah, guess you need to work really hard for something like that. Better give it your all and not quit school like I did.”

“I am!”

Did he really say that? It was…surprisingly thoughtful. Did Garou really drop out of school? They’re about the same age, and Badd just finished the year before, so…it would make sense.

Then, he hears Garou laugh. “Unless you’d rather just do something that doesn’t require any level of intelligence, like being a hero—”

“Alright, I’ve got plates of food here, so why don’t you shove this in your mouth, eh?”

Garou smirks as Badd puts down the plate of food in front of him, but when his eyes settle on it, he really does get quiet. With a quick ‘itadakimasu’ he’s stuffing his mouth like someone is going to take the plate away from him. Zenko and Badd exchange glances before beginning to eat as well.

Badd continues watching him out of the corner of his eye. How is it that the longer he interacts with him, the more he questions everything he thought he knew about him?

It doesn’t feel like he’s trying to trick him either…

After dinner, Badd walks Garou to the door. “I’ll fix the door this weekend. So just…don’t do anything dumb, yeah?”

“Like what? Leave it unlocked?”

“Okay, goodnight, smartass.”

It isn’t the last time that Garou eats some of Badd’s cooking (and to his knowledge, enjoys it). In the days to follow, Badd notices there are less leftovers in the fridge over the subsequent nights after he’s made a big meal. If there are three plastic containers, the next day there are two. If two, then one.

Is he seriously breaking in and stealing food?! Can ’t believe I was beginning to trust that guy…

He heads upstairs to confront him about it, but when he opens the door he nearly runs right into Zenko. She trips backward and lands on her rear. “Zenko! Are you okay? What are you doing?”

Then, he sees the empty container in her hands. She’s clutching it to her chest. “Nothing!”

“Are you…giving him food?”

Zenko stands back up, her nose in the air. She always does that when she’s trying to meet his height, to match his energy. “So what if I am? Clearly he’s terrible at cooking. Recently all he brings home are convenience store foods—”

“How do you know that?!”

“I say hello to him! Like a good neighbor!” Zenko crosses her arms over her chest. “Why don’t you say hello to him more? He’s your friend!”

The desire to fire back that no, he is absolutely not his friend, tickles his tongue, but Badd stops himself. Because he doesn’t hate him like he thought he would. But he doesn’t like him either, so…he takes the empty container from Zenko. It looks like it’s been practically licked clean… “It’s fine. I’ll…put some extra servings to the side so he gets a bit of everything.”

Garou doesn’t say anything for a while, and Badd wonders if Zenko has told him that Badd knows now that he’s feeding him. One evening, though, he’s about to take the trash out when he sees Garou coming down the stairs. He’s got the leftover box in hand. Badd nods at him. “Hey.”

It’s the first time he’s gotten to take a long look at Garou in a while. He’s different from how he was when he first arrived—softer, his brain supplies first, comfortable, less starved. There’s still that same air about him, like he’s prowling, ready to pounce, even if his form of attack is just to quip. Now, though…his body looks lived in, stretched out a bit.

Badd is surprised at how he kind of likes that look on him.

“I think this was my favorite,” Garou says, without any greeting of his own. This was a honey garlic stir fry he made with chicken and mixed vegetables.

“I hadn’t made it before. I’ve been trying some new recipes.”

“Mm.” Garou follows Badd outside as he goes to deposit the bags of garbage at the street. The fireflies are out, the late evening easing in and bringing with it a cool breeze. “How do you even…” He shakes his head. “There’s so much in it.”

Badd realizes he’s still talking about the dish, and at first he’s about to talk about all the steps he took to sauté the chicken and thicken the sauce before tossing it all together, but…instead what comes out is, “You could come down and watch. Maybe help a bit.”

A distant cicada starts buzzing. It fills up the silence, and Badd is grateful, because it’s taking Garou a while to answer. Finally, what he gets is, “…sure.”

The agreement is not nearly as surprising as when he actually knocks the next evening, ready to get started.

After a few weeks of dinners, Garou is about to head back upstairs when Badd asks him if he wants to give breakfast a try. “Broaden your horizons a bit. We could do some eggs, pancakes—”

“No,” Garou says quickly. “No mornings.”

Badd frowns. He’s really wanted to believe that Garou hasn’t actually been up to something, ignoring the fact that he’s gone before he and Zenko get up and always home by the evening. He’s even walked home with Zenko from school a couple of times. But… “Why?”

It’s like a door between them closes, and evenings of cutting vegetables and talking about hero movies and things that normal people might bond over disappears. “None of your business.”

Badd can’t let that slide.   

A few days later, Badd switches his hero patrol day with Genos so he can see where Garou goes when he thinks he’s gone. It works out perfectly since Zenko wanted to sleepover with one of her friends from class, and he gets up early without having to worry about coordinating it with her school day. Sure enough, Garou rises before the sun, leaves the house and starts running towards the east end of the city.

Badd takes off after him, dressed in a nondescript sweatsuit with his hair down. Granted, he can’t exactly be as covert as he’d like to be, because keeping up with the human monster requires jumping from building to building lest he chance catching up with him. They run for almost a half hour, so far that it’s almost out of the city entirely. But then Garou stops, shoves his hands in his pockets and walks into the konbini at the corner. There’s only one other person shopping and an old woman is stocking some drinks towards the back. Badd watches as Garou walks around behind the counter and into the back room.

When he comes out again, he’s got his hair wet and pressed down as much as he can get it, and he’s wearing an apron. From the rooftop across the street, he can’t hear what’s being said, but Garou and the old woman exchange words. She’s smiling and patting his arm, and as she disappears to get more products, he takes his place at the register. If Badd had never seen him before, he might believe it’s someone else—a cute guy with a serious face, who could even be someone’s boyfriend.

Garou has a job…and Badd feels like a complete asshole.

There are a few things he learns on his phone as he heads back to the house: the neighborhood where the konbini is located is small, largely made up of senior citizens. It wasn’t affected by the battles that had happened those few months back…in fact, it hasn’t been affected by any villains in years. It’s not even on the patrol map that’s used by the lower-tier heroes, let alone the S-class ones like him.

One article catches his eye about some kids who had been playing in the road when a moving van cut a corner too fast. They were saved by a mysterious man who dashed in and grabbed them so quickly no one could get a look at him. One of the kids, however, said he had “wolf ears.”

Subtle, Badd thinks.

For the rest of the afternoon, Badd sits in front of the couch without actually watching what’s on television. He thinks about the Garou he was convinced he knew before, and the Garou he’s coming to know now. And that Garou is the one that is making something tug in his stomach, an invisible thread that is coming out and trying to get to him.

When Garou comes home that night, he walks into Badd’s apartment, more than a bit doggedly. Badd has left the door unlocked for him now for…how long, he’s not sure. There’s that pulling sensation again…why does Badd want to give him a hug and welcome him home? He’s been working all day behind a counter miles away.

“Hey.” Badd gently elbows him as Garou washes his hands at the sink. “Listen, sorry if I was pushy a few days ago, askin’ what you were doing and all. You were right. It’s none of my business.”

Garou squints at him. “Did you hit your head today?”

“What?! No!”

“You don’t apologize for anything ever. Weirdo. What’s your deal?” With his hands occupied, he uses a foot to kick Badd in the ass. He’s grinning at him, though, so Badd can’t actually be mad. Instead he runs his hands through his own hair and grabs Garou’s fingers just as he finishes drying them. “Ugh, gross, I just washed these!”

Badd laughs. “What’re you, fuckin’ five? Think I’m gonna give you cooties?”

“Nobody wants to find your nasty gooey hair in their food!”

“It ain’t gooey!”

Garou stares at him for a minute, and his smile softens in a way Badd has never seen it do. “Actually, yeah…you wore it down today.” He starts soaping up again. “Not bad.”

In his stomach, Badd feels a fluttering like wings. Not butterflies, something bigger, more important. “Heh…thanks.”

They start cooking after that in silence. The quiet isn’t awkward, though. It’s warm and comfortable, a blanket they are sharing between them.

On the weekend, Badd comes home from a morning patrol to see that Garou’s door is open. It’s the first time he’s actually seen him reciprocate the availability that Badd has put forth. Not that he’s ever pressured him too—Garou seems like a man who needs his privacy—but then he’s also rarely there during the day and…

Before he can think better of it, he’s walking up the stairs.

Garou is sitting in the living room, facing the television and watching some kind of sentai show. The first thing he can’t help but notice is that he is very shirtless, his pale skin smooth and light in the sunshine coming in from the window. Once again, he notices how Garou has softened considerably since he’s come to live there with them; there’s a little roll of plushness that’s developed at the base of his stomach, and where the angles of his muscles once seemed sharp, like they would cut you if you touched them the wrong way, they’ve smoothed a bit.

Badd catches himself staring, even moreso as Garou lifts a wrapped taiyaki to his mouth. There’s a red bean filling, and it crunches in his teeth, warm and fresh. Badd realizes he’s never seen Garou eat something sweet before. Come to think of it, whenever he’s offered him dessert, Garou has turned him down…

Seeing him like this, it’s almost as though he’s kind of vulnerable.

He doesn’t want to spoil the moment, but he also doesn’t want Garou to suddenly catch him sneaking up on him. So he announces himself with a little clearing of his throat. “Hey.”

Badd expects Garou to jump, but he doesn’t. Instead, he puts down the taiyaki, turns off the TV, and pivots so he can nod at him.

Now, Badd thinks. Tell him now. “You got a minute?”

“Sure.”

Badd leaves his bat at the door and walks inside, sitting down beside him. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about.”

“Ready to kick me out?” Garou jokes, but then his face changes when Badd puts his hand on his wrist. His pulse quickens under his fingers, and his eyes seem to adjust, blinking slowly and catlike.

“No. I want ya to stay. Now maybe more than ever.” Badd takes a breath, trying not to feel totally scrutinized as Garou watches him. “I like ya. Not just…as a neighbor, either.”

Garou’s chest rises so much that his shoulders go with it. He doesn’t pull away.

“And I’ve been tryin’ to figure out how to tell ya. It’s hard, y’know?” He uses his free hand to rub the back of his neck. His voice is rolling into that delinquent drawl that comes out when he’s working. “And that ain’t all. I gotta tell ya, one day I—”

“Yeah, I know.”

Badd’s eyes move up from where they had been focused in on the table, on the point of contact between his tan skin and Garou’s wrist. “Which part…?”

“All of it.” Now it’s Garou’s turn to search the room for everything but Badd’s face. “Knew you followed me that day. Knew you weren’t just…being neighborly for a while now. And I knew you were outside a couple of minutes ago.”

Badd’s face flushes, but worse than that his heart twists uncomfortably. Is Garou about to let him have it for creeping around on him? Or, worse, is he going to let him down and tell him he doesn’t like him that way? “Guess I wasn’t doing a good job hiding it.”

Garou chuckles. “No, you weren’t. But…” He finally does meet his eyes, and the gold there is bright, like sunshine through honey. “I don’t mind.”

“Really? Do you—”

“Yeah.” Garou cuts him off, and the way he sets his jaw makes a very clear message: I’m not spelling it out for you.

Badd takes a long breath. “Why didn’t you just say you got a job?”

“I don’t know.” Garou sounds annoyed, but not with Badd. He scratches his belly. “Everything about me is changing. I don’t recognize myself anymore. And if I said it out loud to someone it would mean that I have to admit that it’s happening, that I can’t get away from it. But…” He mrrrrs like a grumpy animal. “I don’t hate it. I guess.”

Badd nods. The hand that’s been on Garou’s arm moves to his hand, the cool skin there. Garou has pretty nails…he’s never noticed that before. “If it helps, you still seem like a huge jackass to me. Same as ever.”

Garou makes a short cackling laugh, a genuine one, and Badd grins at it. “Oh good. I’m glad.”

They look at each other, and Badd finds himself staring at Garou’s mouth. But instead of leaning towards it, the way everything in his body wants him to, he picks up the last pieces of the taiyaki and lifts it up to him. Garou is wary again, like that first day, but then he slowly parts his lips and takes a bite of it. The pink tip of his tongue picks up a scrap of a crumb, and Badd waits until he’s swallowed to bring the treat back. This next time, Garou takes the rest, and his pink lips brush Badd’s fingers—linger on them—and then he finishes it.

This time, Badd doesn’t ignore the tugging, the pull of gravitation, the magnetic drive that brings them together to meet in the middle. And that’s where he stays with Garou, longer than he ever believed could be possible.

[greatgigintheskiess]

With Me

Chapter 1: Trust

CW: Broken Bones, (Implied) Child Abuse, Lab Whump

Word Count: 2.4 k

--

He felt warmth, when he was blinking his eyes open, waking up from a deep doze. As he stirred slowly, the boy felt a soft blanket nestling tenderly around his injured body. Usually, when he woke up, he was feeling only cold solid metal on his back; a filthy disgusting operation table, often covered in dried blood of other 'subjects'. But now, for the first time ever, it wasn't something cold and unpleasant on which the boy lay, on the contrary, it was a soft mattress, a bed. The child had shifted his shoulders once more before he was fully awake and moved on his back, tilting his head to the side. Where even was he? He was staring at a night stand, which was only a few inches away from him. Soon, he began to recognize his surroundings. A wooden dresser stood beside a window, shutters down, so that only a bit of daylight fell through them and illuminated the room in a warm pleasant light. On the dresser the boy saw a radio, next to it some cassettes alongside with deodorant and other everyday stuff like creams and handkerchiefs. Beside the door, a dark green hunting jacket hang over a chair. The boy wondered. It didn't appear to be some kind of medical room. No plain white tiles on the walls, no medical devices, no IV sticking to his arm, no appliance to check his vitals, if his body had overcome the last experiment, no surgical lighthead blending his eyes. He also wasn't tied so tightly to a metal table, that he couldn't move or struggle, if some doctors came in to inspect whether their experiment was successful or had failed.

But there was still pain. As the child moved his right leg, he felt a stitch and right after such an unbearable pain in his ankle and above it, that he had to prevent himself from letting out an agonizing cry, like he so often had to do in the past. Instead, he whimpered quietly and hoped that nobody heard him. If he had cried or screamed back there, it meant more pain, more torture. Once it had come to the point, that one of the scientists was so mad and annoyed by the boy's weeping, he threatened the child by telling him, he'd sew his mouth together if he wouldn't shut up. That threat had burned into his mind since, no matter how awful and painful the latest experiment was, the boy didn't even dare to make a noise.

The child startled and flinched as suddenly someone opened the door and stepped inside. Please, no more pain, the boy pleaded in his mind, peering at the man, who came to the bed.

"Hey, kid. You're awake. Did you sleep well?" The man asked with a slight smile and sat down on the bed's edge.

In an instant, the boy moved further away from him as he was still terrified the guy would hurt him. He didn't dare to respond to the question, so he remained silent and stared right into the man's light blue eyes. One could see his brown hair had already started to become grey, same for the beard on his chin and above the lips. He didn't wear a white smock, like all the other scientists, so that the child began to wonder why he hurt him then. He remembered last stepping into something very sharp and painful as he stumbled through the forest last night- everything after was blurred. He only remembered having a conversation with the guy, that he wanted to bring him back to the hospital he had just escaped from. He believed that the man had even told him his name but, by god, he couldn't recall that one.

And it was strange, usually the boy woke up in pain, all alone; it used to be cold and dark. Never did he lay in a bed, never was he wrapped in a warm blanket and never did someone ask him how he had slept. So the whole situation was completely new to him- yet, he was still afraid of what would happen next.

There had to be a threat somewhere.

"In case you're wonderin' where you are, this is my house." The guy explained, interrupting the boy's intrusive thoughts. "I got you out of my jeep last night, it was hella uncomfortable sleeping in there."

Still no reaction.

The man's face turned into a frown, as he was running out of words to keep up the conversation. Well, one could call this merely a conversation as he was the only one speaking and the boy just stared at him, like a deer in the headlights. He already wasn't that socially gifted and the kid sure didn't make things easier for him.

So Don stood up from the bed and grabbed a few things from the dresser, standing across the room. As he was holding a bottle of disinfectant and few cotton pads in his hands, coming back with them to the bed, the boy recoiled instantly, recognizing these things from there. He knew it hurt. It burned. Pulling the blanket closer to his upper body as a shield, the child knew exactly what would happen.

There it is, the threat.

Noticing the boy's strange reaction, Don hesitated for a moment. Right, medical stuff, he concluded and sighed in his mind. In his head, he thought how to deal with this situation. He believed he had gained the child's trust yesterday, and in the end, the boy even told him his name. Now all this trust seemed to be gone, only because Don held this bottle in his hand. But this again showed him, how much the kid has been traumatized that he would be scared of such a simple object.

Don tried to ease the whole situation by sitting next to the startled boy on the bed again, putting the bottle of disinfectant out of the kid's sight.

"Hey, everything is fine. There's no need to be scared." He said to the child and lay one hand on his leg, which was still covered by the blanket.

First, the boy winced by the sudden touch, but eventually pressed his first words of today out of his mouth.

"Please, no more pain..."

Finally, the kid replied something, Don thought, but right after became aware of what he had actually said. Also the child had lowered his gaze, when speaking out these few but bitter words, as if he was ashamed of even saying them. Don shook his head in disbelief. The kid still thinks I'm the bad guy.

"Boy, your name was Six, right?" Don tilted his chin until he met the kid's eyes. The boy nodded without looking up. "Six, listen, I need to disinfect that wound on your foot or else it will hurt even more. And both you and I don't want that. Would you let me do it then?"

Silence.

Don pursed his lips, still looking down on the child's lowered head.

"Six?" He asked once again, came a bit closer and hesitantly lay one hand on the boy's head, touching his blonde curly hair as gently as possible.

Six didn't recoil, instead stared into the vastness, not fully understanding what was happening right now. No one has ever touched him like that. They had always dragged him, pushed him, grabbed his arms so roughly that it left bruises for days. Whenever any of them had touched him, they also hurt him. Always. But now it was different. The hand just lay there on his head. It didn't grab him by his hair, the man didn't beat him - nothing, just a slight touch.

Don realized how that little touch seemed to overwhelm the boy. When he slowly raised his head, Don believed to see some kind of affirmation in the kid's eyes, telling him it's alright what he is doing. And that only gaze met a whole lot to Don. It showed him that he didn't completely fuck up with the kid, that there maybe is some way to gain his trust and it isn't hopeless. Don never had any children of his own. His girlfriend left him 18 years ago, since then he dedicated his life completely to hunting. There wasn't a single day where he didn't drive out in the woods and only came back in the middle of the night. It was some kind of meditation to him or else he would just drink his problems away and wait for the day when he finally would die. Hunting gave him a purpose, something that was worth living for. So how could he tell if he was doing it right? How should he know if he was doing the right thing with the boy?

Don had eyed the kid for a while and his lips curved into a smile.

"There we go. Now I want you to be brave, okay?" He said with his hand still resting on the child's head, thinking to himself in the meantime, as if you weren't that already after all the pain you experienced, kid…

Six nodded slightly in response and the man took away his hand to get the bottle again. He shoved away the blanket from the boy's injured leg, revealing the terrible wound on his ankle. When he had to unwind the bandage, Don saw how the wound was already starting to get infected. Sure, leaving it like it was for a whole night wasn't good, but Don didn't know what else to do, after the boy had refused to get any kind of medical help. He only hoped that it wasn't too infected. The ankle bone, however, was broken. Don didn't need to be a medic to see that. A bear trap was fucking dangerous, especially for humans- not to mention children.

Don pressed a pad of cotton on the bottle's opening and slightly shook it, so that the ethanol spread all over the fabric and flooded it, making it usable for disinfection. He had done that already a few times after he accidentally cut himself in the hand while slicing up his hunted prey. It was a nasty process that really sucked. And Don could only imagine how the boy felt now when he had to do that to him. The child's face contorted at the sight of Don's hand reaching for his ankle. He winced when the man's fingers wrapped around his leg, grabbing it gently, while, in the other hand, he was holding the cotton pad only a few inches above the wound. Six gave him a fearful glance, his jaw tightened and he drew his lower lip between his teeth. Don hesitated briefly, when he saw the kid was fighting back tears. He really would've renounced doing that but there wasn't any other way. Or else the boy will suffer only more.

So the man sighed and started carefully padding the wound around the destroyed bone where the trap's jaws had dug deeply into. At first Six only felt the cold liquid on his ankle, cooling it pleasantly as it was throbbing and heated. But shortly after, a severe sting set in, spreading everywhere in the ankle, biting. Pain overtook the boy's face, he gritted his teeth, clenched his jaw in agony. Suddenly, he felt like his mind was playing tricks on him. He heard voices, beeping devices, echoing in his head. Hold it still. Prevent it from moving.

He was there again.

The sound of latex medical gloves being snapped on, echoes in his ringing ears, muted and dulled. All awhile he's writhing in agony, begging for it to stop.

Please. Make it stop. Screaming, as his throat hurt, feeling like he was losing his voice by every second.

"Stop it! Please!" The boy pleaded in pain as he was thrown back into reality, his eyes flooded with tears.

Don heard a sob leaving the kid's throat while he tried to hold him still. On one hand, he tried to focus on disinfecting the wound, which- of course- would be much easier for him, if the boy would stop moving that much, on the other, he felt so very sorry for hurting the child, not only because of the bear trap, but also for what he was doing right now. So he ended the process as fast as he could to not torment the boy even more.

"It's fine, Six. You're good." Don told him in a soft tone. "See, it's over already."

He took another fresh bandage and wrapped it around the boy's ankle as gently as possible, sensing that the child now stopped squirming as he stopped disinfecting. As he finished the bandage, Don sighed and laid his hand on the boy's leg, rubbing it slightly with his thumb. His forehead creased and his gaze fell back on the boy, who was still sobbing under his breath, his little face still screwed up, turned crimson.

I'm sorry, little one. Sorry for all that pain.

Don peered at the sobbing child with concern and only hoped that the pain would go away soon. The kid batted his lashes and opened his eyelids, as tears shimmered in his light green eyes, when he saw Don's face right in front of him. Awe transformed the boy's face when he looked into the man's worried eyes and he just couldn't understand why that was the case. Why did he look like that? Usually none of the doctors or scientists had such a look on their faces, no one there had cared about him. About him being in pain, crying, pleading - not at all.

This one was different however. This one seemed to be concerned, he seemed to care.

After a while Don interrupted the silence in the room.

"You can rest now, boy." He said and covered the kid's leg with the blanket again.

The man stood up and walked out of the room without any further words, as the child looked after him, following each of his steps and wondered.

--

Taglist: @i-eat-worlds

[pbandjesse]

I had a pretty nice day. And we got to end it with our signed contracts and getting the inspections scheduled. It is starting to feel more real and I'm getting to feel a little more excited.

I slept okay but not as well. I had very strange dreams. About exploring the basement of our building and moving and all those things my brain is working though. I let myself wake up naturally again and woke up around 930 and didn't feel amazing but I felt okay.

I had things to do before Naomi and Kim came over. She had texted me asking if I had green fabric and I said I would pull out some cheistmasy fabrics for us.

I would have eggsalad again and would pick up some stuff. I would take a hair drto the tops of my candles to try and fix a few imperfections. This did not work as well as I was hoping but I still think they look great and I'm very proud of them. I'm excited to give them as gifts.

I would do a lot of knitting today. And was able to finish all the pieces for one whole side of the blanket I'm making and I'm thrilled about that. I would do that basically on and off all morning.

I did some cleaning and played with sweetp and just enjoyed being home where it was warm and not outside where it was grey and gross. I encouraged James to take the car to work because of the weather and I'm glad they did because it was gross today and would start raining pretty soon after I got up. It was just grey and sad outside all day. It's still pouring now actually.

Kim would text me a little after 1 when her and Naomi arrived. I came down to get them and Naomi was clearly excited. Rushed right upstairs.

Sweetp was being very friendly and lovey which was really cute. And I love how much Kim and Naomi love him. He would hang with us some of the time they were here but he also would just do his own thing.

We had lot of work today. And that was awesome. I didn't want to be belittling or anything but I wanted to go over some basics and skills that seem really easy but take some skills. Like cutting the fabric and threading the needle but also just using a fabric tape measure. And I was able to go over a bunch of my tools like tailors chalk and pinking sheers and it was fun.

We started with a shirt and that went really well I also had Naomi do a blanket stitch around the collar because it's fleece and it makes it look more finished. And she did an excellent job. We would next use some cotton and I showed her how to sew down the hems first and then attach the pieces and that one would be a little jacket.

Finally we would work on a little scarf for one of the plushies that just has to big of a head. But he looks great! And we were just loving the way this scarf turned out. Honestly I could seriously see all the progression Naomi is making and I was having so much fun showing her everything. And she was able to use the sewing machine almost completely independently. I am thrilled. I hope to show her how to use her own someday!

Her mom was also just really nice to talk to. Kim is very sweet and I told her about the house and she wished us luck and she made me feel a little more excited.

I am still trying to not be to excited but I won't lie, I am excited. I've been saving ideas of painting and furniture and all that fun stuff and I'm just really excited to start figuring things out. I dont want to be disappointed but I don't think I'm going to be. I think it's going to be great.

After they left I would clean up our stuff and would jump into my next project. I heated up some frozen Mac and cheese and started planning out the stand for my fish knife.

I knew I wanted to do a board like a billy bass. But as I was laying it out I was thinking about it being on a plate. And I really ran with that and I love it. It's not done. I want to add something else to the plate but I had so much fun figuring this out.

I even used some modeling paste to create some dimension to the things on the plate and I was just having so much fun over the day. Painting. Then letting it dry. And coming back and forth. And for real, Callie knocked it out of the park it's such a good gift.

I would go back to the couch to continue to knit while I was waiting for the paint to dry. And soon James was home and I was so happy to see them. And they were so sweet when they got home being so lovey. They are very clearly stressed about everything but I was still really happy that they seemed so happy in that moment.

It was decided we needed to go to the grocery store for a few things for the dinner I wanted. James said I didn't need to come with them but I wanted to be with them. And so we headed out into the gross night together.

The grocery store was fine. We got a few fun things. But we stuck to the list for the most part.

While we were checking out Harold called us. And said to check our email because he has great news. His email was so cute with lots of bottle emojis. But the sellers signed the paperwork and we can move forward with the inspection. We are getting an air quality test tomorrow and then on Tuesday afternoon we are getting the home inspection. I'm thrilled. I am excited that we will get to be there so while he's doing his inspection I can be measuring things and looking at specifics like closets and the back "yard" and measuring things. Just being more excited and it's just really fun.

We had some stress after we called Harold back in the car and got some answers about how things will go and what we need to do. He said we needed to wire the money for the deposit over. But we didn't know how to do that so we had some stress when we got home.

We couldn't figure out how to Google it and our banks websites weren't helping. Finally we decided we should just text Harold and he said we can go to our bank in the morning. Excellent thank you Harold.

I had some nachos while James made us some Thai curry rice. Which was really good but I mostly wanted to eat the naan James made which was very very good. Love my James.

They were kind of upset with stress. But we would talk and try to just chill. They had forgotten their laptop cord at work so they used my laptop to watch sports while they painted their nails and I continued to knit and paint.

It has been a really nice night. I washed my hair. And we talked about our Christmas travels. And now we are in bed and it's just nice listening to the rain. I feel happy. Tired and sore but happy.

Tomorrow we have many things to do. We have to go to the bank. James is going to make cookies. I have to go pick something up from awah. We have to go get food gifts. And then we have the Christmas party at the BMI. It's going to be a full day but I think it's going to be fun.

I love you all. Goodnight everyone!

[stranger-marauders]

shattered

two: unopened letters

chapter summary: Kate goes through her mail while Steve goes on a date.

chapter warnings: language, sad break up stuff

word count: 2.3k

series masterlist | masterlist

THAT NIGHT, WHENEVER Kate had finally gotten back to her dorm room around ten o'clock, she flopped down onto her bed, not even bothering to take off her dad's jacket she'd still been wearing. She hadn't even realized that her roommate, Debra, was in the room until she laughed. "Long day?"

Kate groaned into her pillow, kicking her shoes off in the middle of the floor and letting them fall onto their cheap rug. "Yeah."

Debra chuckled again, rolling on her side and peering over her lofted bed to take a closer inspection of her roommate. "You have some mail you should probably sort through."

She sighed in response, shaking her head. "No, it's... it's sorted. All from the same person, for the most part."

"Steve again?"

Kate groaned into her pillow. "Yeah."

Steve had been sending her letters since she'd left, but especially since she'd broken up with him. It wasn't like she didn't read them. She had kept every single one of them, putting them in a box underneath her bed after she read them. The letters themselves ranged in content, mostly updating her on his life, maybe sending her a picture of the kids or Robin from time to time. The first two months, they had mostly consisted of how much he loved her, how he wanted her back, begging her to change her mind because he couldn't do it without her. She, however, had pushed him away, and he had moved on from her completely.

Debra shook her head. "I really think you're letting a good one get away, there. He's very obviously still into you."

"Deb, he's literally dating other girls," she replied, unconvinced. "Robin's told me about, like, twelve different girls he's gone out with since the beginning of March, and that's not even since the beginning of the semester."

"Hasn't she also told you that they're all hot, blonde, and have nice boobs? That's literally you, babe."

Kate opened her wardrobe, grabbing one of the beers that she'd hidden behind her jackets and taking a sip. "I don't have nice boobs. I barely even have boobs."

"That's debatable. If you didn't have boobs, you wouldn't have back pain."

She scoffed. "Whatever, i–it doesn't matter. He's dating other girls, doing his normal bullshit, which means he's completely gotten over me by now, and I am completely fine with that."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," she replied, almost too surely. She was very obviously not completely fine with that. "That's what I want. He... He deserves that much, at least."

Kate really liked Debra. Not only was she kind, but she was extremely blunt and could tell her when she was being ridiculous. She needed someone like that in her life right now. Debra was one of the people who had made sure she hadn't fallen off the edge since she'd gotten to school. Kate had taken on a lot, and she certainly needed someone more carefree than herself to help her out.

That also meant, however, that Debra was an enormous fan of Steve.

Debra had met Steve in person exactly once. He'd helped move Kate in, so naturally, Debra had gotten the chance to meet him too, as she'd already moved in the day before her. Steve, just like he normally did with people, had made a great first impression, and Debra, even though she only met him the one time, was always seeming to root for him, even still.

It wasn't like Kate hated him. She didn't hate him at all. She still loved him, wanted to spend every waking moment with him, but she couldn't. Steve deserved much more than the husk that was Kate Hopper, and that was something that she had accepted a long time ago.

Kate took another sip of her Schlitz, and the landline in their room began to ring. She sighed, reaching over to her desk. "Ah, shit." Once she picked up the phone, she put the can of beer on her desk and started to play with the hair tie on her wrist. "Hello, you've reached Kate Hopper and Debra Martin."

"Hi, Katie."

She smiled, immediately lightening her tone. "Hey, Ellie, how's it going?"

This was the moment Kate lived for. Every Friday night, Kate received a phone call from her sister. It was small, and it was something that shouldn't be considered the highlight of her week, considering it would end up costing Kate at least her weekend tips, but it was a moment of normalcy. A moment of getting to talk to, currently, the brightest figure of her life: her little sister.

El pretty much wrote her every day, the letters coming by a few days after she'd written them. They were seemingly the only thing that made her smile anymore, the only thing that helped her remember why she hadn't given up on living quite yet. Tonight, El was busy telling her how excited she was about her boyfriend Mike coming to Lenora Hills the next morning. Kate wasn't too far behind, and that was something El was excited about, too—Kate hadn't been back to California since she'd gone back to school in January, and she missed her sister. She only had three more days until she'd be with her again.

The calls never lasted long, and Kate didn't mind it too much. El was a busy girl, and she was making friends, doing relatively okay in school—El was happy, and Kate could live with that. It was the only thing that helped her get any type of sleep at night.

Steve couldn't exactly explain what possessed him to want to go on a date at his old high school.

The girl's name tonight was Brenda. She was pretty—pale eyes, blonde curly hair. He hadn't known her in high school. She was just a pretty girl that had walked in during his shift at Family Video a few times, had asked for his help and guidance on picking out a movie. He liked her enough to ask her out at the time, but now that he'd been with her for more than ten minutes, he couldn't quite understand what he'd seen in her in the first place.

"Does it bother you that, like, we might win a championship right after you graduated?" Brenda asked.

Steve helped her up the bleachers next to the marching band, more specifically next to Robin and the rest of the marching band as he spoke. "You know, yeah, yeah, that's an interesting point. Thank you so much for bringing that up, Brenda."

While he was happy for the team, certainly happy for Lucas, he certainly was bitter that they hadn't even been able to qualify for a championship the previous year. At least he got the letterman jacket.

When the band stopped playing, the principal came out, making the gym go silent. "Everyone now please rise for our national anthem." Everyone in the gym stood as he went on. "Singing for us tonight, we have a very special guest. All the way from Nashville, our very own Tammy Thompson!"

As she came out, Steve didn't know whether to look absolutely thrilled or to start laughing. Robin immediately turned back to him, and he looked to her. They'd both very quickly remembered the conversation that involved the Muppets' version of "Total Eclipse of the Heart." He couldn't believe his Muppet joke was about to come full circle. If only Kate were—

That's when he realized, amidst all the cheering and clapping for Tammy Thompson, that that was what was wrong with Brenda. Just like all the other girls he'd gone on dates with since the beginning of the year, no matter how great they were, none of them had even come close to being Kate Hopper.

Steve had waited on Kate for two months. He thought that by Christmas that she would change her mind about them, hoped that she would take him back. He couldn't remember how many letters he had sent her about loving her still, about wanting her back. Whenever she didn't ever reply to him, he figured he'd finally take the hint. Two months was a long enough time. They hadn't even dated for a year. Realistically, he didn't want to move on from her, not even attempt such a thing, but he knew it was for the best, at least for now. She didn't want to be with him anymore, and he had to respect that. Sitting around and waiting for her was only going to make his feelings worse, and that was something he couldn't do. Every time he went on a date, though, he felt like it could be better. The girl was never right, no matter how funny, kind, or pretty she was. None of them would ever be her, and that was that.

He turned back to Tammy, clapping slowly as she walked out in front of the mic, accepting all of the applause she was getting. Whenever she opened her mouth, she immediately started singing off-key (even though there was no accompaniment), and Steve turned back to Robin.

"Told you," he whispered to her. "Muppet."

"Okay, she does sound like a Muppet," she whispered back, but before he could say anything else, Vickie had heard her, thinking Robin was talking to her. Steve only watched carefully as Robin tried to navigate a conversation with her.

Brenda turned to him, making him turn back to look at her. "Wow. She sounds amazing, doesn't she?"

Steve looked at her, then turned back to Tammy. When she changed keys again, his eyebrows furrowed together—how could someone think that sounded good, never mind amazing?

When the game finally started, he didn't care about the date anymore. He was completely invested in the game in front of him, especially when Lucas got called in as an alternate.

Lucas had started playing basketball for Hawkins High after Steve had mentioned something about it to him. That was why he loved coming to support him—that was one of his boys, and even if he didn't come off the bench, he knew it meant a lot to him for anyone to be there. That was all Steve had wanted, especially in his younger years. The only person that ever showed up was Kate.

That was something he still hadn't gotten over. The year that she had ignored him paled in comparison to this: at least he got to see her back then. He hadn't seen her in two hundred and eight days, and that was something he didn't take lightly. It had been two hundred and eight days since he got to hold her, smell her perfume, hear her voice. He could hardly stand the thought that he probably wouldn't ever see her again. His heart hurt just thinking about it.

Steve found that it was difficult to pay attention to anything else as the game got more intense, especially during the last quarter. He was essentially on his feet the entire time, about to burst with anticipation. He could barely keep his cool when the new basketball captain, Jason Carver, called a timeout.

He remembered Jason from whenever he was on the basketball team before he graduated He wasn't the worst player on the team, but he certainly wasn't the best back whenever Steve had been in high school, not good enough to be captain, for Christ's sake. Steve thought he wasn't much to judge, considering he'd had his ass handed to him multiple times before the end of his senior year in terms of basketball, more specifically by Billy Hargrove, but that wasn't going to stop him from doing so. Lucas had already done more during the game than Jason had, and Lucas hadn't even played the entire time.

Jason took the final shot of the game, the basketball just barely falling out of the hoop. Lucas, however, caught the ball just in time, throwing it into the air toward the hoop at the very last second—if Lucas missed the shot, they lost the game. Steve, as well as everyone else in the gym, watched in agony as the ball teetered around the edge, slamming against the backboard before it went through the basket. He was so thrilled he even gave Brenda a high five.

It was things like this he missed. As he watched the aftermath of the basketball game, he watched as Jason's girlfriend Chrissy Cunningham gave him a kiss on the cheek as they cheered on Lucas. It reminded him all too much of Kate (just like everything else, really), more specifically after his own basketball games or even his swim meets whenever they were still in high school. He could still perfectly envision her smile, the way she would give him a hug and a kiss on the cheek, ignoring the sweat and or water that would have completely covered him. She would tell him how proud she was of him, even if he didn't need to hear it to know.

Steve missed Kate more than anything, and he knew there wasn't anything he could do to get her back.

next chapter

taglist:

@thatsonezesty13 @cece5298 @thepowerstoner @alovelytardis @coolchick333 @stand-tall-pineapple @littlet-holmes @guichu @cinderellacauseshebroke @blackbirddaredevil23 @mads-weasley @ilovemarauders @pearlstiare @liableperfections @khaylin27 @girlwiththerubyslippers @cyarikaaa

[swtki]

Boss - C.D

Pairing: CEO! Cedric Diggory x Intern! Fem! Reader

Summary: You fucked your boss, thats it.

Warnings: fluff, swearing, mentions of copulation, About a five year age gap (reader is 23 and Cedric is 28), alcohol.

A/N: not me just now posting this

When I was informed that my intern application had been accepted, I was ecstatic. It was my dream to work in the Aurors office, to fight the evil trying to destroy our way of life. Naturally, I went out drinking the night before - which granted, wasn't an amazing idea in the first place. I planned to have a few drinks, then grab a taxi for home. The tall, lean, brunette man sitting next to me was a later addition to the itinerary.

"Drinking to forget the demons, or celebrating?" he said, swirling his whiskey.

"Excuse me?"

He smiled, "It's just that usually people only come to a bar when doing either of the two."

"Oh," I turned my body towards him, "Celebrating, I suppose.". He smiled and nodded, taking a slow sip of his drink. "And you? Which is your reason?" Upon further inspection, I noticed he was dressed in a suit, but had taken off the jacket.

"Demons, I've lived a long time. Seen a few things."

"You can't be more than thirty, and obviously you do well for yourself. Businessman, perhaps? A wife, kids, a brilliant car?" I questioned.

"Not even close," He scoffed, "Twenty-eight, I've had the most experiences with near death than anyone you'll ever know. I live in an average flat, I don't own a car, nor do I have anything resembling a wife or kids." I sat there quietly. "So, what is it that you're celebrating...." he signaled as if he were asking for my name.

"Y/N, I start my internship tomorrow."

We talked for the rest of the evening, and he invited me to his flat. It eventually led to me waking up next to him in bed at two am, and blindly stumbling to my own home. Usually, one night stands weren’t my forte; Cedric was different. I didn’t know his last name, but I knew how he sounded - how he tasted.

My heels clicked on the linoleum floor of the ministry, I would start off in the office, filing for aurors and such. Even to assist them was an honor. My smile was wide as I entered the well lit office. A woman rushed by, her cup of coffee floating a few inches behind her. She saw me standing there, rather misplaced and stopped.

“Can I help you dear?” she said with a raised brow.

“Yes, I’m Y/N L/N, I’m the new intern.” The woman’s face relaxed.

“Ah- yes we were just talking about you! I’m Macy - I work in the same department as you actually. Come along, lets see you to your station.” Macy strutted away as I quickly followed behind, only stopping once we reached a small wooden desk in a separate room.

“This,” She pulled the chair out and motioned for me to sit, “Is your desk - its right next to the library so you can put together files more easily. My desk is over there.” She pointed her long red fingertips towards a decorated space; While mine had absolutely nothing, hers had pictures and intricate pens. “Oh!” she exclaimed, “they didn’t put your typewriter over here - lazy bastards.” With a swish of her wand, she brought me a slightly rusted device.

“Thank you, Macy.” She smiled and we started on my training. What to put wear, when to drop off the files, how to drop off the files, and so on. I looked at the clock as it struck five, the time flew by so fast that at first I thought it was broken.

As Macy and I walked out of the office together, I saw a fairly large office, blinds drawn down as much as possible. “Hey, whats that room there?” I pointed.

“Oh - thats Mr. Diggory’s office. I guess a case must have been rough, haven’t seen much of’m today. Probably meet him tomorrow, just needs to reset ‘s’all. “ I nodded and kept up with her, stopping once we reached our respective transportation.

As I walked in the next morning, I noticed someone blocking the door to my department’s office. He was tall, lean, slumping against the frame as if this were a solicitation friendly area - it wasn’t.

“Excuse me, I’d really like to get to my desk can you maybe-“ He turned around and with him my entire universe shook. It was him, it was Cedric. He stepped aside, not giving me the faintest of recognition that he had in fact been inside my guts only a few days before. I quietly walked in, my entire body feeling cold and stiff. I couldn’t quite place the feeling; Was it embarrassment? Hurt? I wanted to know so I could eradicate it.

The days passed and I succesfuly managed to avoid being alone with him. If we weren’t alone we couldn’t have the “talk”. I thought I was safe until I decided to stay a bit later than usual, packing up my stuff just as the last person had left, or who I thought the last person was.

I looked up when I heard three solid yet soft knocks on the door. My jaw went slack as I saw who it was.

“Got a minute?” he asked.

“I suppose…” my voice was quiet, why was I so nervous in front of him? He walked over to the desk beside me and leaned on it.

“You haven’t talked to me since - since that night. I woke up and you were gone, I thought I’d never see you again.”

“Well - maybe it would have been for the better, Mr. Diggory-“ He leaned forward slightly.

“Please, call me Cedric when we’re alone. I want you to be my equal when in private. And no, I don’t think it would have been for the better. You- you’re brilliant you know?” I hummed in response. “Y/N, I want you to be more than a subordinate. I want to take you to dinner - to do all the parts we skipped before.” I bit my lip, hesitantly.

“I need to….I need to think on it.”

“Right.” He said quietly, shoving his hands in his pockets. A pit formed in my stomach, had I just rejected him on accident? Was it possible my soul mate stood a few feet from me and I was in the process of fucking it up? He dropped his composure a bit. “Well, I’ll be off then. Have a lovely night, Y/N.” He said my name so well, so smooth. Like the night we first met, he was so natural yet so put together. He turned to walk out of the door, not hesitating for a small second. My thoughts ran wild with every step he took away from me.

“Fuck.” I hissed under my breath, opening the door and walking out to the hall as fast as I could. I spotted him - waiting for the lift. “I don’t,” He looked up from the floor, “I don’t have anything for tea tonight - plans I mean. I’d like to take you up on that offer.” My hands grasped themselves, thumbs twiddling as I saw him smile and start to laugh.

“You,” He stepped closer to me, leaving the tile where the lift was located, “Sure like to make this hard for me.” He lifted my hand to his face, leaving a soft kiss on the back of my hand.

And thats how I became the girlfriend of Cedric Diggory, the man who won the Tri-wizard tournament. It turned out, I had in fact been standing next to my soulmate the entire time.

[pastelwitchling]

Rin I absolutely fell in love with Brother in Arms, I was wondering if you could write something about Michael who finds by chance in a drawer a diary of Alex, he doesn't read it at first but asking Alex's permission he realizes that they are memories of the lost decade and that they are all dedicated to him. Thank you and happy beginning of Ramadan

***

Michael hadn’t planned on going through Alex’s stuff. It was after his boyfriend had gotten back from his best friend’s funeral, after Michael had dared to come to him, to voice his concerns, his fears that Alex was moving further away and Alex had assured him that that would never happen, that things had really started to change between them.

Michael didn’t pace the length of the junkyard or beat on already broken engines anymore, wondering what Alex was doing and if he was with anyone, whether he was eating or sleeping at all or if he was overworking himself as usual. This time he was waking up with Alex in his arms after late nights that neither of them wanted to end. This time he got to hug Alex from behind as he worked on his codes and files, he got to rest his head on Alex’s lap whenever he was tired, and he got to kiss him when he was lucky. He was almost always lucky.

“Stop it,” Alex laughed against his lips in one of those rare moments that he turned away from Michael’s kisses. Michael’s smile widened at the beautiful sound. “I’m trying to clean up.”

“Why bother?” Michael murmured, following Alex’s lips with his own, his palm pressed to the base of Alex’s spine, keeping him close. “We’re just gonna dirty up the place anyway.”

Alex’s eyes darkened at the implication, and Michael got close enough that their lips brushed, before he seemed to snap out of it and he turned away at the last second. He swallowed hard as Michael’s lips caught his cheek instead with an openmouthed kiss.

“No,” Alex said breathlessly, shaking his head. “No, I – I have to fix this place up before I go back to work at Deep Sky tomorrow.”

Michael pursed his lips, humming and starting to lean away. He and Alex had yet to sleep together since they’d gotten together, and Michael was trying to believe that Alex wanted it as badly as he did, but it felt like there was always some reason they couldn’t, and it always came from Alex’s end. Short of stripping off his clothes and spreading his legs for the airman, Michael didn’t know how much more obvious he could’ve been.

Then Alex caught his jacket and pulled him back in until their lips were an inch apart. “I’m taking a shower afterwards,” he said in that deep, gravelly voice that did things to Michael’s body. “Maybe you can join me?”

Michael’s mouth hung open and he caught Alex’s mouth in his own, swallowing his startled moan. As they slowly pulled apart, Michael took his time breathing in Alex’s air, and he licked his lips. “I’ll help,” he breathed. “I’ll clean everything.” He hurried past him into the narrow hallway. “You just sit down, I’ll finish in two minutes!”

He went into Alex’s bedroom to his Alex’s flustered laughter, his own heart threatening to burst out of his chest, but he stopped at the doorway, looking around. “Are you kidding me?!” he called over his shoulder. “What’s there to clean?!”

It must’ve been Alex’s military history, but everything looked to be in its place, like he expected an inspection at any minute. The dust was wiped clean, his clothes were folded and in their place, so Michael searched the one place he expected to find any kind of mess, the one place he’d taken to shoving his own stuff when he wanted it out of the way. Under the bed.

Using his powers, Michael summoned out everything that might’ve been stored under there. Only one thing came flying out.

Michael frowned and picked up the leather journal. Alex’s journal that he usually wrote in was black, but this one was brown and the paper was yellow. It was also the only thing covered with a light layer of dust. Michael wiped the dust off with his hand and opened it. It was scribbled with faded writing, entire lines and even pages scratched out with tiny adjustments in between, but that wasn’t what grabbed Michael’s attention. It was the fact that all of these letters, on every single page, were all addressed to him.

Michael’s brows furrowed as he checked the dates. Alex’s first day at base, his recounts during training, his first day flying a plane, his first op. Alex talked about all of it to Michael like these were letters Michael was actually responding to. Like they were letters he’d actually been planning to send.

Then the book was snatched out of his hands, and Alex was sealing it shut again.

“I – er – thought I left this in here,” he muttered. His cheeks were pink and he wasn’t looking at Michael. “Sorry about that.”

“What’re you doing?” Michael said, and took the journal back, looking through the pages. “These letters are to me.”

“Guerin,” Alex tried reaching for it, but Michael turned his back to him, looking through the pages. “Seriously, they’re just these stupid things I wrote back when I was . . . still there –”

“What, in the military?” Michael asked distractedly, eyes roving each letter. “You can say it, you know, I haven’t forgotten.”

“Can you please just give it back?”

“No, I wanna read these,” he said, and held up the journal, frowning. “Why didn’t you ever send these?”

Alex shrugged, exasperated. “I don’t know.”

Michael stared. “I know when you’re lying, Private. Why didn’t you ever send ‘em?”

He sighed. Then he said, “Because I didn’t think you’d be exactly happy to hear from me.”

Michael scoffed. He didn’t know why, but his eyes burned at the thought of Alex writing out these letters, so many of them so painful, just wanting to talk to Michael, to vent, to cry, and being too scared to send them out because he didn’t think Michael would want to know how he was doing, let alone comfort him.

Alex noticed his expression and panic flittered through his eyes. “What’re you doing?” he demanded. “Guerin, come on,” he reached for the journal again, “this is stupid, it was a long time ago.”

Michael held the journal just out of reach so that Alex was forced to press their chests together as he tried to take it. Michael took the chance to wrap an arm around his waist, and catching Alex’s eyes with his own.

“You needed me and I couldn’t be there for you,” he quietly demanded. “If it was the other way around, wouldn’t that kill you too?”

Alex stopped trying to take the letters back, and he swallowed, looking down. “Yeah,” he murmured, resigned, “it would.”

“But you never had to worry about that,” Michael whispered, “because you were always there for me. Even when I didn’t know it, even when I couldn’t admit it, you always protected me.”

Alex frowned, holding his gaze. “And you don’t think you protected me? The thought of you kept me going, Michael. I would never have made it through training, let alone been captain, if I didn’t think that you needed me to be stronger. Maybe that’s pathetic, but I don’t care.” He gently took the journal since Michael forgot to keep it away, but instead of hiding it, Alex held it between them. “All you’re going to find in these letters is me using you for strength. You helped me more than you could ever know.”

Michael swallowed as he looked down miserably at the pages. He wanted to read them. He knew it would hurt, but he wanted to know how Alex had lived without him, how much he’d needed him. He opened his mouth to say that when Alex held it out to him, and he blinked, hopeful.

“Really?”

Alex nodded, though he didn’t look too happy about Michael putting himself through these letters. “I’d want to,” he said softly. “So I get it.” Michael started to take it, but Alex tugged it back. “One condition. You can’t read a single word of it without me here to hold you.”

Michael exhaled shakily, his eyes filling with tears that he managed not to shed as he nodded. “Thanks, Private,” he murmured.

Alex cupped his jaw in response. He bit his lower lip, hesitant, then said, “But first . . . you do owe me a shower.”

Michael groaned under his breath as his head fell forward, their foreheads pressed together. He let his powers guide the journal onto the nightstand, finally taking Alex in both of his arms until his heart stopped aching and he could reassure himself that Alex was safe and here and with him.

He breathed, “Yes please.”

[ressjeon]

in this paradise (moodboard teaser)

pairing: survivor!jungkook x fem!reader

summary: In an attempt to escape what's been planned for him, Jungkook hopped on a ship only to face a tragedy that he didn't expect and enter you who somehow couldn't believe to find company in this isolated land. Was this fate or was this just a temporary chance of bliss as a challenge for you both?

rating: 18+ 

genre: tropical island!au, survivor!au, strangers to lovers, angst, smut, romance & fluff

warnings: some accidents mentioned, lots of teasing, swearing, sexual tension, explicit sexual content, multiple sex scenes (beach, treehouse?, etc.), pet names, skinny dipping, finger sucking, thigh riding, unprotected sex (no condoms in da island peeps), handjob, oral (m. receiving), nipple play, fingering, riding, jk takes it from the back too. (warnings could change)

a/n: this wasn't the first JK fic I planned to post but he was in Summery outfit on Sowoozoo so I had to bump it up among other WIPS 😅. 2 years ago, I got intrigued when I saw the theme song mv of this TV series on my YT dash, the mc has the same name as me and it was Jungkook who first came into when some scenes (4 in exact, including this one) flashed in my mind. The plot is completely different though as I only borrowed some elements of it ♡.

ps. this moodboard was damn hard to make T.T

Check it out here!

― masterlist — navigation ― wips

A sudden ruckus behind your shoulder alerts you immediately, and you turn to see a little movement in the tall grass among the trees.

At last, food.

You’ve been hungry for hours since you wake up so it would be amazing to find something to eat since it's lunch already. Getting into position, you raise one arm up with a spear above your head, the other hand holding up front just in case it attacks you.

Readying yourself as you approach the moving grass, you part them with the other hand but to your surprise, you find a half-naked man in dirty white jeans with dark hair, his doe-eyes staring at you in shock.

"woah, woah, woah" an instant fear crosses his eyes, both of his hands suddenly waving in front in surrender causing him to wince a little, allowing you to spot the wound below his right shoulder so you lower down your arm.

He’s good-looking, add the harsh rays of sunlight looming over him from above to that.

You recover instantly, locking your eyes to his with a death glare as you move your spear in front of you.

“who are you?” you demand, suspicious eyes raking his form as you come nearer to him. He could still be a threat for all you know, best to take precautions.

“jungkook” he pants, reaching out with open palms to shake your hands. He hopes that you'll deem him as harmless by doing so and looks at you pleadingly when you don’t answer him.

“y/n” you respond gently a bit after dropping your spear on the side, feeling a spark when your hand touches his, of how gentle he’s shaking your hand despite the worry in his eyes.

He sighs in relief but pain crosses his handsome face, and he’s wincing even more this time. You manage to catch him before his body reaches the ground.

“my bad” he chuckles while trying to stand up, somehow disregarding that he almost collapsed. You really wonder how he can joke about his situation.

“you’re wounded you know” you scoff, inspecting his wound straightaway.

“yeah but at least you’re here now” he grins and winks at you as he positions himself on your lap, making your eyes roll.

“shut up or i won’t help you” you chide, pulling out the remnants of splinters from his wound with warning and he pouts.

“okay, okay, i’ll behave” he whines as he stays still lying down on his stomach and you’re trying to ignore how you can feel his defined abs on your legs.

“why are you wandering here in the forest while your wound is still fresh?” you ask and Jungkook smiles when he hears the concern in your voice. Ngl, he was shit scared of you earlier, if it weren’t for his wound that’s slowing him down and you’re pretty face he would’ve bolted instantly.

“I was looking for medicinal herbs” he answers, shaking his injured shoulder a little and you smile at this cute antic, okay he’s adorable.

“stop moving” you tsks.

“and what exactly is a beautiful girl like you doing in this forest too?” he questions before you can even answer him right away.

“i was looking for food,” you pause, stating the obvious.

“so that’s why you have a hunting spear with you. where did you even find materials to make it?"  he prods, a lot of curiosity in his voice and you smile again, he can’t see you from this angle anyways so it’s good.

“on the shore, a lot of things wash up there” you hum, finishing up the make bandage on his shoulder using the thin jacket that was wrapped on your waist earlier.

You feel him nod and huff a breath like he wants to ask more.

“right, right. how about we search the beach later? maybe we can find more stuff that we can use” he asks as he slowly gets up from your lap, displaying an excited smile and you nod.

“does it hurt?” you ask impassively and he shakes his head.

You help him in standing up, carefully assisting on his elbow for him to not put weight on it and he laughs again. He’s been giddy all this time and you still have no idea why.

"i'm okay" he snorts and you elbow him.

"what's funny?"

You frown, brows scrunching as you eye him with annoyance. As much as you're still wary of him, you’re starting to get confused on how he can make you react this fast in everything that he does.

"you seem so caring now compared to earlier" he teases.

"you needed help, i'm not as heartless as you think" you glare at him and retrieve your spear from the ground.

“your words are actually the opposite of your actions” he continues.

“well, aren’t you an excellent observer” you snicker as you look around to check if you missed anything.

Jungkook on the other hand is just observing how you effortlessly gather your stuff with you. How for some reason, you still look gorgeous with your white mini sundress, a contrast at how tough you look with your tools on you.

"what?" you bark, raising one brow at him and he stops himself from laughing this time. He just shrugs with a playful smile and walks away, urging you to follow him as you both venture into the woods.

“jungkook” you call him, walking beside him now.

“yes?” he questions playfully, not sparing you any glance while looking up at the coconut trees around you.

“you better be taking this seriously after you heal” you huff.

“i already am, i swear! you have no faith in me, im offended” he complains with that fake hurt in his voice and you scowl at him before walking faster, now leading the path instead. He laughs louder this time, following you into some stream or river.

All jokes aside, Jungkook is truly relieved at finding another survivor washing up on the same island as he is. At least he won’t be alone while waiting for rescue anymore, plus you’re hot as hell so this won’t be bad after all.

taglist: @jungkooksbroski​ 

permanent taglist: @bluesharksandfish @taebkyun @sheprocrastinatesalot​ @iamscharene​

[shemarmooresfedora]

Rebuilding Family

Summary: Y/N and Spencer were college sweethearts at Cal-Tech but once Spencer got accepted to the FBI Academy, he ended things deciding it was not fair to make Y/N wait for him. When they meet again years later, he discovers something unexpected.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

Warnings: allusions to sex, heavy making out and touching (i think that should cover it), swears

A/N: now back to your regularly scheduled fluff...

Masterlist

Chapter 17

“Alright, bye. Love you,” you laughed, hanging up the phone.

“Jo, Daddy already found a way to make it up to you for missing the museum,” you smiled.

“What?” she asked excitedly.

“Ah that would ruin the surprise. Wouldn’t it?” you grinned, “But we are leaving now.”

Jo slid her snow boots and jacket on as you sneakily packed her hat, mittens, and snow pants. You also grabbed snow stuff for Spencer because converse and a sweater vest would not keep him warm in 29 degree weather with 7 inches of snow on the ground.

-

Jo skipped out of the elevator, not even waiting for you to go to Spencer’s desk.

“Daddy!” she exclaimed like usual.

“Hi, Princess!” he lifted her up into his lap, “Are you excited?”

Jo nodded enthusiastically.

“Good because I got permission to go sledding on the HUGE hill right outside,” he smiled.

“But I don’t have a sled,” Jo frowned.

“I bought you one,” he grinned.

After Spencer had finished suiting Jo up in her snow gear, you slid a purple hat with a big white pom-pom on top over his head, a few of his messy curls still poking out.

“Can’t have you getting cold either, my dear,” you gave him a quick peck on the nose as he scrunched his face up in a smile.

“Oh chocolate thunder, get my coat please. We are going outside to watch this cuteness!” Penelope exclaimed.

“Of course, baby girl,” he replied, standing up from his desk.

You all piled into the elevator and headed outside. Jo stared down at the big hill in front of them. It seemed awfully scary to a little girl.

You grabbed her mitten-covered hand.

“How about I go down with you the first time and Daddy pushes us?” you suggested.

Jo nodded as you both climbed into the sled.

“Okay, ready? 1...2...3!” Spencer gently pushed you both down the hill.

Spencer was relieved when he heard the joyful giggles of Jo followed shortly by your laughter.

Jo ran back up the hill with you towing the sled behind her.

“Daddy! You go with me now!” she said.

You both took turns going down the hill with Jo even Auntie Penelope and Uncle Derek had their turns. Jo was even brave enough to go down by herself if Spencer waited at the bottom for her.

Much to everyone’s chagrin, you had to go home when it started to get dark and Jo’s cheeks were bright red from the cold.

-

You, Spencer, and Jo were driving over an hour out of the city to get a freshly cut Christmas tree from a tree farm.

Spencer packed you all thermoses with hot chocolate and mini marshmallows. His excitement may have actually exceeded Jo’s. He told you he never got to get a real Christmas tree when he was younger because the trees shipped to the middle of the hot Las Vegas desert wilted quickly. And, he had no room for a big tree in his old apartment.

It was cute seeing the both of them all bundled up in their matching purple scarves and big winter coats. Spencer brought the sled so he could pull Jo along since there was about a foot of snow on the ground that would make it very hard for her to walk.

Spencer had taken the exact measurements of the corner of the living room so the tree would fit perfectly.

“What about that one?” you asked, pointing to a tree farther back in the field.

“Let’s go check it out,” Spencer pulled a measuring tape from his pocket.

“Always prepared, Dr. Reid,” you laughed.

“They didn't give me a PhD in engineering for nothing,” he grinned.

“This is about the right size. What do you think, Princess? Is this a good tree for Santa to put presents under?” he asked.

Jo gave an approving nod after inspecting the tree.

“Alright, then it’s settled. Hand me the saw, love,” Spencer said.

“Please be careful,” you reminded him, slowly handing him the saw that the farm employees gave to you.

After multiple breaks and some encouragement from you and Jo, Spencer was finally able to saw through the tree’s stump completely.

He dragged it to the car as you pulled Jo in the sled. You both tied it to the top of the car using bungee cords.

Once you were home, you set the tree in its stand and gave it plenty of water. Spencer got the box of ornaments down from the attic.

You put Christmas music on and the three of you spent the rest of the day decorating the tree, baking cookies, and watching Home Alone.

-

Spencer had insisted on putting on a Santa suit in case Jo came down when you were putting the presents out.

Knowing this information, you decided to tease him by purchasing a tight elf dress that stopped right under your butt.

You smirked, looking at yourself one more time in the mirror before heading downstairs where Spencer was waiting.

Spencer ceased his movements as he saw you slowly descend down the stairs. He was practically drooling.

“What’s wrong? Have I been a naughty girl?” you asked, feigning innocence.

“Yes, baby, you have,” he whispered in your ear, roughly planting kisses along your jawline and down your neck.

Spencer cupped your ass with his hands.

You tugged on the hair at the nape of his neck and he let out a moan that vibrated against your skin.

“Shhhh, we can’t wake Jo up,” you reminded him.

He started to guide you over to the couch but you put your hand on his chest to stop him.

“We’ve got to put the presents under the tree first, babe.”

You broke from his grasp and Spencer let out a soft whine.

Deciding you weren’t done having your fun just yet, you picked up a present from the box where you had hidden them and slowly bent over to place it under the tree.

You felt a light smack against your ass that made you stand up quickly because you certainly hadn’t been expecting that.

You turned around to see Spencer with the biggest grin on his face and a devilish glint in his eyes.

“Don’t tease me, sweetheart,” he whispered in your ear, “Cause I have no problem with doing that again and again and again.”

-

Jo woke you both up by jumping on the bed.

“Santa came! Santa came! Santa came!”

“He sure did, baby,” you giggled, looking at Spencer.

“Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s go open some presents!” Spencer got out from underneath the covers, dressed in his flannel PJs.

Jo ran down the stairs with you and Spencer right behind.

“No opening any gifts until Mommy gets her camera!” you shouted out from the kitchen as Jo took her seat on the floor right in front of the tree.

You grabbed your camera, the box of donuts you got yesterday, and coffee for you and Spencer.

“Thanks, love,” Spencer gave you a quick kiss, accepting the mug and picking up a chocolate frosted donut with sprinkles as you joined him on the couch.

Jo opened up all of her presents from you and Spencer that consisted of a model plane that she could build herself with instructions, a set of washable watercolor paints, and of course more dinosaur memorabilia.

“Daddy’s turn!” you jumped up from the couch and grabbed a manila folder that had a huge bow on it under the tree.

Spencer looked at you curiously, opening the envelope and revealing a packet of forms that were half filled out.

“It’s the forms needed to update Jo’s birth certificate. Once you fill out your section, I can take it to city hall and your name will officially be added as the father on Jo’s birth certificate,” you smiled.

Spencer nodded softly, staring down at the document in awe.

“I love you so much,” he finally said, pulling you in for a hug.

“And I love you so much too,” he grabbed Jo to join the hug.

“We love you too,” you replied.

Spencer wiped the happy tears from his eyes.

“Okay,” he chuckled, “First, I have a gift for Jo and Mommy and then Mommy gets her gift.”

Spencer pulled out a bag from the back of the tree and handed it to Jo who was sitting in your lap.

Two sets of headbands with a pair of black round circles and a red bow were inside the bag. You both looked at Spencer for further explanation.

“We are going to Disneyworld,” he smiled.

Jo screamed in excitement, running over to hug Spencer’s legs. You laughed, putting the Minnie ears on you and Jo’s heads.

“Spence, that is so generous and thoughtful of you but how much did that cost,” you asked.

“Nothing you need to concern yourself with, my dear. I had to make up for all the past Christmases and birthdays,” he kissed you before picking up the last item under the tree and handing it to you.

You opened the box to see two identical silver bands inside, one slightly bigger than the other. You looked up at Spencer skeptically.

“Not the ring yet. Just a ring…for each of us,” he picked up the smaller ring and slipped it onto your index finger, kissing your hand.

“I love it and I love you,” you smiled, looking at your hand and then taking the other ring and slipping it onto his index finger.

[regrettablewritings]

Preference: You Move In Together

Characters: Tadashi Hamada, Dewey Finn, Diana Prince, Cassian Andor, Clark Kent

Tadashi Hamada

It started out with a kiss – how did it end up like this?

“This” being you holding a flashlight as high up as your crossed arms would let you as you bemusedly watched your boyfriend fiddle with the generator. Though, you already knew that answer: You two had finally settled down to relax and watch a movie (a little treat for getting through your third day of moving into your new apartment), when a flickering light coming from the kitchen began to distract you from your peripheral. Ever the assure-er, your beloved boyfriend insisted it wasn’t anything serious, that it could easily wait until the morning, and give you a kiss of comfort for good measure. But no: It could not wait until morning. It would not wait until morning.

Instead, whatever was going on waited until the climax of the movie to decide to blow the power out, plunging you both into a well of darkness. You groaned loudly, realizing that this meant the both of you would have to wait until morning to get somebody out here to check it out.

“Why wait?” Tadashi asked. “You have one of SFIT’s finest living with you!”

Surprisingly, robotics and electrical engineering were not quite the same – even one of SFIT’s finest could (and did) find himself struggling to figure out what the problem was.

And for as bemused as you were about the entire situation . . . some part of you couldn’t help but find the tiniest kernels of enjoyment in it. It was that part of you that knew that, a couple years in the future, this would be looked upon as a sweet moment. One of those moments older couples remember when looking back on how far they’d come together.

You two had only been moved in to your apartment for less than a month and already your lives felt so full of potential memories: From Tadashi attempting to make “the first breakfast of the rest of your lives” (and subsequently setting off your kinda crappy fire alarm); to you slipping down the stairs on your butt and thus earning his light taunts as he inspected the damage; to the both of you waking up to find your inflatable mattress had deflated overnight after only two nights of sleeping on it.

Your lives felt so full . . . yet it was clearly only the beginning. And that was certainly something to look forward to. Well, that, and having dependable electricity.

“Okay!” you heard Tadashi exclaim, rising up from his previous position. You didn’t need to direct the flashlight at his face to know that he was sporting that confident smile of his. “This time, I think I’ve got it. ‘And the Lord said --” He positioned his finger on the switch. “ ‘Let there be light!’” And with that, he gave it a victorious flip.

Nothing. Still darkness. The only thing that changed was that the silence was now awkward and well-earned. It was only broken by a single clap of hands.

“. . .  You craving McNuggets? I’m craving McNuggets.”

You blinked. “McNug -- Tadashi, it’s almost midnight.”

“McNuggets, (Y/N)! Let’s go! We can pick up donuts after!” Tadashi insisted, gently pushing you towards the coat closet to retrieve a jacket. In the hustle and bustle, you gave up trying to stay unimpressed about the entire evening: You simply had to let out a laugh.

“Oh, Tadashi,” you sighed as you shook your head slowly, though not completely without adoration.

Yeah, you were both in it for the long run. And if you had known this sort of thing would happen, you still would’ve chosen him to be with. After all, if this kept up, your lives would be truly full before you knew it.

Dewey Finn

Statistically speaking, Staten Island is the cheapest borough to live in. However, New York is still New York. Meaning that you two are the very image that comes to mind when someone thinks about a young couple trying to make it work: The apartment is small; the walls aren’t paper-thin per se, but let’s just say you’d made cardboard club houses from sturdier stock; the quality of certain utilities isn’t exactly stellar, either, given that it was the best the two of you could afford; and you were both in positions that didn’t normally pay especially well in terms of making six figures.

And yet you both were pretty satisfied with the living situation.

Sure, moving your stuff in together was like playing life-size Tetris (with the added “bonus” of having to pick and choose what would be moved into storage and what you’d have to just give away). But after you got into the groove of things, it seemed to pale in comparison to the lives you’d begun to develop as a cohabiting couple.

For one, this was the first time in a long while where Dewey had actually lived in a clean/livable living space. Maybe not pristine, but there had been an established regimen of sorts: Dishes would be cleaned (even if begrudgingly) amongst the two of you; trash was taken out instead of left to grow into a mountain of pizza boxes and soda bottles and whatnot; and for the first time since he’d left his ma’s house, the mattress lay upon an actual box spring rather than a bunch of milk crates filled with records.

Completing the picture of the young struggling pre-famous by way of Dewey becoming a rock god couple was the assortment of Struggle Meals™ that had become a part of your day-to-day lives. Sure, you tried to eat healthy, but let’s be real: Cooking can be such a pain in the ass. It took a while, but you eventually had to agree for the betterment of your budgets to limit eating out to the weekends every other weekend. Until then, weird salads and Chili Mac and crockpots full of “let’s see what happens when we throw all this stuff in because their best by dates are coming and we kinda need to not waste this shit” stew would have to hold you guys over.

And yet, it wasn’t all bad.

There would be nights when Dewey would be on a song-writing kick up until one or chord would stump him, or nights where you’d have to bring paperwork home and you would begin to contemplate the consequences of just flinging it out the window. In moments like those, you were one anothers’ biggest cheerleaders.

You would continue to be one of the only people that could get Dewey to take a break, insisting that maybe going on a walk might help or maybe he can stop for a moment and just join you for a couple rounds of Mario Kart. And he would fix you up your favorite tea or, in turn, insist that you take a break before you slammed your face into the wall. It rarely actually mattered what one did for the other in that specific moment because no matter what it was, it was all the other needed to get over that roadblock.

And then there were those quiet moments . . . Dewey was never a quiet person, never really was into the quiet. But when you two moved in together, he sort of had to learn to respect those for your sake. And even though it was (and still can be) a bit of a struggle . . . you make it so much easier for him. Just by linking your hands together or running your fingers through his hair while you read. Or by rubbing his shoulders while you lounge behind him on the couch while he messes around with a lesson plan . . .

All in all, in some awkward yet beautiful way, you’re making in work. You try to take turns and share responsibilities, you both go and work your butts off to keep the lights on in this World’s Most Expensive Animal Cracker Box you call in apartment. It’s far from easy. But there’s just this massive feeling of satisfaction that hits the both of you when you come home after a long day of work, collapse on the couch, glance at each other with the most exhausted faces and go, “Wow, you look like shit.” Punctuated with a kiss, of course.

(Hey, it’s a Staten Island love story.)

Diana Prince

It all just sort of happened, really. There wasn’t any actual intention of you two living together-- at least, not at first. It had actually just started off with you coming over to Diana’s place just to house-sit whenever she had to go on a mission or even back home (after all, who better to watch her home than her beloved). Of course, this didn’t occur too often at first: She’d mostly retired from the vigilante life by the time you two had established anything. But once Bruce gathered up the Metahumans for a common cause, Diana’s need for you to come by became more frequent. So of course that meant you stayed over more often -- which, of course, meant you would have to make yourself right at home.

When Diana found an article of your clothing mixed in with her own laundry, though, that was when it occurred to her that perhaps it might be more beneficial for you to just stay there. Without the whole going back to your place bit.

You never pushed for it before: After all, for as loving as she was, Diana was still a woman who needed her space, given her history. You felt honored enough that she deemed you worthy of sharing her secret with, you weren’t about to apply more pressure to her by demanding that she let you move in.

Thankfully, no regrets were had.

You felt such childish glee in the moments when you’d wake up and see your gorgeous girlfriend in the kitchen, boiling coffee -- you were actually a little embarrassed at first. But given that Diana was never one to hide her feelings, it didn’t take long for you to realize that she actually felt the exact same: With you around more frequently, the apartment felt far less lonely. Far more warm and welcoming.

It wasn’t just filled with "her" stuff because now it had "your" stuff -- as in things that belonged to the both of you now. And sure, it might've been just little things like desk plants or jello molds or gimmicky little mugs, but it didn't matter to her-- they were yours. Together. Like an actual unit!

There were discussions of comfort zones to avoid as many clashes as possible; you communicated with one another about what idiosyncrasies were and weren’t going to be potential problems and how to possibly combat those.

It wasn’t always perfect, of course, but neither of you would have traded it for anything after you became accustomed to your new living situation.

But the very best moments were when she’d come home after being gone with the League. Tired, sometimes even still in costume, she’d trudge into the apartment, right into the bedroom, before collapsing on the bed next to you. Even if the feeling of your Amazonian girlfriend crashing down didn’t wake you, the exhausted yet relieved sigh she’d release most definitely would. And every time that happened, the first thing you’d feel wouldn’t be irritation at being woken up: It would be excitement.

She’s home! you would cheer on the inside, even if your tired body wouldn’t portray as much excitement as you would try to sit upright to greet her.

“Welcome home,” you smiled every time, voice husky with sleep. And she would smile back. Tired, yes, but always with so much love.

“Hello, beloved,” she would greet. “How was your day?” She would ask this every time. And she would listen, no matter what you responded with.

It was a good life.

Cassian Andor

You fought in a war, you survived a deadly mission that turned the tide for the war, the war ended . . . Now what? You buy a home together.

Oh, if only it were so simple.

Neither you nor Cassian really had much of an idea of where to move to for starters. Sure, you talked a big game about the places you wanted to travel to and see for yourselves, but vacations seemed far more within reach than a milestone like moving in together. At one point, you humored the possibility of just traveling around to those places you’d marked and just settle down in one of them, but they were hardly places you could see yourselves actually living in.

But in the end, you picked Takodana: Lush, green, neutral. Cassian was admittedly hesitant at the idea of settling on neutral territory: To him, that would’ve been just as bad as going somewhere where they didn’t care that a war was happening. But you insisted upon it, voicing how perhaps the influence of a quiet life might rub off on him. Plus, it was hard for him to argue with how calm and quiet it all was. An adjustment from the bustle and yells of a rebel base as he had literally grown used to, but not an entirely unpleasant one.

He never knew that crickets could sound so soothing.

Really, the adjustment of moving in together came from the fact that it wasn’t moving into a small section of living quarters sanctioned by an army: It was an entire home, just for the two of you (and K2), surrounded by forests and near enough to civilization while still being far enough away to assure privacy.

It felt weird to Cassian, who’d spent virtually his entire life living with the opposite: Constantly surrounded by people, constantly surrounded by dust, near enough to others while simultaneously being . . . alone.

Only he wasn’t alone: He was alone with you. And that’s what made all the difference for him. Sure, he wasn’t going to entirely give up his insistence on investing in protective measures. And just because it was your home, didn’t mean you were allowed to slack off on the order of the pantry or how fabrics like towels were folded, as though you were tossing away years of mandated regimen.

But so long as he has you, his link to regaining his sense of self? Who Cassian Jeron Andor is without the war? He’s pretty sure he can make that leap and start his next mission: Starting a family together.

Clark Kent

You two liked to joke that it was done in order to better brave the ridiculous Metropolis housing market. Which wasn’t far from the truth, actually. But the reality clearly had more to do with the fact that moving in together, after being a couple for so long, just felt like the right thing to do. Sure, it wasn’t exactly the most mystical or romantic of reasons, but why complicate things? This was already a relationship composed of the Kryptonian alien who caused a calamity and the woman who helped to try and kill him for it.

The beautiful thing about your new living situation was that it was a unique blend of the mundane and the strange. Unique: You were living with Superman which meant that after a point, it became somewhat necessary for you to know how to clean his suit and cape in the event he couldn’t be home to do it himself. Mundane: Clark liked taking care of you, and that meant sometimes you woke up to breakfast in bed or came home to find that he’d run you a nice, hot bath.

Unique: Dusting and vacuuming high corners and hard-to-reach places was a thing of the past since Clark could easily lift the heaviest of furniture, lift you up himself, or even fly up to perform the task. Mundane: On some evenings, you two could just end the day by relaxing on the couch, you lying on your back as Clark rested his head on your tummy so that you had access to play with his curls. Unique and mundane: You now had the option of completing grocery bag trips in one go. It wasn’t advised due to the whole issue of discretion, but, like, at least the possibility was now there.

Mundanely unique: His fast metabolism meant that your fridge, freezer, and cabinets were stocked to the bring with snacks of all kinds. Uniquely mundane: Clark snored a bit in his sleep and as much as you loved him, no amount of love could make snoring cute.

But compared to everything else, you’d take it in a heartbeat. You never imagined yourself having a life quite like this, to say the least. But now you could never imagine yourself having anything different.

[veryveryverytemporarily]

Started writing this AU where Aaron moves into a flatshare. I’m not going to post on Ao3 until complete but let me know if you like the idea of it

Come sail your ships around me

Colin - it says in handwriting on the envelope.

Aaron picks it up and looks inside, thumbs the crisp fiver, a couple of ones, and a shiny fifty penny piece.

Beside it there’s a note and a discarded pen. Strange to think of him writing it - this person that he’s never met.

All the other details about the house are typed and left in a folder with plastic sleeves, like a holiday let. Only this isn’t - It’s home, for now at least.

Leave this out for the milkman, he comes around six. I get a pint of organic every day. If you want to order something for yourself, you’d better let him know.

Aaron raises his brows. Every day? What’s he doing; bathing in it?

He puts the note down again on the kitchen counter, sees his work boots have left a trail of mud and bends to take them off, unthreading the laces from the metal eyes. In his socks, he pads over to the sink and opens the cupboard, peering underneath for a cloth. The place is spanking clean.

He finds some anti-bacterial spray. He’d better show willing.

 ‘Explain it to me again, you’re sharing with this bloke -,’ his Mum is giving him the third degree, ‘who you know nothing about, and haven’t met, and sleeping in the same flaming bed? That can’t be right!’

Aaron holds his fork an inch from his lips, suspending the simple pleasure of a full English. This is why he needs to leave, this and all the other stuff going on in his head; he needs the space. They can’t keep treating him like a kid, like a victim.

‘I’ve already told you; he works nights, I work days. It’s a one-bedroom gaff but we’re not there at the same time.’

‘Like a timeshare, then,’ Paddy offers.

‘Take your own sheets at least.’

He drops his cutlery with a clatter and stands. It’s enough now, but his Mum can’t help herself.

‘Just, why would he do that, rent the place out when he’s not there?’ She spreads her hands as she speaks, throwing the question out to the universe. A question he can’t answer, because what does it matter?

He picks up his car keys.

‘We’ll see you next weekend, though?’ she calls after him. ‘We worry about you, love!’

  There are herbs on the kitchen windowsill. The evening sun slants in, illuminating the paper-thin leaves.

It’s a second-floor apartment with its own entrance from the street. At the back there are metal stairs from the kitchen leading out to a narrow garden secluded by a high fence, topped by trees.

The garden is as pristine as indoors, laid with shingle, with a bistro table and chairs, and exotic looking plants, and one of those outdoor lantern candles.

Aaron sits and drinks a beer, scrolling his phone in the peace and quiet.

Every now and then he looks up, still feeling slightly uneasy like he’s trespassing.

This must be where his housemate took his Instagram profile pic, it occurs to him. On a whim he decides to check.

He’s right; there’s the blue corner of the bistro chair, and the leaves of one of the plants. His eyes are drawn back to his housemate's face.

It’s a terrible photo; the sun’s behind him and you can barely make his features out; and, as if that’s not enough, he’s wearing dark reflective glasses. All Aaron can say for sure is that he has a goatee beard and his hair’s scraped back and tied in a man bun. You can see the collar of a utility jacket, a shiny button on the breast pocket. 

It’s hard to be sure, but he looks serious.

He thinks back to when they spoke on the phone, when he first answered the ad in the paper; he was quite breezy and business-like, but there was something about the timbre of his voice - something quiet. Like he’d survived something; just like he has. It was one of the reasons he decided to take the place.

But maybe he’s projecting.

It was something his therapist brought up when they touched on his issues of trust.

A blackbird on the fence is giving it full throttle as the sun starts its descent.

He frowns one last time at the photo - Either he’s ridiculously bad at taking selfies. Or he’s hiding. The account is only a few months old and the rest is just boring seascapes and pictures of food. Saddo! Or maybe his Mum’s right - weirdo?

No point in dwelling on it now anyway. He’s signed a contract and here he is.

He goes back indoors, unpacks his games console and plugs it in. He could get used to this; he thinks as he starts playing.

Another hour and he’s yawning. He checks his messages and procrastinates, hovering at the bedroom door. It feels like he’s snooping when he finally makes it into the room. There’s a large double bed with dark shiny sheets. They look clean enough. He has his own in a suitcase. But can he really be fussed? 

He strips off, leaving his clothes where they fall on the carpet. Raises an arm in the air and takes a whiff.

A minute later he's in the shower, admiring the marble and taking the lid off some fancy shower gel – phwoar-what? -  he tosses his head back at the heady scent. He growls For Fucks Sake! when he drops the bottle and sees the splash of dark blue against the white porcelain shower tray. He tops the bottle up with his own Right Guard Zingy Mint, then replaces the lid and inspects the bottle for drips. They smell almost the same, he reasons; his housemate will never notice.

He pads back to the bedroom leaving a trail of wet footprints and towels himself dry, looking around once again. One of the night stands has a reading lamp, and glasses, a couple of books, the other is empty. Presumably his ‘side’ then.

He swallows, slips naked between the sheets and lies there blinking. 

His Mum’s right. For someone with trust issues he’s taken a humongous risk.

He wonders if he should put on some boxers at least, feels his eyes closing. He twitches his nose as a faint masculine scent from the sheets loosens the tightness in his shoulders, and next thing, without even realizing, he’s out for the count.

 A noise downstairs outside the front door wakes him. Is it him, maybe, already back from work? Did he sleep too late the very first morning? But it doesn’t feel late. Quite the opposite.

He grabs a robe that isn’t his own from the back of the bedroom door and flies down the stairs, pulling the sides together which flap open again as he opens the mortice lock and turns the door handle.

He opens the door just enough to peer round. The light has an unfamiliar misty morning quality about it and there’s dew on the flowers by the path. 

Someone’s legs are disappearing through the gate, there’s a rattle of bottles in a crate. Glancing down he sees a shiny bottle of green-top on the doorstep. Colin!

‘Hold on, mate!’ he calls. A round face appears above the hedge. ‘Could you add another bottle a day to the delivery? I’m Aaron and,’ he manages a fleeting smile,’...I’ve just moved in with Robert.’

He sees Colin glance up to the windows of the flat and back at him from over the hedge. He clutches the sides of the gown closer at the waist, suddenly conscious of a light breeze around the nether regions.

Colin says, ‘Nice one!’ and then he’s gone before Aaron has time to add any clarification.

Aaron turns to the house and looks up. Has he made a good decision? Maybe it’s something pretty normal to move out from your parents; but for him, after the court case, this is his first stab at changing something up.

His heart lifts for a moment as he picks up the milk bottle and then glides swiftly up the steps, gown open.

Perhaps Colin’s right – Nice one!

[jarofstyles]

SK8ER BOI III - Heelflip

A/N: AHHH this part is full of ups and downs and even a cliff hanger 😈 buckle up folks. Also, remember this gif for a certain part of this story... you’ll know which one 😉 - n + d

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pairing: Harry Styles x Reader

warning: smut, cheating, angst!!

word count: 7.6k

Staying the night over at Harry’s was really nice. Y/N had woken up to him snoring, all cuddled up against her chest. She giggled to herself because she assumed he didn’t do this with many girls. She carded through his hair and kissed his head gently until he decided to wake up, watching him get a little embarrassed, but not too much. Harry had cooked her breakfast and everything and when Y/N showed up at home on Saturday morning her parents were gone. Y/N admittedly thought about Harry all weekend, she’d been sending him astronomy memes and tiktoks that involved cats. She’d also sent a few memes regarding sexual things but... that was cause she thought they were funny. She stayed up all night texting him and she didn’t realize how late it was, but when her alarm went off, she grabbed the first things she could think of. A black shirt and leggings, threw her hair into a bun and denim jacket so she wouldn’t get cold. She didn’t even realize till after she’d left that it was Harry’s shirt.

The first thing that came to Harry’s mind at the sight, was what she had said a few days prior. Seeing her stand at her locker with a few friends, in leggings... he knew she wasn’t wearing anything under those. And upon closer inspection... His shirt. She was wearing his shirt. On top of leggings and no panties, she was wearing his shirt and he felt nearly feral. She shot him a smile when he approached and he struggled to return it. 

“Hey— can I talk to you for a second? It’s about the project.” Harry asked, ignoring her friends. His eyes were dark and he felt buzzing. Fuck, he was going to lose it. 

“Yeah, sure.” Y/N smiled at him and told her friends she’d see them at lunch. Harry definitely wasn’t talking to her about the project, why did he want to talk to her? She followed Harry wherever he was going. Apparently it was the janitor's closet. Y/N squeaked, looking at him with wide eyes though, it was really dark in here. 

Harry covered her mouth to conceal the squeak, “Are you wearing any?”

Was she wearing any— oh. 

“nuh uh” She let out a muffled noise, shaking her head no. Y/N knew that her answer probably meant he was about to attack and by the way his lips fell onto hers with hunger she knew for a fact that he wanted to do something about it. She didn’t think she could get so turned on so quickly. 

“H—Harry, please I gotta go meet up with Timmy..” Y/N mumbled against his lips, “later.. at yours.” Y/N hated to deny him, but it was important that she see Timothée and see what the fuck was up.

“You do? That’s too bad.” Harry smirked, sliding his hand down the front of her pants. Immediately he was met with a warm cunt, fingers pressing up against it to make her moan. He wasn’t going to make her cum. No— he was going to make her frustrated and want to cum so bad she could cry. Then go see her boyfriend. “Gonna go see frenchie and all you’re gonna think about is my hand on your pussy.” He cooed, rubbing at it while he kissed at her neck. He knew she was breathing hard and obviously hadn’t expected this. “Have some fucking nerve... no panties and my shirt?” He growled. “That’s so naughty. I told you what would happen.” He snickered. “Had to check myself.” He licked up her neck to bite down gently. He couldn’t leave a mark yet.

Y/N had to bite back her moans, knowing full well that if someone walked past the closet and found them she’d be screwed. Her breathing was shaky as can be, body reacting positively to his hands against her. She was already a mess for him and he definitely could tell, it was so hot, she swore she’d lose her mind like this. 

“Already do that..” Y/N breathed when he suggested that she thinks about him when she’s with her boyfriend. Of course she does! How could she not when he was filling his shoes so well and making her feel like the hottest girl on earth. Constantly giving her sexual favors and never asking for them in return, it just pleaded him to do this? Fuck. She let out another squeak as he kissed at her neck, grabbing at the back of his head for stability because she felt like she was going to implode. “Daddy, please...” Y/N whimpered, “I’m sorry—“

“Sorry? Are you sure?” Harry murmured, fingers working faster on her pussy. “So sorry for what? Making me hard? Making me think about it all day?” He was obsessed with her cunt and ass and he wanted to bend her over in here. If she wasn’t a virgin, he may have. “And here you are. So wet and throbbing against my fingers. Gonna go see your boyfriend with a wet pussy and my kisses all over you? Gonna be thinking about how I rubbed you good?” He liked that idea. That no one else was giving her that pleasure but him. “You’re beginning to make a mess on my fingers. S’a good thing that you’re coming to my place after school. Maybe then I’ll let you cum.” She was close, clenching and throbbing but he took his hand away. Her whimper of confusion made him smirk, bringing his hand to his face to clean it off. One finger was pressed between her lips. “Suck. Clean off your mess.”

The look of disappointment on her face was hidden by the darkness of the room but her whimper made it clear that she was certainly not happy about this. Y/N felt her cunt throbbing as he pulled away, all leaky and sticky just aching to be touched. She was so close too, and he just—

Before she could even speak his fingers were in her mouth and she sucked on them as if maybe it would change his mind, as if maybe he’d keep going, but once she was done he pulled them away and Y/N was left flustered and horny and to think that she still had to go the rest of the day without getting to cum? Torture. 

He slipped out of the closet with ease and she assumed he was checking to see if anyone was around, he pulled her out behind him and she swallowed thickly. Y/N just wanted to lean up and kiss him right then and there but she couldn’t, instead she was met with Timmy’s voice calling over to her. 

“Hi angel.” Timothée cooed, wrapping an arm around her waist loosely. It was clear he was eyeing up Harry. “Been looking for you everywhere.” Timothée was more so sticking around to talk to Harry, be around Harry. Anything to do with Harry even if his girlfriend was right there.

Harry licked over his lip, smirking slightly. He was a lot smaller than him in both bulk and height. He wasn’t sure why he was eying him up like that, but Y/N was flushed. Harry wasn’t sure why the look felt so weird but he was thinking maybe he was playing the role of protective boyfriend. But something about his eyes made him feel something else. 

“Sorry mate. We were talking about what we were going to work on after school. The project and all that.” Harry shrugged his shoulders. “Anatomy. Getting to know all the body parts and whatever.” He knew he was playing with Fire but Y/N was horny and her eyes were looking at him wide. “Got a slideshow to do. You know how it is.” He moved his fingers over his lip and sucked at it a bit at the sides of them, raising his brows at her.

Y/N’s jaw nearly dropped at the audacity Harry had. He really was sucking on his fingers that was just on her cunt right in front of her boyfriend. This was truly Y/N’s biggest nightmare but for some reason she was the last person being focused on. Y/N rubbed at Timothée’s side a bit, trying to get his attention. 

“Let’s go, yeah?” She asked softly, “I’ll see you later, Harry.” Y/N cooed desperately trying to make it seem like they weren’t doing anything conspicuous or strange. Timmy was far too focused on himself to suspect anything. She had walked him over to the garden but outside after they’d gotten their lunch, needing to put some food in her mouth so she wasn’t thinking about Harry. She’d started off with some small talk but then she decided to ask, she needed to know. 

“Know you’re busy with the campaign and all... and I get it, it’s important to you. But we don’t hang out anymore and... if it’s about how I’ve been acting, if you feel pressured to do stuff, I’m sorry.. we don’t have to, just gotta tell me what’s going on yeah? Care about you..”

“There’s nothing going on.” Timothée said simply. Even though it wasn’t the truth. Y/N wouldn’t understand. The fact that he was a huge homosexual and he was struggling with it. The fact he wanted Harry to wreck him in the same way he thought maybe Y/N wanted him to. He worried. He didn’t want to have sex with her. He was more concerned about his campaign and trying to deal with the sexuality thing by himself. “I’m just busy, Y/N. I’m not ready for next level stuff and it’s not your fault. I just have so much going on. The campaign is my priority cause I want to win for this year.” He was worried about spending time with Y/N alone. It was different with her now because she wanted more than just a kiss on the cheek. “I care about you too. It’s not personal. I just want to make sure I win. We can hang out more when I win. I’m sorry if you’re hurt by it and I don’t want to make you upset at all but it’s taking up all my time.”

Y/N let out a small sigh, understanding where he was coming from. He wasn’t trying to hurt her, of course, but she still wanted to know. There had to be something. “I understand, it’s okay... really.” She said softly and offered him a smile, taking his hand. “I can help you if you need me to. Just miss being around you.” The two of them were really close friends when they started dating, they’d always been attached at the hip and liked to do all the same things and liked the same bands and stuff. He always let her dress him up and do his makeup and whatever she wanted really, but she never thought of it as being something to question him about. Maybe he really liked doing that? Regardless, that wasn’t a problem with her, she just wanted the truth from her best friend. “Just wanted to make sure you were okay... you can talk to me about anything, you know? Anything. I meant that Timmy.” She didn’t want to just out him, she wanted him to feel comfortable enough to tell her.

“Y/N... I’m fine.” He grunted. He didn’t like that it felt like she knew something. That it seemed like perhaps she knew too much. He was worried that Y/N would be aware of something he wasn’t ready to have anyone know yet. “You’ve been really pushy and needy lately. I’m sorry I’m not around but it’s frustrating to have to worry about you and my campaign. It isn’t fair to me. You act like there’s something wrong but there isn't anything besides that.” He huffed. He didn’t want to hurt her feelings but it was apparent that she wasn’t getting the hint to leave it alone. “You’ve never been this clingy and I’ve been trying to put our signals that it isn’t a good time right now for us to be together all the time. I have things to do and I’m always tip toeing around it. You always wanna be close and stuff when we’re out with friends and I need some space.”

Y/N swallowed thickly, suddenly going quiet. He really meant that? Was she being too much? She felt like she was giving him optimum time to do his work, they never hung out. She just wanted to see him. The bare minimum. She could just sit while he did whatever he needed to do, but no. That was clingy in his book. 

“Well if you wanted a break from me you could have just said that instead of throwing the blame into your campaign.” Y/N spoke firmly, “never asked to be with you all the time, just wanted to talk to you for five minutes or something— I don’t think I’m asking for much—” 

Timothée huffed. He really wasn’t listening. Even when she was being gentle and supportive, simply asking for him to listen and acknowledge her feelings. 

“Sorry, i'll give you some space.” Y/N spat, picking up her stuff and leaving him sitting out there by herself while she went to go cry in the bathroom. Was she really asking for that much? Was she that unbearable that he needed space away from her?

‘can you come take me home?’

Harry was surprised to see her text. It made his stomach feel weird, immediately excusing himself from class. 

‘Yeah, sure can. Where are u @?’

He felt worried. Especially when he found her with red swollen eyes at the front doors, knuckling at her eyes. His stomach dropped. What the fuck had happened? 

“Hey....” Harry gently grabbed her hand and led her out to the car. Once safely behind the cover of the opposite side of the car. “What’s wrong, bunny? You’re so sad?” He lifted a hand to rub away a stray tear. “Don’t like seein’ sad tears.”

Y/N hated that this was becoming a habit, but Harry was her only friend that would understand. Her other friends all loved Timmy, they all thought he could do no wrong, surely they were all jealous of her and would call her crazy for wanting to break up with him or crushing their fantasy. Y/N also didn’t want to spread rumors, so keeping this between her and Harry was safe for everyone. She looked up at him with glossy eyes and swallowed thickly.

“We got in a fight...” Y/N mumbled, feeling her bottom lip tremble again. “I—I was trying to talk to him about like... what’s been going on and stuff and trying to be supportive about it and he just— he said I was being too clingy and pushy and that it was unfair for me to be asking and I’m not even asking for much! Just wanted to show him I was being supportive... so he could tell me if he felt comfortable enough but he just got mad.” She was rushing through her words, sniffling and trying to get her breathing back in order. “Just want him to talk to me! Want to figure it out so I don’t feel like a shitty friend to either of you!”

“Hey... you’re okay, Y/N. Take a breath.” Harry whispered. “You’re good. That’s a real shitty thing of him to say to you when you’re trying so hard to be there for him.” His anger towards Timmy turner never seemed to extinguish. “Regardless of what he’s going through, he didn’t need to take it out on you. You didn’t do anything wrong.” He rubbed her arm. Y/N wasn’t clingy. Maybe when high but, he liked that personally. “You haven’t seen or hung out with him for a bit. If I understand correctly, it’s been a long while since you've even truly talked to him. That isn’t a problem for you, babe. That’s on him.” He smoothed a tear away from her cheek. “Doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt any less though. It sucks. He’s being a dick.” He obviously was upset about it, his jaw clenched. He wanted to make her feel better. “How about we go get some ice cream? Whatever toppings you want.”

Y/N leaned into Harry’s hand, closing her eyes as she felt herself start to relax. He always knew what to say and just how to calm her down. He was a very good friend. He had been there for her through all of this Timothée shit and was continuously making an effort to make her feel better. She looked at him with wide eyes, wondering if that was a serious inquiry, but it was. Y/N climbed into the car and watched as he drove them down away from the school and somewhere. It seemed to be the skate park, but she assumed that there was ice cream nearby. 

“So you come here a lot?” She asked curiously as they hopped out of the car. She’d left her denim jacket in the car so she was just in her vans, leggings and his T—shirt. Y/N looked like she fit in at the skatepark, especially with him, but she was still nervous about being out of her element.

“I do.” Harry smiled. “The lake isn’t far from here at all. We’re gonna walk down to it.” It was about a block, the fresh air and sunshine seeming to be good medicine for her heart. He had an arm around her shoulders but it was a friendly gesture, their laughing at Harry’s dumb jokes making it clear they were pals. At least. For now. “Alright, I’m buying. All the movies say ice cream cures heartache. So if it doesn’t, we do a class action lawsuit against Hollywood, win, and we can buy all the ice cream in the world.” He was playful, opening the door to the 50’s like ice cream shop. It was cute, pleasing to the eye and he knew the staff. “Alright... hi Barb.” He grinned at the older woman who smiled brightly. 

“Harry! And who is this pretty girl?” She asked with a look of mischief on her face. 

“Relax, Barb. She is a pretty one, isn’t she? But her boyfriend is a bit of a stupid one. So we’re here to fix it up.” Barb could be trusted, and she immediately nodded, taking it seriously. 

“Perfect. What do you fancy? We’ve got every sweet flavor and some not so. The vanilla, the chocolate, but then we’ve got banana, cotton candy, Cookie Monster... all of it.”

Y/N was a bit shy, but smiled at the woman nonetheless. She walked up to the display case and looked through all the flavors, deciding she figured out what she wanted. “Can I have the raspberry white chocolate with graham cracker crust?” Y/N asked softly, looking up at the woman with a sweet smile. She was a gentle creature, anyone who met her would know that. She looked back up at Harry to see what he was going to order, feeling like this was how things were supposed to be. Yeah, Harry was her friend, but they also did other stuff together. They’d been pretty much insuperable since they first hung out. If only she had a way of breaking up with Timmy without completely ruining their friendship. “Thank you, Harry.” Y/N smiled and wrapped her arms around him in a hug, already feeling much better thanks to all his jokes and just his presence in general. 

Harry was excited to spend time with Y/N out like this. Maybe he shouldn’t be. He needed to relax with this but it was friendly, right? It wasn’t romantic or a date. No. This was friends getting ice cream. 

“You’re welcome” He was wondering if Y/N ever would actually consider dating him. Not that he was like, in love or anything. But they got along well. Of course they couldn’t do anything while she was dating escargot, but he was hoping that maybe... we’ll. He had to stop. He couldn’t get attached. At least until she was single and he knew she had any type of interest besides sexual.

----

The ice cream was delicious, but of course Y/N was thinking about how much this felt like a date. They’d both left early from school just to hang out with each other despite having plans to see each other later? Maybe Y/N was over thinking. Harry likely was just being a good friend, he wouldn’t actually want to date someone like her. He was just having fun with her and they were working on their project. Sure, they were calling each other friends but maybe that’s just what Harry wanted to be? He was just a friend who helped her out from time to time. Once they settled down somewhere she let out a sigh, overlooking the scenery and smiling to herself. 

“Thanks for doing this with me... I didn’t think I could stay at school after that, sorry if I pulled you out of something important.”

“You’re good. It was just English and I have my work done for basically the whole semester.” He shrugged. Y/N was more important than a class he already knew the answer to. It did startle him, how quickly he had left without a second thought but he also knew that she was emotionally sensitive. If she wanted to go home, something must have happened to hurt her and he didn’t want her feeling as if she couldn’t trust him. He’s wanted her trust. “I’m sorry that that shit even happened. Can I ask you something though?” He asked. “How come you haven’t broken up with him yet? If he won’t touch you and makes you feel shitty. Cause there’s tons of people who would want to take you out or get to know you. You wouldn't have to worry about being alone.” Including him. Harry would ask her out, if she wasn’t so attached to Timothée.

Y/N should have seen that question coming, should have known he’d want to know why she hadn’t just broken up with him. Y/N let out a sigh, trying to put together her thoughts carefully as to not hurt him or make it seem like she was siding with anyone in particular. 

“I’ve known Timmy for a really long time... he and I have been best friends since like, 8th grade. And... I know how he is and I know how he deals with stuff, throws himself into work and acts like nothing wrong.” Y/N let out a breath, “I really care about him, even if he has been treating me like shit lately and doesn’t touch me, I’m still his friend... and I’m a loyal friend.” She explained, looking up at him before looking away. Loyal, yes, but she’d been cheating on her boyfriend with him. Her other friend. “It’s not that I don’t want to break up with him, it’s that if he’s going through shit like I know he is, I don’t want to just leave him with no one to talk to about it... I always was that person for him, I think he’s just scared of what I’ll think or say or do.” Y/N took another bite of her ice cream and thought for a moment. “I don’t know what to do...”

He could understand that. However he didn’t think Y/N could do anything to help him. “I think that’s admirable, Bunny. But I also think that this is a him problem. Regardless of what you say or do it’ll be his issue.” He said gently. It was hard to make it seem like he wasn’t trying to attack her reasoning. “I’m not telling you what to do, or saying you’re wrong. But, I think you’re putting yourself through a lot of emotional hurt for someone who is only focused on himself right now. And maybe that’s okay for him, but I don’t like you getting hurt. Seeing you upset by him and it seems fairly often. It doesn’t seem like he does the same by you.” He frowned. “Listen— I dunno your bond with him. But I think... relationships and even friendships need equal in and out. Sometimes there’s shifts but it seems like you’re getting nothing out of it, you know?” 

He wasn’t wrong, it seemed that Timothée wasn’t really thinking about her right now and of course that hurt. Friends should always have an understanding at least. Y/N didn’t know of many guys who pushed away their girlfriends when times got tough, but that seemed to be Timmy’s way of coping. Coping with his internal battle that she likely was making him face before he wanted to. She was a reminder to him of what he was hiding. 

“I know you’re right, Harry, but it wouldn’t feel right for me to just throw that on him. I need to talk to him, when the election is over I’ll have time, but right now.... I just need to take it a day at a time. Give him some space and just.. work on finding what works best for me.” That was Y/N’s way of saying that she wanted to keep hanging out with Harry regardless of what Timmy decided to do. Once she got to talk to Timothée and really talk to him, she’d get the truth out of him. She’d help him figure out the best way to go about things and how to have minimal people know if that’s what he wanted.

----

Harry hadn’t meant to upset her. But she had been pushing and wanting sex and he wasn’t ready for that. Y/N had asked him if they could go all the way and he had to redirect to other things but wouldn’t let it go. See— he did want to fuck her. So badly it hurt. But he also was well aware of the fact that she was still a virgin. Still in a relationship. And that was a recipe for disaster. And as much as he had wanted to diffuse the situation, he couldn’t give in to her wants. 

It was obvious it hurt her feelings and she had left after he raised his voice a little— something he hadn’t wanted to do to begin with— but he had to. It hurt him to see her get teary eyed and leave on her bike. But he couldn’t make this better. Y/N was mad he gave her an ultimatum of breaking up with Timmy or no sex. But he thought it was fair enough. It wasn’t fair to him. Regardless if Harry liked him or not, Y/N was still technically his and he wasn’t going to take her virginity when she both belonged to someone else, and would have him getting attached. What if she lived like this forever? 

Two nights later he had texted her and told her she needed to come over because he wanted to talk. He had bought ice cream and weed, got some Chinese food and a little star locket for their friendship. He was going to try and explain it calmly so she could understand. But she left him on read. And that hurt a ton. So he left her alone for a bit because he realized how deep he was getting into it emotionally when she didn’t even want to see him. 

Of course it was a bit weird and shocking to see her at the party he walked into. Sending her a little smile and wave, he walked past even though it hurt his tummy to see her hanging next to Timothée. Maybe he was trying to be better? Regardless. He went to talk to Zayn, allowing girls to come up and chat with him. It would be weird if he didn’t.

Y/N didn’t take rejection well, especially when it came from someone she was starting to really care about. Harry had started off as a friend who helped her out and quickly became the thing she had always wanted and needed Timmy to be. But he wasn’t her boyfriend, he was just a friend, and he didn’t want to have sex with her because well... he didn’t want to get attached.

He didn’t want to get attached to some girl he was messing around with, Y/N, who had clearly shown true colors. Sure it hurt hearing those words from Timmy, but hearing Harry say them hurt even more. She’d been pushy, with both of them and they both rejected her and left her to fend for herself. 

Harry has texted her asking her if she wanted to come over and talk things out, but she really didn’t want to be patronized. She didn’t want to feel like that stupid girl that kept coming to him with the same problem over and over again and expecting him to take it. 

It surprised her when Timothée had called and apologized for how he’d been acting, saying that he wanted to bring her to this party. She at least felt a little better about the Harry situation, thinking that maybe she could get Timmy to open up to her tonight. She’d got all dressed up, a little bit out of character, but she wanted to feel nice for herself.  

Seeing Harry walk in looking seemingly unbothered by their little fight, it made her heart sink. Especially seeing him all smirky with other girls. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much if Timmy had actually been paying attention to her, instead he just had his arm draping over her shoulder while he talked to other people.

Harry kept looking over at her. He missed her. It had only been like a week since they’d hung out. But it was the longest they’d been separated. It was at least every other day, if not every day that they’d go to the skate park or get food or go to Harry's place. He wasn’t sad. He wanted to be with her and hang out with her. Instead of the stupid lanky noodle arm wrapped lazily around her shoulder. God. He was angry. He was so bad to Y/N and was ignoring her and he couldn’t even do anything about it. Meanwhile, he’s rejected two girls. They had taken it easily, when he said he wasn’t there to hook up but to just drink. It didn’t feel right to think about touching anyone but Y/N right now. Maybe ever. He hoped that maybe she would want to hang out with him more? Maybe get over this spat.

Y/N excused herself for a moment to go to the bathroom, but she really just went outside to get some air. It was all getting a bit too much for her in there. Between Timmy ignoring her and seeing Harry with other girls, seeing how easily he chatted and let them curl under his arm the way she did, it hurt. It hurt bad. She felt like she couldn’t even be upset about it because it was her own damn fault. Y/N should have broken up with Timmy and then she would have Harry on her arm right now instead, hell, they wouldn’t even be at this party their be making their own party at Harry’s house. Y/N had been drinking a bit, but not enough to get her drunk, she was far too panicked to be drunk. She found a swing set outside and made her way over to it, just taking deep breaths and relaxing herself the best she could. Y/N needed to figure it all out. She hated that her whole life was wrapped around these two men.

Harry saw her leave and despite it all, he followed. He didn’t want her to be alone, just in case. He hadn’t wanted to disturb her but she looked genuinely upset. Of course she was. But he was confused why when he approached, she scowled after him. 

“Hey.” He said quietly. “What are you doin’ out here? The party is inside.” He wasn’t going to be mean to her or be testy. He liked Y/N. A bit too much, unfortunately. Even though seeing her with him made his tummy hurt, he knew that he needed to be there for her when he wasn’t. Why he felt compelled? He wanted to say he had no idea but he did. He was getting attached to her.

Y/N had just started feeling like she wasn’t going to cry when he walked out and of course, he was there to check on her. Of course. It almost hurt more than despite it all he still cared enough to check on her, to notice she had left and knew exactly where she had gone. She was thankful that it was somewhat dark outside, the backyard light only reaching halfway out. 

“Don’t let me spoil your fun.” Y/N shook her head, refusing to look up at him while she pushed herself gently on the swing with her foot. She knew that it was probably annoying for him to have to deal with her crying all the time, she didn’t want him to think that’s all she needed him for. Lord knows she would have given up if she were him by now. Taking a deep breath in, she tried to keep herself from crying too much, not wanting to ruin the light bit of makeup she put on to look nice. She didn’t want anyone asking questions, certainly didn’t want Timothée finding out she’d been crying. But maybe that would be best? Maybe they could finally have a conversation once and for all.

“What do you mean? This is plenty fun.” He took the swing next to her, beginning to move himself on it. Y/N didn’t realize the power she truly had over him and maybe that was a good thing— bur he wasn’t leaning her sad. “Why are you upset?” He asked softly, slowing his swinging down to a slow pace. She was obviously upset by the fact that Timothée was being a dickhead but it was more than that. She seemed upset with him even more so and he hadn’t done much. In fact, he should be upset with her. “Don’t have to cry. Promise. Is it him being a dickhead? Or did something else happen?” Even if he was upset with her a tiny bit, he didn’t want her hurting. It made him sad to think she was possibly upset over something he could fix.

“Aren’t you getting tired of asking me that question?” Y/N asked with a sad laugh, hurt evident in her tone. “Aren’t you tired of me crying to you about the same thing?” She went to wipe away her tears with the sleeves of her cardigan. “Those girls really seem to like you though, so maybe you should go... I’ll get over it on my own... it’s about time I do something on my own for once, right?” Y/N felt responsible for a lot of things. It wasn’t fair to Harry to have to pick up Timothée’s mess. As much as she hated seeing Harry with other girls, he deserved better than her. She was just complaining about Timothée all the time and pushing him to do things he didn’t want to do with her. He just wanted to be friends with her, but she couldn’t just be his friend. It’s true that she always had a crush on Harry, but she was really beginning to like him as more than a friend and he was right about the whole getting attached thing. She’d get attached and be even more clingy and maybe he just didn’t want that with a girl who had a boyfriend. But it wasn’t even like that! It was so much more complicated. Y/N needed to let Harry go, she couldn’t hold him back from living his best life like that.

“The only reason I get tired of it is because he treats you like that. But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to be here for you Y/N. You should know me better than that.” Harry murmured. No, he didn’t need to put up with that type of stuff but even still— he wasn’t going to let her stay upset when he could help her. “I don’t really want those girls. I’m not here to hook up with anyone. Zayn and Niall asked why I haven’t been coming out so I came out to get off their back. I usually hang out with you but... you don’t want to hang out with me much anymore.” He murmured. It hurt to think about. Y/N was so lovely and he wanted to be around her all the time but he had hurt her feelings and maybe she didn’t want to be near him anymore. That hurt the worst because he always wanted to be around her. But he couldn’t go further than what they were doing when she was still technically belonging to ratatouilletimmy.

“What?” Y/N shook her head, “no, never said that.” She defended because she most certainly didn’t want him thinking she didn’t want to hang out with him anymore. “That’s far from the truth.” She couldn’t believe she would actually think that she didn’t want to spend time with him, especially when he actually made her feel like she was worth something. Made her realize her worth. “But it’s stupid, it’s the same thing over and over again... just want a fucking break! I’m trying! I’m trying so hard to keep it together. Whenever I hang out with you, everything’s okay, all of my troubles go away and it’s not even your fault! I— I know you don’t want to sleep with me because of him and I shouldn’t let that affect how I view myself, but hearing it from him didn’t hurt as bad as it did coming from you!” Y/N burst, getting up from her swing. “I can’t even be mad at you! I understand! I do! But I’m protecting him and hurting you and by hurting him I protect you! I can’t win!”

“Hold on— hold on a second, Y/N. I want to sleep with you. I don’t know why you think I don’t. I even said we shouldn’t. I won’t, until you’re single. It’s not that I’m not attracted to you or don’t want it. I do, really fucking bad.” Harry responded, crossing his arms. “But it doesn’t have to be this complicated. You don’t have to protect him. He’s a big boy. Just like I am. If you genuinely like being in a relationship with him and I’m complicating that— I would go. But you don’t. I know ya far too well now to know you’re miserable.” He couldn’t let her think that he didn’t want her. But she was making a mistake. “I’m not going to sit here and tell you what to do. You’re a grown woman, you can make your own decisions. I just don’t understand why you keep putting yourself up to get hurt by him when he obviously doesn’t care that he’s hurting you. He’s protecting himself and you’re hurting yourself for nothing.” He stood up as well. God, it boiled his blood. “I told you I can’t sleep with you until you broke up with him because of that. I can’t risk making things any messier. The risk of getting super attached will hurt.”

“And that’s why I said it’s time I deal with things myself!” Y/N raised her voice this time because she wanted everything to stop. “I came out here to think, Harry. You don’t have to understand, I didn’t ask you to come out here with me. You asked me how I was feeling and I told you, so please don’t make it seem so easy because if it were you, you’d understand.” Y/N was firm, clearly angry and upset. “I care about him, and I care about you... a lot. I’m going to deal with this, my way— that includes accepting whatever comes with it. I’m not expecting you to stick around and wait for me, I understand why you made the decisions you made, so please do the same for me.” She couldn’t break up with Timmy without talking to him about everything first, she couldn’t just leave him to deal with his thoughts. If he was conflicted about his sexuality and had no one to talk to and she just left him feeling vulnerable she’d never forgive herself. It didn’t matter how shit he was treating her, he’ll apologize with time, she’d never regret being a good person no matter how much people hurt her.

“You really don’t understand, Y/N. It’s so frustrating to sit and watch you get upset but I’m not going to just leave and not talk to you when things are shit.” It was a bit of a dig at her, to be honest. She ignored all his texts and calls and didn’t answer him at all. “I asked you to come over so we could talk and be chill again. I fuckin— I got food and shit and set up the roof but you left me on read. I thought that like— you’d at least want to hear me out but you’re so in your own head. Don’t you think that I care about you?” Harry asked, getting angry now. “I did have to come out here because you left. You were upset and regardless, I’m not a dick and I want to make sure you were okay. I’m not saying that it’s easy. I’m saying that you deserve more respect than what you’re allowing yourself to be given and regardless of what he’s going through, you don’t deserve to be treated like shit.” He was obviously upset, clenched jaw and stiff form. “Jesus. I keep trying to show you I care about you and you push me away because I say one thing. It wasn’t a rejection. It was a deal. I don’t want you to have to deal with shit yourself. You’ve been doing that for a long time but fuck, you keep pushing me further just like he’s doing to you. I hate that you’ve been ignoring me.” His voice cracked but at the end but he cleared his throat. “If you want to be left alone, fine. You could have told me that.” He squared his shoulders and walked towards the door. He didn’t want to get more angry around her and say something mean.

“I wasn’t trying to push you away! I was upset and I was trying to deal with it on my own, I wasn’t ready to talk, clearly I’m still trying to figure out what to do and—” Y/N felt like it was pointless explaining it to him. “Think what you want.” She was tired, so fucking tired. She landed herself in this mess and was trying to clean it up but she was getting the water all dirty anyway. 

She watched him walk away and took a seat back on the swing, another wave of sobs ripped from her chest. She wanted him back here, wanted him sitting next to her, but she needed to do this on her own and take a hold of it all. She needed to talk to Timothée, but she needed to stop crying so hard first. Seeing Harry like that made her sick to her stomach, she didn’t want to make him mad or make him feel like shit, she just wanted him to respect her feelings cause she respected his. Sure she didn’t answer him, but she had every right to be upset with him and deal with it on her own, she didn’t want to answer him and say something she’d regret or worse. 

She wanted to leave, but she needed to stop running away from her problems. Needed to face them head on.

Harry went up to the bathroom later on. He needed to take a fucking breather. Jesus. He didn’t want to upset Y/N. But it hurts. It hurts to think she didn’t want to talk to him yet because he had always been around to give her support and it felt like the times he wanted to genuinely talk that she was pushing him away. So he got drunk. Tried to forget about it and let go for a little bit but it didn’t work. He was sad. He was upset, he wanted to go home and cuddle her and hide his face between her tits to hide from all the things making him uncomfortable. Figures. The first person he genuinely develops feelings for is dating someone else and doesn’t seem to want him back like that. It hurt pretty bad and he didn’t like this feeling. It just reminded him of why he avoided bonds with a tone he did anything with. Less of a chance to feel this aching in his chest. 

When he got home he collapsed on his bed and went to sleep. He had asked Niall to watch her when he left to make sure if he saw her that she got home okay. But he needed to go to sleep.

A killer hangover greeted him, but he thinks part of it was upset about the last night. That Y/N had went off and seemingly not wanted to be around him anymore. 

It only got worse when he opened his Instagram and saw a dm from none other than Timothée.

-------------------------------------------------

[part 4]

A/N: hehe a cliff hanger!!! The next part will be the final installment. We will still be taking requests for blurbs for them and what not, possibly oneshots, but we shall see - n + d

let us know what you think!

masterlist

[imaginesandinserts]

Hey there! I have a cold and it got me thinking, how do Hotch and Reader deal with sickness? How do they help each other and how do they help Jack?

Oof, I am so sorry. I hope you feel better soon!!! Sending lots of good wishes for a quick recovery. 

Also...this is almost 2K words of an answer. I got a tad carried away. 

*SPOILER ALERT for Irreverent*

Hotch

Aaron will not admit that he is sick. Ever. The man would literally rather collapse on the job than admit that he's sick and get some rest. 

She didn't know this about him until she sees him sick for the first time during her first couple of years with the team. He'd gone and caught a cold and was nursing a cough and sniffles that he was trying to hide in vain during a case. His nose is all red and worn dry from the hotel tissues he's using that are stuffed into his jacket pockets and the man is running purely on coffee. It wouldn't occur to him to go and get medicine for himself. That's time away from the case. 

Everyone on the team noticed - it was hard not to. However, they're all trying not to say anything because he's Hotch and it would likely be wasted breath. Rossi tells him to go rest once and is ignored so he lets it go because Aaron is a grown man. 

She makes Morgan stop at a pharmacy on the way back to the precinct from witness interviews, saying she needs some girl items and buys the Day Time and Night Time cough syrup, cough drops, the nice tissues with the lotion so his nose won't be all dried out, and some cans of soup because they're in the middle of nowhere on this case and she wouldn't trust the local restaurants much. 

They get back to the precinct and its late so the team is wrapping up for the night and they all head back to the hotel. Hotch is a little surprised to see her following him to his room instead of going to hers and asks what she's doing. She just says she needs to talk to him about something, knowing he'd protest at her trying to take care of him, especially in front of other people. 

They get into his room and he'd really just been looking forward to a hot shower and going to bed, so he's actually a little annoyed that she wants to talk about something right now, especially as he can feel a migraine coming on. 

She tosses everything out onto the bed and practically orders him to go shower and tells him if he wants her to leave, he's going to have to do it himself, because she won't leave on her own until she's seen him take the meds and have some soup that she's already pouring out into a bowl and heating up for him. 

Hotch isn't quite used to this level of aggressively being taken care of and is ready to tell her off but she's looking at him so entirely defiantly, as though daring him to even try, and she's doing it because she cares and it's nice. She's doing something nice. Also like yeah, soup sounds kind of good…

So he goes and showers and comes back to a hot bowl of soup that she watches him finish, while pretending not to be and acting like she's just looking at something on her phone. She knows he doesn't really want to talk right then and the silence with Hotch isn't really awkward silence so they just sit there while he drinks soup and she sits on top of the desk and pretends she's ignoring him with the TV on in the background. He's letting the soup warm him up and tuning out the news anchor while wondering why she can't sit on normal surfaces - like what is that even about? Would it kill her to use a chair or just sit on the bed like why is it on top of the goddamn desk? He has half a mind to ask her about that but that sounds like it's going to turn into some sort of argument and he hasn't the energy for it. 

"I'm done," he'd say, showing off his empty bowl of soup for her inspection. She tells him good job and it gives him an odd fuzzy feeling inside even though he tells himself she was only saying it jokingly. Except her tone wasn't joking and why did it feel good to have her say that to him? He didn't need her approval. She worked for him, not the other way around. He's a little too out of it to really think more about that particular thing though. 

She pours out the Night Time cough syrup for him, way past the line on the little plastic cup and hands it to him to take. He's too tired to question it and allows himself to be essentially roofied into a deep sleep. The last thing he hears before he knocks out is her whispered "Good night Hotch" before she slips out the door. He ends up having a bit of a lie in the next morning and wakes up to a blueberry muffin on his nightstand and a poured out dosage of the orange colored Day Time syrup along with a note telling him that the team went ahead and when he's ready, to give her a call so she can come pick him up. 

After that, he knows better than to try hiding that he's sick from her, but he'll pretty much only let her baby him a bit, while still being scary boss man around everyone else. He also will now only buy the tissues she got because wow the lotion really did make a difference and there's a couple of the travel pack versions that sit in his go bag always, just in case. 

Babying him became a whole lot easier once they were actually together and after that Aaron really does openly just tell her that he's sick because she'll brush her fingers through his hair and just make him all comfy and cozy as much as possible and yeah he doesn't like other people doing stuff for him, but she does it so well and she really truly enjoys taking care of it and will get mad at him if he tries to hide it from her, so really its just easier to be upfront about it. Or at least that's what he tells himself. 

Reader

She hardly ever does get sick, but when she does it's awful. She's miserable and she'll be the whiniest little baby about it, falling asleep on just about anyone. She doesn't want to be coddled and she doesn't want soup. She just wants to sleep the sickness away. 

Before they were together, she was sick during a case once - it has literally only happened one time that she's been sick while actively on a case and it was after their fight and subsequent resolution but prior to them getting together. 

Unlike Hotch, she's not resistant to medication and is more than willing to just drug herself and knock out and she recovers much faster than he does because she'll start taking the medications immediately.

Hotch was seriously concerned that she had narcolepsy, from the number of times he found her simply passed out when she didn't actively have something to do. He kept her with him at the precinct the entire time, deciding (wisely) that maybe handling a firearm in the field wasn't the best thing for her or anyone else at the moment. 

She's a lot more touchy than he is, even prior to them dating and especially after they make up, they were so far along in their relationship as just friends that her simply sleeping leaned against him just does not phase him anymore (mind you, this is after they basically spent a night on his couch together - after that nothing much could phase him). 

The team comes back to the conference room with Hotch sitting on the couch that's there, and her laying down with her head in his lap and his one hand playing with her hair as his other is holding one of the case files. He's painfully aware of how intimate it all looks and she's asleep so only he has to deal with everyone's reactions, so before they can say anything, he quickly shushes all of them and tells them to only talk if they have something important to share. He suffers through all of their little whispers and snide comments and side glances while she sleeps peacefully, blissfully unaware. 

The team as a whole has this odd agreement to not mention any of this to her. They all know - they can tell how easy it is for her and Hotch around one another. However, they all think she needs to come to the realization herself. Hotch wouldn't appreciate the meddling and she's still the baby of the group so they're all just a little protective - Hotch is great and they all trust him but she's also young and they're careful to not push her towards something that maybe wouldn't occur to her otherwise. She's not the kind of person to pine and sit on information of that nature if she's aware of it, so they all know that she doesn't even know yet. This is evident by how quickly she initiates after the realization does hit her. She definitely goes after what she wants. 

Jack

Jack loves sick days because that means one of them will stay home with him and coddle him and he's a kid that loves to cuddle so he'll easily climb into either of their laps and just snuggle because that feels safest when he's not feeling great. 

Aaron is the exact opposite with Jack than he is for himself. He's very much like her taking care of him - all the meds and tissue and soup. Aaron handles it all wonderfully and makes sure that Jack is comfy and recovering well. 

If Jack is lucky, he gets them both in which case Aaron runs logistics and she cuddles him and they'll read together or watch movies. If it's just Aaron on his own, Jack is a little clingier and will want to go with him to the kitchen and stuff while the soup is made and when he was younger, Aaron would balance him on one hip while handling everything else with the other hand. Once he's older, he's set on the island and watched carefully to make sure he finishes his food and if his symptoms show any signs of changing. 

Much like her, Jack doesn't need much while he's sick, content to just doze off to something gentle while sprawled across either his father's chest or her lap. 

[darker-soft-starker]

Starker High School AU Pt. 6 (1, 2, 3, 4, 5)

---

tw: general howard stark warning

---

There is a buzzing by his ear.

At first, Tony doesn’t really notice it, waking up in short increments before being pulled back under. But he keeps waking, unsure what keeps tugging him out of his dreams, hand flapping around his face as he tries to stop the incessant ringing.

“Blergh,” he mumbles into his pillow.

Batting his hand around to quell the source of annoyance, he comes to grip his phone, squinting as it lights up inches away from his face and vibrates against his palm. For a second he thinks it’s his alarm, but then he remembers that he didn’t set one. It’s a succession of text notifications cascading down his screen that alerts him out of the slope of slumber with a start.

The only time his phone goes off like this is an emergency. The first thing he registers is that it’s only eight-minutes after seven. He blinks, sight clearing from the sleep wedged in his eye as he reads the flurry of still-incoming texts.

> so thanks for last night > yknow > for the ride > i mean > you know what i mean > anyway > so that folder i gave you had my BIO notes, not econ > im such a doofus > i need them back > don’t bother looking at them lol > can we meet up?

Tony groans, eyelids heavy as anvils. Jesus christ. He didn’t get home until four after dropping this guy off and he’s already up and bothering him? What gives?

Exhausted and annoyed, he tucks his phone under his pillow and sets it on do-not-disturb for extra measure. There ain’t no way he’s getting up at seven on a Saturday for fucking class notes. Prick.

In his opinion, he’s filled his quote of good deeds for the month and he doesn’t need to be up for another few hours. Whatever it is, he thinks, snuggling into his pillow, he’s sure it can wait.

---

The next time he wakes it’s just after nine. There’s a gap in his curtains allowing a sharp shard of sunlight into the room where it directly pierces into his eyelids. 

He groans tiredly into the drool patch on his pillow, willing sleep to come back to him, turning on his other side, gripping the edges of the quilt and tightening it around himself until he is firmly cocooned within it. It’s nice and warm, and sleep is such a rare commodity to him so it’s novel to bask in its dregs. But there isn’t any more sleep to come he’s quick to realize, giving up after a few minutes and blinking up at the ceiling. 

Nine is practically six. It’s criminal to be up this early.

There’s an unusual flurry of texts on his phone, some from Rhodey, but most of them are from Parker, an endless ladder of increasing franticness. 

Tony tosses his phone to the end of his bed carelessly. 

It’s been literally less than twelve hours since he’s had to deal with the shithead. Surely whatever was lodged up his ass couldn’t possibly be as important as Tony ignoring him. 

Swinging his legs off the bed, he stands and stretches his arms up high, fingers curling. The stretch feels good and he takes a quick sniff of his armpits to gauge if he can forego a shower for the third day in a row. 

The stench is wicked. It’s possible that he’s overdue.

He strips off as he heads towards the adjacent bathroom, naked and nursing a semi.

He can’t help but shudder as his back meets the cold tiles, the intuitive shower head following his body with a mechanical whir, miscalculating its aim and spraying him in the face.

Ah. That will need to be recalibrated, he notes. 

But, he can’t say he really minds, tolerating the spray, even as it hits his mouth like a fire hose. He ducks his head to wet his hair, reaching blindly for the touchpad to dial down the pressure. Once the water is to his liking he reaches down to take himself in hand, leisurely stroking himself.

It’s just a perfunctory part of his morning ritual; he doesn’t really have anyone in mind as he brings himself to full hardness, just the fleeting memory of lips around his cock, the next of a well rounded ass, not feeling particularly creative. 

Okay, so maybe he pictures some big, brown eyes and dark hair he can run his fingers through. And maybe he goes off like a rocket. That’s his business.

Anyway, once he’s out of the shower, a towel wrapped around his waist, he inspects his appearance in the mirror. The bruises on his face are still pretty gruesome, deep purple and beginning to yellow around the edges. The cut on his lip seems to be well and truly scabby.

Turning to the side, Tony takes observation of his overall torso region; his stomach is not as defined as he’d like it to be - probably due to his affinity for carbs and sweets, if he’s honest. Between a few fingers he can pinch the skin and pull it a little -- and look, he’s a bit soft around the middle, but he lifts, alright. Maybe he isn’t exactly steel cut like the dudebros on the football team who have made being ripped their life mission, but he has musculature under the adipose.

Is he a little self-conscious about it? Sure. Is he worried about it enough to give up garlic bread and cronuts? No. Especially when he spots a new chest hair nestled comfortably between his pecs.

Probably a bit too proud of himself because of a singular piece of hair, Tony gets dressed in a pair of jeans that have seen better days, speckled with singe marks and thinning at the knees and a singlet, slinging on his leather jacket for the finishing touch. 

He almost forgets the bot.

“Look at you,” he says, to the mangled mess of metal on his desk. Scooping the injured, beeping bot Tony stuffs it into his backpack. “Come here, darling. Shh, you’re okay.”

Peering both ways out of the hall to ensure the coast is clear, he quickly descends the stairs, shushing the bot the whole way.

On the ground floor, he pauses when he hears voices coming from his father’s office. It takes a second to recognise the voices, his father and Stane arguing over one another, loudly, then softly. He tries to listen in, catching somewhat audible hisses about the company finance officer.

Careful to avoid the floorboards that squeak he tiptoes to the kitchen to pocket a few muesli bars and a water bottle from the fridge. 

The voices get progressively louder as he sneaks to the front door, silently saluting their maid as he passes. She waves back at him, offering a sympathetic smile as he goes out the door. 

His heart pounds as he reaches his car, parked around the corner street. 

“Alright, baby,” he grins, revving the engine. “Let’s go.”

---

“The fuck?”

It’s hard to be sure, but perhaps Rhodey doesn’t expect Tony’s unannounced arrival at his front door. Not if the furious scowl and bunny slippers on his feet are anything to go by.

Nonetheless, he slips past the front door, welcoming himself into his friends home, despite the exasperated outcry of for fucks sake Tony, it’s Saturday and it’s not even noon, can’t you call ahead? 

No, he can’t call. Well, actually, he reconsiders, heading down the hall to the basement, his friends footsteps echoing behind him, he probably could, but it wouldn’t make anyone less mad at him, so what’s the point?

Besides, judging by the empty driveway and barren living room, Rhodey’s family is already out, he’s not sure what the issue is.

“The issue is I am tired, man,” his friend complains, following him down the stairs. “What are you doing here?”

“Me too, honeybear, freakin’ exhausted,” Tony mutters, skipping down the stairs. “Go back to bed. I’ll be out of your hair in a minute.”

“Oh sure, and let you solder your fingers together again. Nah. Not taking the fall for that.”

“I’m not going to solder my fingers together. I’m a pro.”

“Unless you need me to remind you of last summer,” Rhodey takes a seat at the workbench, “I suggest you shut up.”

“You’re rude, you know that?” Tony asks, retrieving the bot from his backpack and setting it upon the bench. “I’ll have you know that I’ve learned since then.”

“And yet you still refuse to wear gloves,” his friend sighs, settling heavily upon the adjacent chair. There’s a comfortable quiet between them while Tony works, carefully settling all the pieces onto the table, moving each with care.

It’s hard to miss the weight of observation on the back of his neck, but he lets his friend drink his fill before he’s ready to speak.

“You fuck up something?” He points to the bot.

Tony shakes his head, pressing the solder into the circuit board. “No. Well, yes. The coding is perfect, as usual, but this idiot isn’t any smarter than a Roomba. He’s meant to be smarter.”

“So?

“He is smarter. I dunno, sometimes he messes up,” Tony mumbles, reaching blindly for the bent-nose pliers before Rhodey places it in his hand. “He’s not bad, just dumb. It’s not his fault.”

“And again, what happened? Did you run him over?”

“No, the old man got sick of me playing with ‘toys’. Dumb-dumb here met the wall in a very dramatic fashion. It was an Oscar-worthy performance.”

There’s a sigh from behind him.

“Does that explain your face?”

Tony glances behind him and smirks. 

“You mean my dashing good looks?”

“Tony.”

“Honestly? I got into a fight with a feral racoon that ran off with some old lady’s purse. It nearly cost me an eye, but I saved the day. She called me a hero, gave me some stale crackers from her purse and then gave me her number.”

“Tony.”

“Fine. I was skateboarding. I was in the middle of executing a super complicated kickflip but lost control when an enlarged gutter rat scurried in front of me. I flew headfirst into the gravel. Very embarrassing. That work?”

“Tony.”

“Look, just leave it will ya? God, you’re like a nagging wife. Pick whichever story makes you feel all nice and fuzzy inside.”

Rhodey is suddenly before him, waving something in his face. “Your phone, jackass. Your better half is calling?”

Huh?

Tony blinks, gently setting down the pliers and the chip he’d removed, taking his phone. It vibrates, Your Better Half flashing across the screen. 

“Parker, ugh.” 

He really should have changed the contact name by now, he thinks, swiping to answer.

“Alcoholics Anonymous,” Tony answers by way of greeting. “How may I direct your call?”

“Ha ha, very funny, asshole. So you are awake. I’ve been trying to contact you all morning.”

“I know. I’m beginning to think you actually might have separation issues,” Tony says. “I just got rid of you like eight hours ago.”

“I’m calling about the folder. Didn’t you read my texts?“

“Oh, I read them,” Tony settles back on the stool and continues to work on the main circuit. “See, I was just ignoring you. Hoping you’d take the hint, but I forget subtlety is lost on you.”

“Look, I need my notes. Can we meet up?”

“Right, for Bio,” Tony rolls his eyes. “Can’t it wait until Monday?”

“No. I, uh -- I have a test first period. I need to study for it.”

“Uh-huh. Just remember, the mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell. You’ll be fine.”

“I take AP Bio, asswipe, I’m aware of that. Can I just get it back, please?”

“You take AP Bio? Was that an admin error or something?” he asks, holding the chip he’d retrieved earlier up to the light to inspect for any damage. 

It looks to be ok. The damage to the bot overall seems to be mostly cosmetic, couple of scratches, a few dents. Nothing that a few replacement panels wont fix. Whatever he hasn’t already got stored here Rhodey will surely have spare parts, it’ll be fine. God, what would he do if his friend didn’t lovingly tolerate Tony using his space for storage and barging in whenever he lucks. It’s lucky Rhode’s parents are so chill though, unlike his own. He may be a hot-head but he’s practically a saint compared to -

“ - hello? Are you still there? I can hear you breathing.”

Tony blinks. “Right. Your notes. Look, I’m kinda busy. I have a life outside of you and I don’t actually care about your academic integrity, so, you’re gonna have to wait.”

“For how long?”

“I’ll drop them off this evening, like six-ish. Hey, maybe we could do that interview with May if she’ll be around.”

“...I’m not sure that’s the best idea.”

“C’mon, I already told you I’m not actually hot for your aunt. I’ll be professional.”

Rhodey shoots him a bewildered look.

“That’s not what -- look, whatever. Just don’t be late okay. I have a life outside of you too.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that one before. I’ll try and not get in the way of your weekend plans of crying while you masturbate.”

“I literally hate you.”

“And yet you aren’t denying the crying. Anyway, I have to go now, try to clean yourself up before I get there. See you at six, bubby,” he hangs up, cracking his neck before refocusing on his mangled creation. “Now where were we?”

“What the fuck.”

Tony pauses, pliers in hand. There is a particular expression on Rhodey’s face erring on the side of confused and haunted. 

“What?”

“’Bubby’?”

“Don’t say it like that - it’s like an inside thing. Don’t repeat it to him, alright, he’ll get pissy. And then I’ll get pissy.”

“You know it’s just a project, right? You two aren’t actually married.”

“Thank god. Could you imagine being married to that guy?” Tony shudders. “Scary.”

“Two weeks ago you said he was the bane of your existence. Now you have ‘inside things’ with him? You saw him last night?”

He sighs, shoulders dropping. Yeah, he doesn’t really have a good explanation for any of that. 

The thing about himself, Tony’s found over time and trial, is that he really, really likes to press buttons. He likes to test variables, wants to see what would happen if he did something he wasn’t supposed to, and map out the world as it occurs in motion around him. Curiosity means he likes to test the parameters, to see what can yield, what will bite back.

More often than not that kind of impulsive brand of curiosity has gotten him in some sort of trouble. Turns out not everything and everyone appreciates being tested - and many things like to lash out when pressed.  

Parker, Tony has found, is somebody that doesn’t yield or bite. If Tony was a betting man he’d have placed his money on the boy being more of a yielding type - but what he does is he presses buttons just as much as Tony does, buttons he didn’t even know he had to be pressed. 

And that very much interests Tony.

He just doesn’t know what to do with that information, except to keep pressing.

“I’ll explain later,” Tony promises, mentally crossing his fingers. “In the meantime, can we forget about Parker and focus on my broken baby here?”

Rhodey relents, but Tony knows that look in his eye. He’ll be hearing about it later and at the most inconvenient time. And he’s gonna tell Pepper.

Wonderful.

He really should change Peter’s contact name in his phone.

---

By the time he leaves the Rhodes residence and heads to his next destination, his robot is in somewhat in working order again. It remains fairly immobile though, just until Tony can replace the damaged infrared and touch sensor. It clicks its metal claws sadly towards Tony in the passenger seat as he drives.

It’s a Roy Orbison kind of day, so the music is loud and the guitar is heavy as he makes the drive to Harlem.

And if Tony frees a hand to pat the bot on its’ metal head every so often, that’s his business.

When he reaches the other side of the city he parks in his usual space at a nearby lot and contemplates whether or not he should leave the malfunctioning bot in his car for the sake of being professional. It clicks at his jacket, weakly grasping the material as if on a plea - and damn, Tony knows the thing isn’t actually sentient but what kind of asshole would he be if he left it here for the day.

Heart squeezing with sympathy, Tony delicately places him in the backpack, leaving the zip partially open for ‘air’.

Next, snacks.

While he’s retrieving a pack (or two) of Reeses, he comes across Parker’s folder that he’d stashed there last night. Their conversation from earlier returns to the forefront of his mind.

Look, Parker might not be the knuckle-dragging, monosyllabic dumbass Tony initially suspected that he was, and yeah he was savvy as demonstrated during their trip to the rental market - and yeah, definitely smarter than his social circle would suggest, and is absolutely and a source of constant surprise to Tony - but is he AP Bio - or AP anything material? 

Time to find out.

The first thing that Tony notices is that the notes are definitely not for Bio. They’re for Econ, as initially prescribed. 

The second thing he notices, as he flicks through the papers, skimming over the complicated graphs and annotated research, is that what he’s reading is actually good. 

Well, I’ll be darned, Tony thinks, eyes getting progressively wider as he flicks through the pages. Not bad at all.

Makes him wonder why Parker thought he was missing his Bio notes though.

The answer to that becomes clear when a crumpled envelope falls out of the stack onto Tony’s lap. He picks it up, at first thinking it’s a part of the research, but pauses. It’s open and it’s addressed to May Parker.

���Um,” he says.

It’s from Queens Presbyterian Hospital, which should make him drop it as if it were burning. It doesn’t, though. Either it’s meant to be included in the folder, or it’s not and that’s why Parker has been acting like a crazy-ex all morning.

Hmm. Tony sits there, torn, debating whether or not to look into it, the overdue stamp standing out against the crisp paper like a warning sign. On one hand, he’s running kinda late and, y’know, privacy or whatever -- on the other, his fingers are already itching to know what’s in it.

Mind your own business, he can already hear Rhodey saying, mind your own business, Tony.

Curiosity and a distinct lack of a moral compass wins, as always. Just a quick peek, that should be okay, right? The envelope is already open anyway, so, it’s not like anyone will be able to tell.

God, this is none of my business, he tells himself, even as he’s retrieving the letter from within and starts reading it. 

Oh.

Tony quickly stashes the letter back into the envelope and back into the folder. Yep, definitely none of his business. 

Yeah, he really shouldn’t have done that. Big fucking yikes on his behalf. And yep, there’s the guilt -- or at least he thinks the stomach churning is guilt, it could be the stale muesli bar he ate on the way.

Nonetheless, it hangs over him like a dark cloud as he picks up his backpack and heads out to the garage across the road. What kind of asshole looks into someone’s mail because they can’t help themselves. This dick, that’s who.

Fixing a grin he doesn’t really feel, he heads to the back office. He knocks on the window, ducking his head into the open door.

“Yo,” he waves to the man sitting behind the desk. “Sorry I’m late.”

“Hey kid,” the man looks up, smiling before his face drops. “Tony, your face. What happened?”

“This? It’s nothing --”

“-- is that why you couldn’t come to work yesterday? Not that I mind,” the man stands up. “Are you okay? Was it --”

“-- Was it nothing to worry about? Absolutely,” Tony holds his hands up in surrender. “Just an unfortunate encounter with a wild, feral squirrel in Central Park. I tell you, they’re deceivingly cute, but they’re pests. Totally out of control.”

“Tony.”

“Jarvis,” he interrupts, gesturing to the cars in the garage behind him. “C’mon. Look, let’s get to work, okay? Save the violins for later.”

And by later he means never.

The man sighs, world-weary, looking at him like he knows exactly what he’s thinking. At first he’s certain his boss is going to push the issue, but it must be a day for dodging bullets because he relents.

“Alright, kid. I got a ninety-four Ford sedan back there with your name on it. Busted fan belt, overheated engine. Probably needs a new set of spark plugs while you’re at it.”

With a grateful nod, Tony heads back, locating the vehicle in question. It’s rusted to all hell and probably not worth the cost of repair, but he gets stuck into it anyway, keen for a distraction. He sets his bag and bot down near him while Jarvis blasts Alice Cooper’s Poison.

Tony might not have all the answers to life’s problems, but this is something he knows how to fix.

---

He probably distracts himself a little too well, because by the time he’s wrapped up with the Ford it’s already five-thirty and he’s a mess of engine oil and coolant.

It’s only when Jarvis squeezes his shoulder and points to the clock on the far wall does he realise that he’s lost his sense of time. How the fuck is he supposed to clean up and get all the way from Harlem to Queens at this time of night?

“Ah, crap,” Tony mutters, setting down his socket-wrench in his toolbox. “I’m late.”

“Late for what? You got a hot date or something?” Jarvis asks, stepping back to give him some room as he rushes to the staff bathroom. 

“What, no,” He calls back, running the faucet and pumping soap over his hands. “I gotta go see about a guy.” He struggles to hear his boss over the running water but he doesn’t have time to stop and figure it out. 

“From school?”

“Yes, and a prime pain in my ass,” Tony mutters, drying his hands on his jeans, walking back into the garage. “Anyway, see you Monday, chief?”

His boss nods, passing Tony his earnings for the week in cash. Tony should have known to dash and run because he starts hearing the proverbial violins when Jarvis clamps a hand on his shoulder, squeezing in a way that is more paternal than Tony is comfortable with. 

“You know you can call me, you have my number. You come up and see me and the missus whenever you want.”

Tony fake snores.

“Jarvis.”

“We have a spare room,” he insists, shrugging sheepishly and stepping back. “It’s yours at any time.”

“I see you enough, okay, don’t push it. I’ll see you Monday,” Tony draws him into a one-armed hug and claps him on the back. “Don’t you worry about me.” 

“Don’t make me worry.”

“No promises,” Tony salutes, slinging his backpack on shoulder and walking backwards out of the garage to the street. “Hug the missus for me.”

Jarvis salutes back. 

With that he sprints across the street when there’s a gap in traffic, bot snapping gently at his hair as he runs.

Sweaty and sore, he is full of energy, a sense of accomplishment coursing through his blood, like an afternoon of work can only provide. He should fire off a text, he thinks, as he starts the ignition and heads out onto the road, yeah. Let Parker know he will be late.

And he does genuinely mean to send a message at the next traffic stop, but then Queen starts playing on the radio and Tony isn’t a fool, okay, he turns that up loud.

Next traffic stop, he promises himself.

---

“I’m beginning to think you can’t read the time,” Parker opens the door with a scowl. “You said six.”

Wincing in the hallway, Tony looks at his phone. Six-fifty-nine. It’s not totally his fault, okay. There was a pile up along the way and traffic was a nightmare of  ridiculous proportions. He swears he’s gonna be the first person to invent a commercially viable flying car just for the sake of personally avoiding road congestion.

“Yeah, so. Here’s the thing: I had things to do, okay, priorities --”

“You and your priorities, I swear to god --”

“Here,” Tony cuts him off, passing him his folder, letter neatly inside where it isn’t going to obviously slip out. “Your folder, dumbass.”

Peter grips it, holding it to his chest as he stares at Tony for a moment, before passing it to the nearest flat surface, a weathered and small table that holds their keys.

“Okay, thanks,” Peter nods, smiling grimly, looking behind his shoulder. “Appreciate it. You can go now.”

“So where are the Econ notes,” Tony blurts, wincing as he plays dumb. “I mean, if you had something prepared.”

Peter blinks, surprised. “Oh, uh. Um, It can wait until Monday, can’t it?”

“The assignment is due Wednesday.”

“Right. Um, just give me a sec --”

“Is that Tony?”

May appears behind Peter, smiling brightly. Tony waves, rocking back on his feet. 

“Hey, Missus Parker.”

“Hey there, handsome,” she hip-checks her nephew, joining him in the doorway and glancing between the two. “You didn’t mention we were having company tonight, Pete.”

“He’s not handsome and he’s not staying --”

“-- I was just dropping something off,” he looks to Peter. “And excuse you, the lady has spoken and I have to agree. I am handsome. Some might even say that I’m debonair.”

“And some might say that you’re deplorable.”

“Hmm, I think you mean adorable.”

That prompts a smile out of Peter. He crosses his arms over his chest and tilts his chin up, all haughty.

“Tony Stark, you are many things, but adorable isn’t one of them.”

He leans in, pouting playfully. “Oh come on, Parker. I’m a little cute, aren’t I?”

“No.”

“Not even a little?”

“Uh, let me check,” Peter pauses before smiling sardonically. “Verdicts in - jury says you’re one-hundred-percent despicable. Sorry.”

"I’m sure I could sway the jury.”

“I think you mean you could pay the jury.”

Tony nods, pretending to be serious. “Well, yeah. You know, for consensus.”

Peter licks his lips, shifting closer.

“Consensus is important...”

“...Well, if you two are done,” May says after an extended period of silence, tying her hair back into a ponytail. “We were just about to head out to a Thai place around the corner. Tony, you should join us.”

“Oh, no, that’s okay. I should go --”

The rest of his words are cut off by a truly monstrous growl of his stomach. He winces, scrunching up his nose sheepishly. He probably should have eaten more than Reeses all afternoon.

“Well, I guess that settles that,” May says, stepping out of the doorway and beckoning Tony in. “Come in. Sorry about the mess.” 

It’s with Peter still staring at him that he reluctantly enters their apartment, brushing past the other boy. It looks the same as it did the other week, mostly tidy and smelling like incense. There’s a sizeable stack of unfolded laundry on the dining table, however, that wasn’t there before. 

Tony’s distracted by a pair of dancing-bulbasaur boxers sticking out of the pile when May leans in close to sniff at his hair. 

“You’ve got something in your hair, honey. Is that paint?”

He runs his fingers through his hair, palm coming back streaked with green. “Oh, uh, radiator fluid,” he explains, holding up his hand. 

“Can I ask what you did to your face?”

“I saved a homeless guy and his beef-sandwich from a pack of rabid, angry dogs. No need to call me a hero.”

May looks at him oddly. “Oh, well, if you say so. Go get yourself washed up and we can head out.”

The burn of Peter’s stare follows him all the way to their bathroom.

---

The meal is less awkward than Tony thought it would be.

Well, for him at least.

Over larb and khao pad they’d gotten through an informal interview with May about her experience as a caregiver with a single income. Not only was it informative for his own future financial independence, but she has been generous enough to speckle in colorful anecdotes of her nephew’s upbringing. Parker’s face has been getting progressively redder all night and it has nothing to do with the spice in his food.

Tony has enjoyed the evening thoroughly.

“ - and of course, we were lucky we hadn’t decided to go cheap on the health insurance. Especially when Pete here broke his wrist at gymnastics when he was eight.”

Tony barely holds back a snort. 

“You did gymnastics, Parker?”

Peter tips his head back to stare at the ceiling and sighs. The flush seems to be creeping down his neck too, Tony observes gleefully. He stuffs a large mouthful of rice in his mouth to mitigate the urge to tease. 

"Yes, he was very good, weren’t you, Pete? So talented, you should see his medals.”

“Stop, please.”

“C’mon, no need to be embarrassed, Pete, you were amazing,” she says. “You’re still a flexible little bug, aren’t you?”

Tony chokes on his rice.

Peter has his eyes squeezed shut and looks like he wants the earth to swallow him whole. 

“May, I’m literally begging you.”

“Uh,” he beats at his chest with his fist, swallowing roughly. “So how long did you do that for?”

“Until I was fourteen.”

“Why’d you quit?”

There’s a very deliberate, weighted pause. May and Peter share a look between them and Tony gets a deeply uncomfortable sense that he’s just stuck his foot in it. Retract, he thinks, already regretting opening his mouth.

“Well,” May clears her throat, her tone light. “After my husband, Pete’s uncle Ben died, we moved away and we had to make some... financial cuts at the time.”

The bite he’s just taken goes to ash in his mouth. God, he really is a big idiot isn’t he. He’d assumed that May never got married to the man in the photos or that they’d just divorced, he didn’t realise that he’d passed - and so recently, too. Welling up with shame, he can’t stop himself from glancing at Peter, who’s staring at the table, lips pursed.

“Oh,” he clears his throat. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to - I didn’t know. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” May waves her hand dismissively, but her smile is strained. “Anyway, what about you, Tony? You’re severely asthmatic, right? That must have been hard, growing up if you wanted to play sports.”

Tony’s eyes widen.

“Yes, um, so hard. Luckily I’m not really an exercise-y kinda guy. I personally prefer to keep a heart rate below eighty beats per minute.”

“Did you have any hobbies growing up?”

“Yeah, driving my parents crazy,” Tony says, glad for the shift from the somber topic. “Escaping from nannies, seeing how quickly I could get them to quit.”

“You like tinkering,” Peter says quietly, looking up. “You mentioned, before. Cars and stuff.”

He shrugs, starting to feel as if he’s under the microscope, especially when Peter looks at him, eyes glittering with thinly-veiled interest. 

“I mean, I don’t know. I like - building stuff, I guess. Machines and robots, y’know, cars. It’s like, whatever.”

“You want to be the next Elon Musk or somethin’?” Peter asks, not unkindly, resting his chin on his hand.

“Nah, I wanna be the first Tony Stark,” he scratches his cheek, suddenly bashful. It’s an uncommon feeling for him. One hard to avoid, however, particularly when there is a boy who Tony doesn’t really hate who’s asking about his life like it might matter. 

He clears his throat. “Anyway, mostly it was just me cataloguing all the ways I could make the vein in my fathers’ head pop. I’m still working on that.”

May looks between them, smiling.

“Sounds like you were a handful.”

“Sure was.”

Still is, apparently, no matter how much he tries to stay out of the way.

The silence that follows is punctuated by the sounds of cutlery scraping across plates, of shrinking ice cubes rattling against glass. It feels pensive at the same time as it does thorny, like Tony opened the door to let someone in but accidentally let out a few ghouls.

And despite knowing he’d stepped on a landmine with the Parkers, he can’t help but wonder what other pieces of the puzzle he’s missing. Why Peter doesn’t live with his parents. Not that Tony is invested in him or anything.

He just doesn’t like mysteries, that’s all.

May excuses herself after to head to the bathroom not long after. It’s during that time that the waiter brings the check, which Tony takes immediately, slipping in some of the cash he’d gotten earlier, despite Peter’s protests. He was gonna do it anyway, even if he didn’t have the letter in the back of his mind.

“Stop paying for me,” Peter says after he passes the check-book back to the waiter. “Your family is rich, I get it. I’ve told you, I don’t need your charity.”

Tony shakes his head. It’s not worth mentioning that the only money he spends doesn’t come from his family.

“It’s not charity. Do you really think I’m that nice, eh? C’mon. Maybe I like lording it over you.”

“Well, at some point I’m going to pay you back.”

“And when that time comes I’m not going to accept your money.”

“You will,” Peter smiles wryly down at his plate. “I have my ways.”

“As do I, sweetums. Now, do me a favour: shut up and finish your larb.”

Peter does, but something about him shifts. It seems more quiet and contemplative, his eyes staying longer on Tony than they normally would. He wants to tell him to take a picture, but for once, Tony thinks it’s probably best if he keeps his mouth shut.

---

Back at the apartment, Peter goes to retrieve his ‘Econ notes’, taking the folder from the table and retreating to his bedroom. In the interim, May offers to let Tony stay over, inviting him for what he’s sure would be a rousing game of Mario Kart. 

He politely declines.

“You sure? Winner gets to choose a movie.”

“I should really get home,” he says. “Thanks though. And thanks for dinner.”

“No problem. Thank you for paying, you didn’t have to do that. Let me pay you back.”

“No need. Think of it as payment for your services and letting us pick your brain tonight.”

She reluctantly accepts with a lot less pride than what her nephew displayed and that makes Tony feel a little sick, because it’s evident that she’s a proud and stubborn woman by nature. Her acceptance, albeit laboured, speaks volumes as to the reasoning behind it.

What takes him by surprise is when she hugs him goodbye and kisses his cheek.

“You’re a good egg, Anthony. Don’t be a stranger, okay?”

It’s probably the most maternal touch he’s had since, well. Probably since he last went to stay with Jarvis and his wife. Fidgeting in the hold, he’s not sure if he wants to squirm or to sink into it.

May leaves when Peter comes back in, a familiar stack of notes in his hands that he passes to Tony.

“You gonna kiss me goodbye, too?”

“What?” Peter blinks.

"Uh, never mind,” Tony waves the papers at him. “Thanks for this.”

Peter looks around to make sure they’re alone before leaning in rather promptly. 

“Wow, hold up on the proximity there,” Tony inches back, startled by their sudden closeness. “I was joking about the kiss --”

“You read the letter, didn’t you,” Peter whisper-hisses.

“What? Letter? What letter?” Tony says, voice strangled. “I don’t know of any letter.”

He gets a painful poke in his chest for his lies.

“Don’t play dumb. It wasn’t where I left it.”

“I’m not -- ow, quit poking me.”

“Then stop lying. You’re unbelievable -- don’t you know that opening someone else’s mail is a crime?”

Tony’s shoulders slump as he concedes.

“Look, it was an accident, it just slipped out. And also, it’s not technically a crime, if the envelope was already open.”

“Oh and the letter magically opened itself and forced you to read it.” 

“That could be argued.”

“Why couldn’t you mind your own business?“

Sick of being poked, he shoves the papers between his arm and his ribs to hold them and takes Peter’s fingers in his hands, squeezing the digits when they struggle to break free of his hold.

“I should have, I admit it - I didn’t think, okay, I’m sorry. Is she okay?”

Peter stops struggling, looking over his shoulder again.

“I don’t know,” he leans in again to whisper, “I only found it yesterday, I haven’t spoken to her yet. Look, I know you hate me, but can you please not tell anyone about this?”

“Why would I tell anyone?”

“I don’t know, because you’re the devil, and you get a kick out of seeing me suffer?”

“True, but I’m not going to tell anyone. Promise. That would make me look like an asshole and you like a martyr. Ergo, I shut my cake hole and continue looking better than you.”

“You’re a real prince charming,” the other boy huffs, but seems to take him at face value. “If I find out differently I’m going to come after you. You’re going to need dental work afterwards.”

Tony lets go of their joined hands, balling his fists and raising them to his face, mimicking what the other boy had done last night. 

“You wanna tousle, huh?”

He gets a light shove out the doorway for his attitude.

“Alright, smartass. Get the fuck outta here already.”

“Going, going. Goodnight, princess.”

He mock bows, peering up under his eyelashes, momentarily arrested as he watches Parker roll his eyes and bite his bottom lip in an attempt to smother a smile. 

His heart continues to beat a bit oddly all the way down to the car, where he sits in contemplative silence for a few moments until the sound of metal clicking shifts him out of his thoughts.

“Oh, hey you,” he coos, gently retrieving his bot from his bag and placing it in the passenger seat, instantly feeling bad. “I didn’t think I would take so long. I’m sorry.”

Placing a seatbelt over the bot and buckling him in, Tony begins to narrate his night to him as he pulls off the curb and begins driving.

“I guess that Parker isn’t so bad,” he tells the bot, who swivels its head in response to his voice. “I mean, he can’t dress for shit and has questionable tastes in friends - oh, and cannot hold his liquor - but I dunno, baby-bot. He’s okay. Don’t tell anyone I said that, though -- and oh my god, did I mention he did gymnastics, what a fucking dork...”

The thoughts churn and buoy him until he pulls up to his house nearly an hour later. From the driveway he can see his fathers office light still on.

The sight of it makes his stomach drop, all good cheer gone in an instant. 

“Damn,” Tony whispers to himself, tapping his knuckles against the steering wheel. This time of night on a Saturday can only mean one thing and he is really not in the mood to be in the crosshairs of whatever his father and Stane are up to.

But before he can work himself into a worry his phone vibrates in his pocket.

> hey, look, thanks for not being a total dick tonight about everything > and last night as well, I guess > yknow what i mean < ur welcome < by the way, i’m proud of you  > for what < not finishing off ur aunts beer tonight < takes strength < asking for help is the first step > omfg i take back what i said > ur the worst < and ur a pain in my ass > they have creams for that u know > anyway, g’nite, butthole > p.s. you’re still not adorable Tony smiles down at his phone. < goodnight bambi The bot clicks at him, breaking him out of his train of thought.

“Don’t look at me like that. Let’s go in, but you gotta keep quiet, okay.”

He manages to avoid detection and attention from anyone, despite accidentally stepping on a squeaky floorboard. Maybe it had something to do with the record player and raucous laughter coming from the office.

In any case, Tony’s just happy to make it back to his bedroom. There, he toes off his sneakers and starts getting ready for bed, stashing the leftover cash into a drawer.

It makes him think about Peter’s reluctance for Tony to pay for over the last couple of instances, and how freaking annoying that is. And rude. 

Honestly, the dude should count himself as one of the lucky guys - Tony is not that magnanimous. He doesn’t experience an impulsive, unthinking eagerness to provide for just anybody.

Oh.

Tony stills in the middle of his bedroom.

Oh no.

He knows what this is.

“This is bad.”

---

*

*

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