#hiatus is gonna happen soon and it's gonna beat my ass

[faulty-heat-vents]

//Narrative communication established.

No communication for a week. Before then, another hiatus. Radio silence. 

Being disconnected from his socialport made Ashton… uncomfortable. He had only been running the damn thing for a few Cradle months. How did a severance feel this strange and lonely?

Maybe it wasn’t the disconnect. Maybe it was the silence that came with it- no drama, no distracting stimuli, just himself and the monotony of the Academy. Training drills and mechanical courses, over and over.

A break comes when Command pages him, an unpleasant break as it was. He had broken protocol again, a risky maneuver in a simulation that cost his virtual teammates a respawn token- analogous to death in the real world.

The short walk to Command’s elevated office is one of shame. The barebones box sits suspended in the rafters of the mechanics’ wing, overlooking the vast garage and hangar spaces through a wall of glass. 

All Ash could see from below was the Commander’s silhouette. With every step up the metal stairs, he feels their eyes watching him through the window, tracing his gait and judging his every movement. 

“Come in,” the Commander drones as Ash reaches the door. He hadn’t even knocked yet, and they already started the conversation. Ash swallows the nervous lump in his throat and sweeps his wrist across the keycard reader, unlocking it with a quiet beep. 

“Sit,” the Commander orders, not turning away from their post at the window. Ash follows the instruction and waits for another, holding his breath as much as he can. The Commander was known to be irritable, and he was in enough hot water as is.

Even without them turning, Ashton feels the weight of the Commander’s eyes fall on him. 

“I have been made aware of your recent escapades, Cadet G-212.”

Pulling out class rank and designation? Oh fuck.

”This meeting is not about your simulation failures. Those can be programmed out.” 

They finally turn to Ash, all three eyes dead-locked. “You will answer for obfuscating your communications. Cadets under the Academy’s purview are to be monitored at all times. Your journals about our operation are not to be seen by the wider Omninet. If things were to go in my favour, there would be no journaling at all- but your memory issues present a unique exception.”

Journals? They had managed to break the encryption to my blog? How?

The Commander narrows their primary eyes at him and scowls. 

“Your encryption relied on your observer being under Academy credentials. Your failure was simple- all we had to do was log out of the Academy account, and it was viewable. Amateur mistake.”

Oh.

”Your communications with outside organizations and nefarious third parties have resulted in several Academy security breaches. Approximately nineteen Cradle days ago, Biohazard and Forensics confiscated an unregistered package found near your workshop space. You weren’t present during its calculated delivery window, but all other sources turned up null- nothing on cameras, sensors, or forensic left-behinds. Your infiltrator was thorough in their attempt.”

Ashton can’t even get in a word edgewise- not that it’d get him anywhere if he could. All he can do is think of his responses and let the Commander read them. 

Biohaz grabbed it? Doesn’t Cargo handle packages?The words aren’t even mentally refined before the Commander responds with a negative-nod.

“Cargo handles normal shipping deliveries. This package was sent to Biohazard and Forensics because of its contents. From what we could gather from your Omninet socialport, this package was left by an adversary from one of your previous engagements- ‘Hive Guy,’ I believe you call them.”

Ash’s face works faster than his tongue, clear to view without his helmet and death-cage armor. Hatred.

“The package was an effigy made of your remains, G-212. It appears that the enemy had returned to the scene and gathered scraps of your body once your mech and NHP co-pilot were exfiltrated. Then, they crafted some kind of mockery token with the salvage and delivered it in person. I’m still speaking to Security about the breach, but evidence is scarce. There’s not even any fingerprints on the box.”

Wait, 19 days ago? Why wasn’t I told sooner?

The Commander sighs in annoyance and places a hand on their temple. “Because you would’ve spoken about it before we handled the situation. We conducted a full sweep of the station in silence to make sure your infiltrator wasn’t still onboard. I was only just now informed that we’re in the clear. I’ve increased security measures all across the base- and if that ‘Hive Guy’ shows up again, we’ll know from the sentry turret gunshots.”

…so that’s it? That bastard broke in, left a hunting trophy, and fucked off?

“Sans vulgarity, yes. This is the second time hostile actors have infiltrated the Academy. First A-1, and now this.” 

A pause. The Commander lifts their visor and removes a diadem from beneath it. The third eye on their forehead squints shut.

“Full transparency time. No more Commander, just Oracle- a concerned party. Talk if you want.”

Ashton waits for Oracle to blink, then shakes his head. Not much to say. They sigh, crouch down, and continue.

“I’ve read your reports on the anomalous visions you’re experiencing lately. I know you didn’t write them for my eyes, but we both know how that worked out.”

Silence follows again, broken by Ash’s shaky voice- “Leave Ciryn out of it.” 

Oracle turns their head inquisitively. “Why would I? You didn’t.”

“She didn’t do anything.” 

“You’re right. She’ll simply have the samples confiscated. You’re the only one to blame for her involvement.”

Ashton nods, but stays quiet. 

Oracle places a hand on his shoulder and leans to look him in the eyes. Their voice is gentle when they speak again.

“Ashton, what were you thinking? Why would you go behind my back like this? Your dreams are a new development… but lying to me?” 

Ash looks away, trying to hide his tear-welling face. Oracle presses onwards. “You know how I operate- hiding your troubles just makes them worse. I don’t like seeing my pilots like this. Just talk to me. You’re clearly hurting if you trusted my best medic with this.”

Ashton swings his head back to face Oracle and breaks. 

“I’m sorry!” he sobs, grabbing at his forearms. “I needed to get shit done. I never get answers from any of you! Not Commander Oracle, not the Admins, and RA forbid the bastards who dropped me off here! Nobody tells me anything!”

Oracle bows their head. 

“Ashton, I’m the one who should be apologizing. I can’t fix what’s going on in your nightmares. I can’t bring you up to parity with the rest of my pilots. I most certainly can’t tell you what SSC wanted with your assignment here. All I ca-”

“‘Assignment’?”

The sniffling stops abruptly. Oracle raises their head, and sees Ashton staring at them- dead-locked, just like they had done to him minutes prior. “What do you mean by ‘assignment,’ Ori? You said that they disposed of me for a special hire program.” “I- Yes, that was the dea-” Oracle leans back, taking their hand with them- until Ash’s own shoots up and grabs it by the wrist. His tail thrashes violently behind him.

“Oracle, you know what happened to me. The real me. The one in my head. Tell me.”

Oracle tries and fails to wrench their hand out of Ash’s unnaturally strong grip, only tweaking their wrist in the process. Ash’s voice is still broken with tears, but whatever this is- anger, desperation, something else- punches through it like a bullet through glass.

“I’m scared, Ori. I’ve been tormented for months now. Months. Do you understand? Night after night, cryo-cycle after cryo-cycle, I see it. That damned eye in the sun and the words I don’t understand and the snaking mass of guts that want to swallow me whole.”

“Ashton, unhand me at once! I don’t know how to fix you-” “Bullshit!” The word comes out as a half-sob, half-snarl, both parts overlapping. “You and the rest of Admin are keeping shit from me! I deserve to know what the hell that graveyard was about! What that breached cockpit painted in blood was! If I’m to be subjected to horrific nightmares and visions and- and- and hell itself, I deserve to know!”

As soon as the episode started, it stops. Ashton’s hand goes limp, like a breaker shorted out in his head. His breathing cuts to sharp pants. His body fights the haze any way it knows how. 

“I deserve to know,” he finally manages, devolving back into the hysterical tears his mania broke out of.

Oracle looks down at their already-bruising wrist, then back up to Ash. His tail and ears have receded back to normal, but he’s still a wreck.

“You’re right,” they start cautiously, “but I legally cannot help you. SSC set very specific terms and conditions for your surrender, and if I break them, it’ll put this entire Academy in jeopardy. Even telling you this is dangerously close.”

“So what do we do?” Ash asks in a whisper. “Do I just keep suffering like this? Asking randos on the net for help? Dealing with Hive whenever he decides to rear his ugly head?”

“I don’t know, Ashton. This is a problem I don’t have the answers for. I’d try to dissuade you from seeking the Omninet’s advice, but I know how you work. You’re one of the smartest pilots I have, and any blockade I place in your way will just steer you towards more dangerous avenues.” 

Minutes bleed into an hour. Over it, Ash slowly reels himself back in, apologizing profusely for losing his temper at his Commander. Oracle brushes the injury aside, citing their own mistakes. “Everything has a reason, Ashton. We might not understand it, we might not like it, but we can’t stop it until we understand.”

They stand up and offer their injured hand to Ash for assistance. He takes it and brings himself wearily to his feet, fighting out a smile in a vain attempt to end the conversation on a positive note.

“Thank you for bringing your concerns to me, Ashton.” Oracle says, placing their diadem back on their head. Their third eye flicks open and turns to look at Ash as he departs. “Please do so again if it gets worse.”

“Anytime, [Oracle|Commander]-” 

The dual-edged voice. Not here. Not now. Not wi-

The floor meets his face in a blink.

[journeyintofiction]

hii, can u do a Shuri x reader where the reader is in college and is getting verbally and physically abused by her parents due to her bad academics performance but she won’t tell Shuri because she has a country to worry about until Shuri eventually finds out because the reader won’t answer calls or texts? <33

Hello everyone! I took a tiny hiatus because I had a very huge loss in my family right before New years so I was not in the mental headspace to write anything. However, I am back and unfortunately the college semester is in full swing. Pls send help im dying 

TRIGGER WARNING: Mentions of verbally and physically abusive parents

Word count:1k

As always, happy reading :) 

“y/n, you better not be crying in your room before I come in there and give you something to cry about!”

I quickly attempt to muffle my sobs by burying my head in my comforter on the bed, hoping and praying that my parents can’t hear me. God knows I don’t need another beating after what happened tonight. 

It always happens like this. Every single time. I do my best, get anything lower than an A and I know as soon as I come home I’m gonna have my ass beat. No matter how hard the class is or how hard I work they don’t care because if it isn’t an A it is considered a failure. I went to the college they wanted me to go to because I could stay home and make money but that meant I couldn’t escape their abuse. 

This semester I had a slip up and got a C in a class and in turn they beat the shit out of me as a form of “teaching me” a lesson. It's not just the physical abuse, every insult was a purposeful stab at me because I failed to meet their expectations or it was just because they had a shitty day and wanted to hurt my feelings. I am at a breaking point mentally, emotionally, and physically.

I hear my phone vibrate and I pick my head up from my comforter to look at my phone and see Shuri’s name pop up on the screen. A smile slightly at the thought of her but wince when I feel the tightness of my skin from my tears drying. I slowly move over to where my phone is so I can text back before she gets worried.

Shuri always knew my schedule and when I suddenly don't answer and she knows I'm at home, she gets worried sick. I shoot her a text and let her know I cant talk and just as I am about to hit send she calls me. Out of fear I quickly answer and start speaking in hushed tones so that my parents dont hear me.

“Shuri, i love you, but right now really isn’t a good time.”

She pauses and asks, “Are you at home?”

“What? Yes I’m at home, you know my routine plus you can track me right now.” I say in confusion.

“My love, I have been trying to call you for the last 2 hours.”

I go silent for a moment and try to figure out how to explain the entire situation without getting Shuri upset or involved with my parents. She takes my silence as a negative response and begins to respond before I can.

“y/n if you have something going on, please just tell me.”

I bite my lip and respond on the verge of tears, “Shuri I want to tell you, I really do but if I say anything… I-”

I get cut off by my mom coming up the stairs and I shove my phone under my pillow but don’t end the call so Shuri can hear everything.

“Who are you talking to up here, huh?”

I look at her impassively so that she believes me, “No one mom, I'm rereading something for my test tomorrow.”

“Yeah, you better be because if I see you come home with another B or less, you are gonna get your ass beat again. I'm not playing with you, your father and I have told you time and time again that we expect you to achieve and you fall short every time.”

I feel my eyes getting watery but otherwise show no emotion and respond as I always do, “of course, I’ll make sure its nothing less than an A.”

My mother looks at me hard and nods, “Keep studying and while you’re at it, dust your room and do laundry.”

With that she leaves to go back down stairs for the night and I pick up my phone from under my pillow. 

“Shuri, are you still there?”

Instead of a reply I get a facetime call and I accept it quickly, frowning at her when she appears on screen. 

“What's wrong? Why did you need to facetime me-”

Shuri looks at me angrily, “How long has this been happening?”

“How long has what been happening?” I say, playing dumb and hoping that she will drop the conversation.

“y/n.”

I sigh, “years, I… never said anything because I know you are busy and this is not your concern and responsibility.”

“All those bruises over the last few months, they were your parents weren’t they?” she whispered.

Looking down and picking at my comforter I mutter a soft “ya.”

She sighed and didn’t say anything for a moment, seemingly unsure of how to broach the subject without hurting me or making me uncomfortable. Then she finally asks, “What else have they…done?”

I hesitate and glance at her on the screen, “It’s just yelling and berating me most of the time but when I get a bad grade they, uh, beat me.”

“Is that why you reacted poorly when I yelled a few weeks back?”

I nod and she looks away from her screen guiltily, “No, Shuri don’t do that to yourself, you didn’t know back then.”

“I should have picked up on it though, I mean seriously the bruises and the flinching whenever my voice was raised should have told me everything I needed to know.”

I see her moving around frantically packing things and I frown because as far as I knew, she didn’t have a meeting and wasn’t expected to go anywhere this evening. When she glances over and sees my confused look she shrugs and raises an eyebrow.

“What?”

“Shuri… what are you doing?” I ask with my head cocked to the side.

“I’m coming to see you… and talk to your parents.”

“YOU'RE WHAT?”

A/N: Please forgive any grammatical errors, I am extremely tired and have had a looonnngggg week. 

[starlytenight]

How's it going with the arm? Still being a little pain in the ass?

I delayed answering this since I was waiting for a call from my surgeon. Basically it's pretty bad. I'm underplaying how it feels because I don't want people to worry too much but it's excruciating at times.

I've been greenlit for surgery soon so I'm gonna try to push through to try and finish what I can chapter-wise. If I need a hiatus, I'm really sorry to everyone, but I hope you all understand.

More details under the cut for the curious. I don't mind talking a bit about my condition.

In essence both of my arms have had nerve issues where they were being compressed and no matter what I do, pain happens. I could be resting and pain strikes for however long it wants. Painkillers don't do anything. Nothing helps. My left, my non dominant arm, has had radial nerve release and now it's about to have ulnar. My right had radial release and it's fine. I'm hoping this will help me since I've dealt with this for over 10 years now.

It's definitely hindered me a lot in life but I really hope this time I'll beat this pain once and for all. I've always been a creative and it hurts when the one thing that gives me joy in life also physically hurts me. (I use both arms to create, to game, ect) So yeah.

I'll post an update before I go for the procedure so you all know why I'm unable to reply/unable to update for a bit. I'll be okay, don't you all worry. I've had a lot of surgeries, so one more doesn't scare me. I just get another cool scar to tattoo over, haha. ^^

[shanitani]

CHAPTER 3: BAD B*TCHES

table of contents

👩🏽‍💻: lol did y’all miss me? im still on hiatus for maybe a good two weeks until summer srry<\3. but to make up for it I made this chapter hella long.

“Damn their water pressure is good.” You mumbled softly, turning off the faucet. The boy had a cleaner bathroom than you had expected, in comparison to the ones in America - he was almost cleaner than yourself. You wiped the fog from the glass admiring your damp face for a moment, fully indulging in the fact that you were really in Japan.  

You slipped on your pajamas, the bottoms hugged at the figure well and unfortunately so did the tank top Mitsuki put out for you. You had no problem wearing it around by yourself, but you had to take into account there was a boy you had never met before living there as well. It didn’t help that Midnight never gave you any descriptions about the boy as well, so it was obvious how high alert you were.

You grabbed your belongings, turning the music down to a soft hum in volume before turning off the bathroom light. The cold air hit your damp warm one before clearing your vision to see the teenage boy you had been wondering about the day you got your acceptance email. You both stared in awe, you took in his muscular arms due to training, the light ruffle of his blonde hair, his mouth fixated in a frown, and his piercing red eyes.

It wasn’t as if he wasn’t looking at you either, your skin glistening under harsh light, your hair lightly tied back with a hair tie, the familiar smell he smelt minutes before now more concentrated and easier to name. He dared not to look at your figure-hugging the waistband of the pajamas, trying to rip his glare away fast enough. He grunts, beginning the doorknob, “You better have had left my bathroom the way you saw it.”

You frowned furring your brows, “Duh I did. And hello to you too.” you scoffed looking down at your phone in an attempt to make the situation less awkward. The blonde boy let out a groaned out “hey” before opening his door, and closing it in the same breath. “Rude ass,” you mumbled under your breath before heading downstairs back to your room. 

“You met him?? TELL ME WHAT HAPPENED” Imani squealed putting her elbows on her crisscrossed legs looking in awe behind the screen. You smiled at her eagerness to know the boy, though you didn’t think he was all that. “Well he’s pretty muscular, um tall, he’s blonde and rude as fuck.” You rolled your eyes at your last sentence as you simultaneously put your belongings in your new backpack for tomorrow.

“Okayyy he could work! You gotta fierce Lil attitude too so it’ll work out fine.” Imani flashed you a smirk - knowing you couldn’t hit her from Japan. “Oh shut up Mani! you know if I was there I’d slap your ass right now.” you pointed your middle finger towards the camera, giving her a nice view of your white acrylic nails. “Exactly why ima act out now rather than next year.” She huffed, turning off her led lights looking back at her best friend. “I’m gonna miss you tomorrow, school’s gonna be so boring.” You whined thinking about the worst scenario known to come. If they were anything like Bakugo, well you were going to be entirely fucked. “I will too. But stop making me sad about it! We gone see each other soon.” Mani kissed the phone foreshadowing a kiss to your cheek, you smiled doing the same motions as her before ending the call and rolling over to fall asleep.

“I better like these people, Nah they better like me....” you shut your eyes, anxious for your first day to start.

The next day came, as Mitsuki dropped you and Bakugou off. You expected him to at the least show you to where you needed to be - but instead he slung his backpack to the side , not giving you a glimpse of attention your way. “One day im gone beat his ass up.” you took a breathe trying to find the dorm rooms, only to be met with a man right in front of you.

“Hi, [L/N] nice to finally meet you.” The tired-looking man shook your hand motioning you into the dorms. “As you know we enroll all students into the dorms for their safety because of accidents that have happened in previous years.” you nodded looking at the huge building with high ceilings and pillars inside. The man showed you around to the necessities like the gym, commons room, the classrooms, and finally to your dorm room. “I forgot to mention, but you probably know me. I’m Aizawa, and I’ll be teaching you along with class 1A. Today we just want you to prepare your dorm room so you can sleep easy tomorrow - I won’t lie to you, it won’t be easy.” he shrugged giving you the keys to your dorm.

You thanked the man before opening the room, as said in the description - the rest of your belongings were stacked to the side of your room along with your mattress to the right of it and a desk to the left. “Might as well put on music.” you thought to yourself, scrolling through the millions of playlists before finally reaching the one you wanted. 

“Yeah, this will take a while.”

Putting on the comforter of the bed, and adding the last of your pictures on the wall; you flopped onto your bed feeling a slight headache arrive. You groaned wiping your forehead, looking out the window to see the sun almost come to a set. “How long do these children work? Seems like their school hours are a whole part-time job.” before you could laugh at your inner joke, you heard the loud door creak open before the kids voiced roamed the hallways.

You shifted uncomfortably on your bed, knowing that they knew you arrived. It wasn’t like you didn’t want to meet them. You just didn’t want to do the same cycle of meeting new friends again - it was a hassle and you were fine with the ones you had in America. You took a deep breath trying to regain your thoughts, “They won’t even know I’m here. It’s alright.” you repeated to yourself trying to make the anxiety slowly creep up disappear. 

“Yeah she’s here now stop asking me about her, you wanna talk to her go right there.” you heard the familiar huffed voice described as Bakugous. You could tell he pointed towards your dorm the way a teenage girl laughed, hearing the footsteps come closer and closer towards your room. “Shit.” you jumped off the bed, fixing your hair making sure to make a good impression no matter who it may be. That’s when the footsteps stopped, and a light knock was met at your door.

you opened the door to a girl squealing, “Hi!” a curly haired girl engulfed you into a hug making you step back giggling at her eagerness, “Hey! your hair smells nice.” you hugged her back, finally stepping back to get a look of her. Her hair was the same color as her skin - pink, that you could only assume was the cause of her quirk. However, she did have black features that made you believe she was Blasian. 

“Mina stop harassing the new girl! it’s only her first day. Hello I’m Momo!” A black haired girl came waving her hand at you, she looked beautiful - you were almost intimidated by her stunning features feeling a tad insecure once side by side. 

“Oh no worries!” you giggled sitting on the edge of your bed motioning for them to come in more. “How’s your first day been?” Mina sat at the other edge of your bed looking at you with huge eyes, “Honestly, kind of boring. also confusing since this place is huge. Way bigger than the schools in America” you motioned towards out your door foreshadowing the commons room.

“America? that’s where you’re from?” Momo chimed in walking towards your desk chair to sit down. You nodded, “Mhm, California.” Mina gasped - “California! You’re so lucky!” you laughed at her bubbly attitude that was a bit similar to your bestfriends at home. “Trust me you wouldn’t want to be there, I’m here for a reason aren’t I” you smirked nudging her shoulder slightly.

“ Wow, How long will you be staying?” “One year.” you shrugged looking off in your dorm window. “Well I hope you love it here, hopefully become a pro.” Momo smiled at you genuinely, and you couldn’t help but fall in love with her persona. Before you could speak again you heard a knock on your door and small murmurs behind your door, Momo opened the door slightly, only hearing a faint “Yall better not embarrass me. I’m serious” before she opened the door all the way to the boys.

“Shut the hell up Momo.” one yellow haired boy lightheartedly says before leaning on your wall and catching your eyes. “Hey! I’m sero and this is Denki. Nice to meet you.” Sero extended his hand to yours to shake, “Wassup Sero, Hi Denki.” you smiled at the other boy.

“Damn, so this is why Bakugo didn’t want to show you off huh.” Denki came closer to you, taking in your features. “Or he just don’t like me” you scoffed thinking about his arrogant characteristics from Sunday. “Well that’s good, less people to compete against.” Denki sat next to you on the edge of your bed fully focused onto you. You smiled taking observations to his flirtatious personality.

No matter Denki giving you his full and undivided attention, Sero caught your eye the moment he walked in the door. You looked Sero up and down, his outfit caught your full attention. He wore the UA uniform required yet paired with grey Jordans and a silver chain dangling from his neck, it was no understatement that he was a very attractive boy. “Why you standing there all quiet, Sero? you obviously came up here for something.” you jokingly stated - trying to start some conversation with the boy.

“Tried to see if you were really what all the hype was about.” He shrugged coming up near you to overpower your figure, your heart raced as he looked down upon you smirking, he knows he fine chile. “They were definitely right.” He smirked looking at you with low eyes.

“Y’all are the most flirtatious boys I know. Swear I can’t take yall no where.” Momo grabbed the two boys by their collard shirts making them groan in displeasure earning a laugh from you - only to make them groan in embarrassement. 

“Bye boys.” you wave them off as Momo literally kicked them out your dorm, before closing it in front of them. “I like you” you pointed to her, making her eyes widen, while her cheeks grew into a blush before smiling. “Now how did you make a better impression than me and I came here first.” Mina flopped onto your bed frowning. “Don’t worry girl I like you too.” you slapped her thigh in a friendly manner.

“Alright you two enough talking, get back to your dorms. You all have a long day tomorrow.” Aizawa yelled through the door with his usual tired voice before shuffling off to his room closing the door. “Guess I’ll see you tommorow [Y/N]!” Mina skipped off towards your door “Yes! see you tomorrow” Momo opened the door looking back once more “Bye boo’s!” you called out before the closed your door.

You turned on your led lights in substitute for the harsh lighting in your dorm, shuffling off into your bed. you looked off onto your wall looking at the pictures you stuck to them, “Damn, I miss you Imani” your hand grazed upon the picture of you and Imani sticking up the middle finger to a flashing camera with your phones in one hand and a red cup in the other - a party you both went to knowing damn well you weren’t supposed to be there.

You turned towards the other way of your bed shutting your eyes - anticipating for the long day ahead of you, and meeting the rest of your class tomorrow morning.

👩🏽‍💻: y’all fw y/n being bisexual orrr? or do y’all want scandals? tell me now😁

Tag list(send me an ask to be apart of it)

@quincywrites, @fandomsgotmefucked , @lokis-teseract , @racistareversa,@ladybakugouu, @melanin-baddie , @oookore , @bnhathotty, @bleach-your-panties , @shikamaruhairline, @dilfhwa ,@winxme

[fappellmoan]

happy hawkins holiday hiatus to @mikewheelerthepaladin !! here’s a lighthearted fic + a playlist of songs i listened to a lot while writing, i hope you enjoy 🥳

& a big thank you to @sevensided for putting this together, it’s been super fun <3

It’s the first time he’s been in over a year, really, but he’d entertained the thought of asking Will over the summer, for one last challenge before he left. It never happened, everything went by too fast; and, honestly, Mike didn’t know how to talk to him with the goddamn weight of everything - hi, we’ve barely spoken in the last year and we just almost died, again, and now you’re moving away forever - wanna hang out?

It’s the first time he’s been in over a year, really, but he’d entertained the thought of asking Will over the summer, for one last challenge before he left. It never happened, everything went by too fast; and, honestly, Mike didn’t know how to talk to him with the goddamn weight of everything - hi, we’ve barely spoken in the last year and we just almost died, again, and now you’re moving away forever - wanna hang out?

It’d never been that hard.

And it sucked. The whole thing. Now that Will is gone, it gnaws at him daily that they could have had more time together. Or a proper goodbye, at least. Instead, he spent a lot of time last summer sitting around, figuring out how to approach El and his feelings toward her, and most of all, alone.

But now the Byers are coming home for Christmas. And staying with The Wheelers, on top of it all.

So, seeking some sort of cryptic universal answer to his life problems, Mike returns to the place of a lot of younger memories, of crowding around machines with Lucas and Dustin and Will, a conglomeration of shouting and booing and cheering when one of them topped a high score, of frantically patting down their pockets for a few extra coins.

All of these wistful memories come to halt, however, when he finds a familiar redhead occupying one of their favorite games.

Max glances at him through the screen. “What do you want?”

“Uh, to play?” Honestly, he doesn’t care; he’s not sure he could focus enough to win much anyway. “Kicking your ass would be a plus.”

“Yeah, as if.” Her gaze fixes back on the colorful pixels dancing in front of her face.

Okay, well, she’s not moving anytime soon. He could probably just walk away, but a part of him wants company, even if it’s from someone hellbent on disagreeing with him.

Even when the Party hangs out now, Mike finds himself bickering with Max over what movies to see, where to eat, nearly anything, even when he doesn’t really give a shit. It’s the principle of the thing, and she gets under his skin. 

Maybe it’s a good thing.

Mike sighs, leans against one of the neighboring games, and shoves his hands in his pockets. “I don’t really know why I’m here.”

“Well, if you’re looking for me to throw pity money at you, it’s not happening.” After a beat, and losing the level, she kicks at the machine and turns to him. “Now look what you made me do. All your moping and talking - I could’ve beaten that if you would just leave me alone.”

He offers a quarter.

“Forget it.”

“I’ll buy you a pop, then.” She glares at him. “Seriously, okay, this is the first and only olive branch. Take it or leave it.”

After a moment of scowling at him, her arms folded, she slowly concedes, a smug look taking over. “Okay. I’ll take it, Wheeler.”

“So, you’re stalking me at the arcade because… of nothing?”

Mike presses his lips into a line. “I’m not stalking you,” he says, “and it’s not - it’s not nothing. I was gonna ask Lucas or Dustin to come, but… I felt like I needed to be here alone.”

Max sips on her drink. “That didn’t work out.”

“Guess not.”

“So you did need to talk to someone.”

“Guess so.”

God, this is borderline painful. Sitting in a shoddy little booth across from Max, whom he never once intended to have a heart-to-heart with, is a new level of desperation. But here they are.

With the most grandiose sigh he’s ever heard in his life, Max straightens in her chair. “Well, I don’t love giving advice to annoying teenage boys, but I’ve been told I’m good at it. Advice, you know.”

Mike raises an eyebrow. “Was it El who said that, by chance?”

“Bite me.”

Amused, Mike smiles, and he slides the near-empty cup between his hands like a little game, something else to focus on. “Okay, fine, give me some advice.”

Max frowns at him like he’s the biggest idiot in the world. “Maybe give me a situation to work with?” She mutters something under her breath that he doesn’t bother with.

“Well, the Byers are coming home and staying with us, and I wanted to come up with something really nice to do, you know. I know that they’re really nervous because it’s… the holidays have been rough, the past few years.” He finishes his drink and stares at the lid. “They almost refused. So, I dunno, I figured I could do something to make them feel like it’s still home.”

“Oh,” Max nods, finally breaking into a slight smile, “well, cool, you could set up something really romantic for El! She’d love it.”

Right. The girlfriend. 

He had no clue where the hell they left things when the Byers moved. About a month ago, Mike called to tell her the distance was confusing and they might need to take a break. He figured she would’ve told Max because, from his understanding, they spoke on the phone on an almost daily basis.

“Sure - yeah, yeah, that’s - it’s a good idea. For sure.”

Max falls back into a confused squint. “Was there something else you had in mind?”

Mike isn’t sure how to get it out without sounding like a total airhead. So he copes with it the best way he can. “You know what, this was dumb. I’ll figure it out myself.” He grabs his jacket and stands to leave.

“No, no, Mike - I want to help.” She’s looking up at him with a genuinely nice expression, holding out a hand to stop him from fully up and leaving. “I’m really good at this stuff, just let me know what I can do. No judgment. I swear.”

“I have to get home tonight anyway,” Mike says cautiously. “Told my mom I’d help with dinner.”

“Can I come over tomorrow?”

He frowns, and something digging at his stomach makes him respond with, “Why do you care?”

Max’s jaw sets. She stands up to meet his eye level and sets a look on him. “Even if I didn’t, even if I couldn’t care less about you, Mike, I care about El. And Will. And I want to be a part of their homecoming. So maybe you could figure out a way to not be a dick about it.” She snatches her drink cup and storms off from the table, leaving Mike to scramble after her with more apologies.

He’s gotta get better at this whole ‘girls’ thing.

He catches up to her outside. “Okay, listen - come over after school tomorrow. We can meet outside by the stairs.”

She barely turns to him, says, “Fine,” and then hops on her bike and rides away.

That’s how Mike ends up with Max in his basement, slowly walking and examining his things, but not touching any of them, thankfully.

It’s going alright, thus far. A part of him feels like he should reach out to Lucas and Dustin, too, since they’re also Will’s best friends. But something about this… works. He and Max can’t seem to stay entirely civil in each other’s company, but she gets something. And she hasn’t brought up El even once since yesterday.

“So, I’m gonna come up with a really cool campaign - well, I’ve been working on it, and I can tell you about it - “ Max lifts herself on tiptoe in his peripheral vision, “ - but anyway, we can pull an all-nighter, if everyone’s up for it, and make snacks and drinks and stuff, and we can have movies on for you guys, and I thought I might even look for some costumes because I really think Will would get a kick out of it. I can put lights up, too - “

“You draw?”

Max’s back is to him, as she’s looking over his wall of posters and pinned pictures. As he steps closer, he realizes her eyes are fixed on a sketch that definitely bears some resemblance to him.

“No, Will sent me those,” he says quickly, not wanting to seem like a giant narcissist, because Will’s drawing is - how can he say it - beautiful. “He’s been using charcoal a lot recently, he told me he got some new art stuff. I think he wants to send one of all of us.”

Max turns to him, and he can’t tell if she’s tearing up for some reason, but she quickly wipes any sign of tears away. “That’s so neat,” is all she says at first. There’s a small silence between them, and she’s just looking at him, and he has no idea what the hell he should say. “He’s such a good person,” she adds quietly, “I wish I got the chance to really know him.”

Mike’s breath hitches for a few seconds. “Yeah. I mean, he mentioned hanging out with you a few times.”

A smile lifts the girl’s cheeks. “Yeah, to bitch about you, mostly.”

“Hey!” he protests, but he can’t help but smile too, this time. This might just be their most pleasant interaction to date. “He never mentioned that.”

“I don’t know how he could, all you freakin’ do is talk.”

“Whatever.” Mike messes with some Christmas crafts on the table, holding them up in his vision to see where they might fit in the basement. He clears his throat. “You know, El and I, uh - we split.”

Max nods slowly. “She said you guys don’t call much.”

“No, we didn’t. I mean, I don’t even call Will, we just write.” He leans against the table, eyes glazing over as he looks over years of memories, dorky craft nights, and shitty school projects that he or his mom made a point to keep. “It’s too hard to talk - to either of them, you know. I didn’t think I could hear their voices without…”

Max cuts him off. “I get it.” She crosses over to the table, helping him pull apart old paper snowflakes. “I’m just the opposite. I’m scared if I don’t talk to them, I’ll convince myself it was all fake. And maybe it’d be for the better, but I’m glad I knew them. Even if only for a little while.”

Mike bites down on his lips, attempting to bury all the emotion threatening to spew out of him. “Yeah.”

Max finally looks up at him, and though they seem to have shared a moment, she snaps back out of it. “All offense, Mike, these are ugly as shit. I’m helping you make new ones, okay?”

“It’s for the memory!”

“No more living in the past.” She raises her eyebrows at him, and he pinches his face in annoyance, so she says, “Okay, you can put them up, in like, little corners, but we’re making new ones. Surprise. Work with me here, Michael.”

“It’s my basement, Max.”

“Did you or did you not ask for my help?”

Mike blinks. “Not really.”

She throws a crafty paper star at him. “Shut up, you’re glad I’m here.”

He shakes his head and moves on, but though he may never admit it, a part of him really is glad.

Weeks pass in what feels like a span of days or maybe hours, with Mike and Max sorting out their surprise plans with a typical amount of bickering - but hey, they get it done. Max has lots of opinions about decorations and music that make Mike roll his eyes, but she’s got a good eye and she offers to help with baking, which is not a strong suit of his. Yes, they throw a lot of streamers at each other, and threaten to storm out every other hour, but it gets done.

And the day is finally here.

Mike pulls himself into his best festive sweater and eyes himself in the mirror. He messes with his hair, though the long, wavy curls never seem to fall exactly into place - maybe growing it out was a mistake - and tugs at the creases of his sweater, letting out a huffy breath. None of it is working with him. When he can’t stand looking at himself anymore, he dashes down to the kitchen to help his mom with desserts.

She smiles when he plops into a seat. “You okay, honey? You seem a little tense.”

Mike jolts. “Uh, yeah, just excited.”

“Good! Joyce said the kids haven’t stopped talking about the trip for weeks.”

Great. “I hope we live up to the hype.”

“Oh, Mike. You know you don’t have to try that hard.” Karen stops frosting for a moment to look at him. “Will’s your best friend. El is excited to see you,” she nudges at him, and he coughs out a nervous laugh, “and Joyce thinks you’re an angel-”

“God, mom-”

“I’m serious. Don’t worry so much.” She leans forward on her forearms. “I know you think every problem in the world is on you, but it’s not. It’s enough just to be around the people you love. If anything, you’ve gone overboard.”

Overboard. Hopefully, it’s not too much.

Finally, he caves, exhaling slowly with a simple, “Okay.” He stays beside her, tapping his fingers, and eventually ruining a gingerbread man’s face until she notices and smacks his hand away.

There’s a knock on the door, and while Mike hops to his feet, his mother calls out, “Come in!” earning a panicked look from him. She mouths, ‘Chill,’ but he still half-jogs to the door and throws it open.

Nancy calls down the stairs, “Who is it?”

It’s Max, brandishing a few small wrapped gifts.

“Hello, sunshine,” she says. After a moment, “It’s great to see you too, Michael, allow me to invite myself in.”

“It’s just Max,” Mike calls back. He steps aside, and Max brushes past him, dropping her gifts by their tree and running into the kitchen. 

“Hi, Mrs. Wheeler!”

“Hey, Max, Merry Christmas!”

Mike’s mom seemed to think Max was one of the most charming people on the planet, something they frequently disagreed on, but he can’t be mad at their pleasant chatter right now.

Especially not when the next knock comes so soon.

Probably just Lucas and Dustin, dragging their feet as usual.

Mike opens the door, prepared with a quippy remark for his friends, but his stomach drops immediately.

It’s Will. Holding a bunch of luggage.

Mike is caught up in everything about him. He’s taller. New, floppy hair, tousled and messy in the biting snowy winds. His forearms exposed as his bags push against his jacket. Will.

The boy smiles at him. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Mike manages.

Will looks past him with a tiny wave, and Mike turns to see Max beaming and waving back, and then Max slips back into the kitchen and Will returns his gaze to Mike. “Can I come in?”

“Hey, Mike!” Joyce interrupts from the car, straining to grab something in the backseat. “Merry Christmas, honey!”

“Merry Christmas, Mrs. Byers!” Mike, finally catching up his brain-to-movement reactions, moves to let Will in. “Yeah, come in. I’m gonna, uh, go help your mom.”

“Cool.”

He immediately forgets why he’s moved and attempts to step out as Will crosses the threshold, almost knocking him over, so Mike grabs his arms to stabilize with a, “Sorry - uh - whoops, haha, don’t fall,” and Will chuckles and shifts a bag to his shoulder, saying, “It’s alright,” and Mike spends his walk to the Byers’ car trying not to curse himself out.

“Oh, Mike, thank you, sweetie,” Joyce grunts, pulling a heavy tote bag from the floor of the car. “Can you carry this?” Mike nods and takes it from her easily, offering his arms out for extra luggage. Together, with Jonathan, who greets him with a, “Merry Christmas, man,” they manage to get everything inside in one trip. Mike hardly notices El rummaging through the trunk until she comes stumbling along with a basket full of gifts.

Finally, they’re all inside, and only a beat goes by before Nancy comes bounding down the stairs to greet Jonathan, and Joyce is grinning around at everybody, and then Karen rushes in from the kitchen with excited greetings.

“It is so good to see you,” Joyce says, opening her arms up to Mike for a hug. “You’ve grown so much-'' she looks at Karen and mutters, “-so much-” then looks back at Mike. “We’ve missed you all.”

“I’ve missed you guys too,” Mike says, “I’m glad you decided to come.”

“We couldn’t miss it. Figured it’s best that we’re together, you know.” Her expression falters, but she takes a breath and carries on with moving bags and ‘Merry Christmases.’

Joyce and his mom wind up chattering, and Karen takes off her apron to help transfer some luggage to the spare room. Nancy takes Jonathan’s hand and heads upstairs, grabbing one of his bags from the ground.

Will seems to have disappeared into the kitchen with Max, leaving his things behind, so it’s just Mike and El.

Mike takes in a deep breath.

It wasn’t an ugly breakup; honestly, El seemed unfazed. Their calls were little more than small talk about their days, most of the time, and even though he thought they might hold onto their past, everything they’d been through… it seemed to work best that they didn’t.

“Hey, Merry Christmas.”

El smiles easily. “Merry Christmas, Mike.” She lifts the basket slightly for acknowledgment. “Can these go by the tree?”

“Yeah, yeah, go for it.”

El nods and slips by the couch over to the tree, carefully laying out the gifts. After a few moments of Mike awkwardly leaning against the couch arm, thinking up something to say - thank god she didn’t seem too focused on him - Max walks in, her mouth stuffed with a truffle.

“El!” She darts over to the tree, and El jumps up, eyes bright, immediately throwing her arms around the girl’s shoulders. “I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too,” El giggles. “I brought you a gift.”

“You too. I can’t wait for you to see it. But first, you have to try one of these sweets Mrs. Wheeler’s making. They’re like frickin’ heaven.” She holds out the last bite of her own, and El takes it from her hand, eyes lighting up mischievously as she bites into it.

“It’s amazing.”

“I know. I think we should go sample some of the others.”

Mike calls out to their backs, “You guys better leave some for later on,” and in response, hears Max mimic him. He rolls his eyes and stands up from the couch.

And then it’s just him and Will, who’s beaming at him, seemingly amused by their banter.

Okay, Mike, now or never. “Uh, I’ll show you downstairs.”

“We’re not staying in your room?” Will asks simply, crossing over to retrieve his duffel bag.

“We totally can, I just have something I wanted to show you.”

Will nods. “Oh, okay, cool.”

Mike assists with a smaller bag and leads him to the basement door; before he runs down the stairs, he catches Max’s eye, and she gives him a thumbs up and mouths, ‘You got this.’ Deep breaths. At that moment, he’s incredibly thankful for her presence. 

He watches as Will follows him down, slower, glancing around at the familiar surroundings. His eyes catch on everything Mike and Max put together over the past few weeks, and his footsteps grow slower as he takes it all in.

Streamers of all festive colors and off-balance fairy lights hang along the corners of the basement, phrases of ‘Welcome home,’ hand-cut and pasted on the front wall; at the table, a game mat and figures sit in wait, silly hats placed in front each chair; even the TV is prepared with a Santa hat, the couch covered in blankets and pillows, a few sleeping bags folded on the floor.

“Mike,” Will says quietly, stepping in a small circle, “what is all this?”

“Your homecoming party.” Mike is all jitters; he leans against the wall and shoves his hands in his pockets to disguise any visible shakes. “You like it?”

Will finally looks straight at him, an indiscernible look painted on his face. “Yeah,” he says, nodding rapidly, “yeah, it’s great - but we, uh,” he swallows and shakes his head, “we don’t, um, have to play D&D. I mean-”

“I don’t know, Will,” he ventures to step away from the wall, taking slow steps over to the table. Will follows every move. “I mean, I was really excited to have you back, even just for a little bit. We all were.” He reaches the table and leans back on his hands. “Figured having our cleric back warranted some festivities.”

Will shakes his head, runs his hands along his face, and turns away. The bit of confidence Mike has slowly starts to trickle.

“Is it okay?”

Will shakes out of his stupor and chuckles. “It’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me. You’ve truly outdone yourself, Michael.” He lifts himself on tiptoe to look at decorations on top of Mike’s shelves. “Are these from our big craft night, like, years ago?”

The horrible crayon work makes Mike smile - they made half of the snowmen evil, citing a Great Abominable Snowman War, and gave them wicked frowns and smiles, claws on their stick hands. “Yeah.”

“I didn’t know you kept them.”

“I keep everything.” An awkward chuckle breaks from his chest. “Not everything, like, a hoarder or whatever, but - “

Will simply smiles and pushes himself forward toward the back wall, brushing past Mike, to his different pinups. He fixates on the sketch of Mike that he’d sent about a month back. “You know, you should probably take this down. I don’t think you’ll hear the end of it from Lucas and Dustin if you don’t.”

“Screw ‘em.”

“Right.” Will quirks his eyebrow and moves to sit in his designated chair, right next to where Mike is currently resting. “So, they know about D&D?”

“They know.” Mike smiles, and looks at the floor, right where their legs brush up against each other. “They seem pretty excited to have the party back together. To remind you of how badass your first one was,” he adds.

Will peers up at him for a moment before quietly saying, “I never joined another one.” Mike meets his eye for a moment, then, threatened by the silence that follows, clears his throat and distracts himself with a particularly interesting notch in the wood paneling. “Did you guys find someone else?”

“No, no,” Mike assures him. “We haven’t touched any of this stuff. It’s not the same.”

A silence settles between them, one that neither seems to know how to navigate. But Will keeps his gaze steady on Mike, trying to breach some barrier, to fall back into their usual ways.

Something is different, though; it’s not uncomfortable, it never could be, but it’s something intimidating. Will seems more comfortable, at least; he’s not shying away from anything Mike throws at him.

And he tries to break the silence first. “Y’know - “

“Will,” Mike cuts him off, and he’s not sure what he’s saying, or where he’s going with it, but he knows he’s supposed to say this. His name. “I need you to know that I missed you.”

Will blinks at him, cocks his head. “I missed you too,” he says matter-of-factly.

The words are eating at him, right there on the edge of his mind, and Will looks almost concerned and now Mike just wants to drop it because that’s not what he wanted. But he can’t, not now. “I missed you the most.” It sounds so juvenile. “More than everyone else. I missed you before you even left. I just didn’t know how to say it.” He breathes in and out, focusing on Will’s cheeks, the tip of his nose, anything but his eyes. When Will doesn’t say anything, the rest just spills. “I missed you when our first first day of school apart came and passed, and I didn’t even call. I missed you at homecoming. And,” he licks his lips, not really sure where his speech is heading, “I know you had to go, it’s fine. We’ll figure it out. But I feel like we haven’t been on the same page in a long time. So, I missed you, and I love you, and that’s that.”

Will looks at him funny, and then his face softens into something like laughter, and Mike is genuinely about to run and throw up somewhere, but then the boy closes his eyes and says, “I love you too.”

Mike blanches. “I don’t think I said that.”

“Oh, you definitely did.”

“Oh,” he nods, mind spinning, “well, you know…”

Will stands to be at Mike’s level, leans forward on his knees. Mike stops breathing. “I do,” he says, “but tell me again.”

Mike swallows down a breath of courage and suggests, “I think I might like you.” His eyes flit to Will’s lips, then back to his eyes. “Is that okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll allow it,” Will says, a bright smile causing lines near his eyes. Mike smacks at his arm, nervous laughter coming out with a quiet, ‘Shut up.’ Will moves so he’s resting his fingertips on the table. Inches away.

“Same page, then?” Mike asks.

“Same page, yeah, for sure.”

Mike nods absently, distracting himself with the strings on Will’s sweatshirt. “So I don’t sound crazy?”

Will laughs. “I dunno. I always counted on us going crazy together. Figured we might have a few extra years, but hey, I’m all in.”

And then Mike is flashed back to a night on his couch just over a year ago. Knees knocking together, shared smiles. A promise.

So much has changed.

He wants to know what Will meant. A future of being in each other’s lives, maybe, getting old and senile and batshit crazy. Always being there.

He never dared to think about it before.

“So what now?”

Will shrugs. He dips his head to meet Mike’s eyes with his own. “What do you want, Mike?”

And finally, he thinks he might know.

Or maybe he’s always known.

He scoots forward, takes Will’s face in his hands, and kisses him. It’s just a quick press of their lips, but in that moment, he knows a few things for sure. His heartbeat is going a mile a minute, and Will must be able to feel it; it’s absolutely exhilarating, surreal, insane that he’s kissing his best friend; and, he is definitely in like, or maybe love, with Will Byers.

He’ll probably love him forever.

When Mike pulls back and his eyes flutter open to see Will, flushed, blinking back at him, slightly dazed, he doesn’t want to pull away at all. He did that. Mike’s hand remains on his jaw, lax, and he runs his thumb along Will’s bottom lip, curious to see his reaction, curious about a lot, now.

Will lets out a breathy chuckle. “Wow,” he mumbles, “that’s new.”

“Yeah.” Mike exhales shakily, takes one of Will’s hands, and says, “Merry Christmas, Will.”

“Yeah, Merry Christmas.”

The world doesn’t seem to fall apart like Mike thought it might if he ever got to this point, so, that’s nice.

“So…” Mike begins carefully, “you’re gonna have to be slow with me here. This is sort of a lot for me.”

“Me too,” Will replies simply. He squeezes Mike’s hand. “But we’ll figure it out.”

“Totally.”

Will takes his cheeks in his hands and smiles into a very gentle kiss, his fingers curling into the hair at the nape of Mike’s neck. It’s soft and sweet and lingering - but not for too long, as moments later the door upstairs busts open and shouts of, “BYERS!” from their dear friends sound through the air, and Mike and Will jump apart, equally startled and laughing.

“Down here!” Will calls out. He looks at Mike, smiles, offers, “To be continued?” and as he walks past, he leans in, just to leave a quick peck on Mike’s cheek.

And all Mike can do is laugh and shake his head and run after him to meet their friends; Lucas and Dustin are horribly late to the surprise, but they collide into Will the second they see him, shouting over each other, ‘What’s going on, dude?’ ‘Merry Christmas!’ ‘You’ve missed so much,’ and everyone is grinning and chattering, and it’s awesome.

Max approaches him, watching all of the madness, smacks a hand to his shoulder, and says, “You did good, Wheeler.”

“Yeah, I did.” She punches his arm lightly, laughing, so he adds, “thank you for everything. Seriously.”

“I think we should work together more often.”

Mike scoffs into a laugh, and says, “Yeah, guess so.”

Max rolls her eyes, but at least now they’re actually laughing in each other's company. It’s great progress from just a few weeks ago.

After a minute of watching the boy’s shenanigans, Max smiles. “Well, Merry Christmas, anyway.”

“Merry Christmas,” he responds, and he watches as she jumps up onto a kitchen stool, chatting and giggling with El.

With everyone back together again, finally, Mike feels really alive; so, he jumps in with all the excited shouting and group hugs and bickering, and celebrates the merriest Christmas he can remember in a long time.

[toomanyfandoms02]

Quick! // Spencer Reid x Reader

Hello again :) it's been a minute. And I'm so sorry about that. I wish I had more time but I recently started my own business with a friend ON TOP of a full time job. So I'm extremely sorry for the giant hiatus between fics. I love you all immensely and message me if you need anything!!

Summary - Reader brings Spencer to an office Christmas party to keep the office creep away from her.

TW - SLIGHT SEXUAL ASSAULT

Word count - 1.9k

The situation I had dragged Spencer into wasn't one he would usually agree to. Hell, I usually wouldn't even ask him to do this.

But things at my office were getting a bit too out of control for my liking.

Seth was a man who worked at my office. He appeared kind, handsome, and charming.

And that was all true, because it was on the surface.

Seth was also cunning, seductive, persuasive, and powerful. I think you see where I'm getting at here.

The first time something happened it was pretty harmless, but made me uncomfortable regardless.

*I sat at my desk, finishing up an article I had started days ago, one I was quite proud of, when I felt a presence behind me. I peered to the right slightly, seeing a suit I had seen on many different occasions.*

*Seth.*

*"Looks great y/n!" He put his hand on my shoulder for a few seconds, looking from over my shoulder. "Great job." His hand slid slowly off as he backed away. It gave me chills.*

He had done many other things in between now and then, but the last straw was a week ago when he grabbed my knee under the table at a meeting. I snatched it from him so quickly I was thoroughly surprised that no one heard my knee slam into the underside of the table.

Now it was the office Christmas party, and I wanted to go, I had many friends made in that office that I had come to love being around. But it was hard to do that with a certain lurking presence around.

So I called Spencer.

At first he was very hesitant, saying 'parties weren't his thing.' And 'I wouldn't know what to wear.' But as soon as I brought up how uncomfortable Seth made me, he was on board.

I set out the sweaters I bought for us on my couch, getting ready to tell Spence that he had to wear this.

It was going to be like putting a cat in a bath.

"Come in! Its unlocked." I yelled, hearing the knock at the door. Spencer promptly slinked in, heading to my side.

"You know, that can be quite dangerous. What if it wasn't me?" I looked up at him with a tiny glare.

"You knock a certain way so shut up." He smiled a bit at this, inevitably looking down at the sweaters I had placed.

"No, y/n, why?" He whined, feeling the fabric between his fingers.

"Spencer please! I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend." His movements froze, I may have skipped asking him that the other day.

"What? I thought, you said, I thought I was just there to keep him away from you?"

"And you are! You are! But it would really keep him away from me if he knew I had a boyfriend. Men respect other men they don't know, more than they trust women at all." I gave him puppy dog eyes, holding up the sweaters that read 'I've been naughty' and 'I've been nice.' On them. He looked down at me with what looked like nerves but I was definitely perceiving as pity and finally gave in.

"Fine, because I don't want that asshole touching you anymore."

"Soooooo, you'll wear the sweater?" I gave him a cheesy smile, slowly placing the 'Naughty' one in his arms. He rolled his eyes with the tiniest smile.

"Yes, I'm going to change then we can leave." He walked to my bathroom, coming out less than a minute later with a matching sweater to mine, which I changed into in the living room. And off we went.

-

We had been parked in the parking lot for about 12 minutes while I was half panicking, but I covered that up by saying I needed to 'touch up my makeup.' Within the first minute Spencer realized that I was lying and tried to calm me down.

He succeeded after 13 minutes.

We entered through the glass doors om the first floor, heading to the elevator.

"I do not have good experiences with elevators." Spencer complained.

"Well I don't have good experiences with walking up 9 flights of stairs. So I'm taking the elevator." He reluctantly entered the 'deathbox' as I heard him refer to it under his breath.

Once to 8th floor, I grabbed his hand, waiting for it to reach the 9th as Spence furrowed his eyebrows.

"We are selling this whether you like it or not." I giggled, squeezing his hand and watching the doors opening. Christmas light and laughter spilled in.

"Y/n! Is this Spencer?" My friend Maizey subtly gestured to our hands.

"Yes! Took a little convincing to get him here." I laughed.

"I love the sweaters! So *cute*." We are cute aren't we?

Stop that.

"Yeah, it took a lot of convincing to get him in it." I leaned into him, his arm naturally snaking around my waist.

That's weird.

After a short amount of small talk Maizey was off to mingle with others around the room.

And that's when I saw him.

"Are you gonna point out this douche bag to me?" Spencer asked protectively, which was a new and sour approach on his personality. My head gestured across the room where seth was wearing a Christmas suit and drinking what appeared to be a glass of champagne.

"The one in the obnoxious suit." I watched as Spence narrowed his eyes, clearly trying to profile him. His eyes raked over his figure, soaking up every detail.

"What an egotistical man." I could have sworn I felt his arm pull me closer.

But I think I'm just anxious.

"Come on, we look weird standing her, let's get some punch." I pulled his arm from my hip, interlocking our fingers and dragging him towards a long table. The man immediately spotted some coffee at the other end.

"I promise I'll be right back, I'm going to get some coffee." He squeezed my hand and let go, making his way there. I grabbed myself a red solo cup and the laddle that lazily hung in the large bowl of punch, raising it to the cup before it was pried from my hands.

"I'll get that for you." The voice made me flinch away slightly. I still held the laddle full of liquid in the air, feeling myself getting annoyed. I slowly grabbed the cup back from his hands.

"I think I can handle pouring my own drink. Thanks." I poured it and brought it to my lips to conceal the inevitably pissy look the was plastered onto it.

"An independent woman, I like that." And with that he turned on his heel and strutted away. I then heard quick footsteps from behind, sounding like some familiar beat up converse.

"Was he talking to you? I'm so sorry I wasn't here! The coffee line was taking a lot longer than I calculated."

"Its okay, I think I handled it really well, just, stay by my side." I rubbed my hand down his shoulder for comfort. He nodded with a sympathetic smile and brought his head down to mine, kissing the top of my head. And in those seconds that he did, I silently hoped that this blush would go away before he saw my face again.

But he didn't comment on it.

I was now introducing him to my friends and loosening up, we drank a little bit of alchohol and got buzzed, which I never thought Spencer would do with me.

I plopped onto one of the couches around the fore place, snuggling into Spencer's chest and biting into a chocolate I recently picked up.

"Its nice to see you loosened up you tight-ass." I giggled, offering him the other half, which was half a random choice and half an experiment to see if he cared about sharing germs with me. He won't take it.

But he did, grabbing it with his teeth and slipping it right into his mouth. I sat, a little flabbergasted.

"What?" He chuckled, chewing the rest of the sweet.

"I thought you didn't like sharing germs?"

"Well it's you, and you're my girlfriend, so why should I care?" It looked like he immediately regretted the comment as the words flee from his slightly buzzed mouth. But before he could make any *further* comment, he was interrupted by our manager.

"The Christmas bells are hung and 3 places to be weary of where you stand too long!" She squealed.

Oh no.

"What are the Christmas bells?" Spencer asked, swerving away from the previous conversation.

"Its an alternative for a mistletoe." I groaned, looking around cautiously for any nearby. "You kiss and the you ring the bell to let people know. It's weird." He nodded in understanding, lifting himself off the couch.

"Want to get another drink madame?" He asked properly, holding his hand out for me to take.

"Why yes of course sir." I laughed, taking his hand as he effortlessly pulled me from the couch to my feet. We headed towards the doorway that led to the half of the room that held the drink table. Just as I took a long stride, my keys fell from my pocket. I looked at the ground for them, not seeing them in the immediate area. Though I felt eyes on me, and they weren't Spencer's. Spencer peered around the doorway.

"Oh! Here they are." He crouched to the ground when I heard footsteps approaching me. I looked to see Seth making a B Line right to me, and I looked up to see two little bells hung above me.

No.

No no.

I leaned down, slightly to Spencer's level.

"Quick. Kiss me." I whispered, grabbing his cheeks and bringing him from his crouched position. I pulled his lips to mine and pushed my hands around his neck and through his hair. I heard him sigh into the kiss, his hands resting on my hips. Just before we pulled apart, I heard the bells ring and saw Spencer's hand reaching at them. He turned to the side, seeing Seth froze dead in his tracks, arms crossed over his chest. I heard small claps come from the others around us.

The seething man turned on his heel and strode away from us quickly, *finally* getting the hint.

I hope.

"Thank you, so much." I giggled, bringing my arms back to my sides slowly. Spencer] stood still, his hands moving slowly to... wherever their destination was.

It seems he couldn't decide.

But he just looked into my eyes, silently.

"You okay?" I laughed, grabbing his hand and pulling it to his own side.

"That was just, very, unexpected." He sighed, looking down at his hands.

"Well I certainly wasn't going to let Seth kiss me."

"Did you want to kiss me?" He blurts, his mouth seemingly making the decisions over his head.

Ah, the dreaded question.

Oh well, might as well get it out.

"Did you wanna kiss me?"

Pussy.

"I asked you first." He pried, quite childishly I may add.

"Fine. Yes." I replied grumpily, averting my eyes from his.

"Good." His hand found mine, intertwining them. "Maybe I can be a real excuse to keep that creep away for the next holiday party?" A smile crept onto his features.

"Definitely."

[samwrights]

When The Birds Came

I got Persona 5 Royal as a Christmas gift from my husband and you can bet your ass I fell head-over-heels for Iwai Munehisa and Sakamoto Ryuji. In general, I love loud blonde’s and dads. This is also the first time I haven’t made the reader a smoker (yay, good job Sam) when I very well could have.

Anyway, this is my “yay I’m back from a massive hiatus” piece in which you could tell my main focus was being more descriptive with the NSFW portion as well as continuity. I also am now trying to make lengthy playlists on Spotify to encourage myself and my readers. You can find me on Spotify under the name overxhaul.

Title taken from the song “Prey” by The Neighborhood. 

And yes, I am very aware I love writing ridiculously stupid long oneshots. Sue me.

➳ Pairing: Reader x Iwai Munehisa

➳ Word count: 16,076

➳ Warnings: language, vague child neglect, daddy issues, mommy issues lack of contraceptives, slight breeding kink, slight daddy kink, slight cum play, overstimulatioin, squirting, obviously nsfw

“Come again soon!” You gave a wave to the young man you’d just handed his boba to. Presumably, he was still in middle school, as made noticeable by the school uniform, but he had been coming every day later in the evening before skulking off to the alley around the corner from your little boba shop in Shibuya. Maybe one day you would remember to ask his name, you muse silently. It was even more amusing to note that he always grabbed two drinks when he did come—maybe his sweetheart was too shy to order their own drink, so this little gentleman always handles it for the both of them?

You were merely speculating the minor details of this boy’s life; a telltale sign that you have entirely too much time on your hands. Flicking your wrist upward, you check your watch and assume it’s alright to close up now. It was nearing nine and while Shibuya was relatively peaceful, there has been whispers of shady business deals passing through and you would rather not get caught up in the mess. After packing up all the toppings and washing all the dishes, you locked up your little shop, waving goodbye to nearby vendors as you shut the door.

The tinkling bells over the door drown out as you take a step back, the familiar noise muting as your focus shifts to the abrupt feeling of your back colliding against a squishy but firm wall. Following it was the sound of an abrupt grunt. Immediately, you whip your head around ready to apologize profusely only to be met with a chest. Cautiously, you tilted your head back to look the man in the face—whether merely to apologize or to subconsciously register his face in your memory system in the event he came back to kill you, you weren’t sure—only to be met with steely grey eyes. “S-sorry,” you manage to stutter out, just to receive a bored grunt in reply. His lackluster response prompts you to take a step back away from the man that towered over you, allowing him to move past you with little to no acknowledgement of your remorse.

Silently, the man stuffs his hands into his coat pockets while the crunching of what sounds like glass shatters between his teeth. Unbeknownst to you, you let out an audible gasp—as if trying to remind yourself to breathe—at the noise before you shut your gaping mouth and clench your jaw. The thirty second exchange had left the impression on you that he was dangerous—the hunter versus the hunted. Predator versus prey.

Him versus you.

Had your mind not been too preoccupied with his broad form skulking away from you, you might have noticed the half-drunken plastic cup in his hand with little black boba pearls settled at the bottom. Instead, you had only thought you had felt those vicious eyes boring into the back of your skull as you walked home to your little apartment in the outskirts of town. As if he were standing in every alleyway waiting for the opportunity to pounce—to the point where you were keeping your head down while peeking out the corner of your eyes to see if anyone else was around.

You figured you were being silly and paranoid—even more so when you had entered your apartment and cautiously flicked on the lights before even removing your shoes. You knew you were being paranoid when you ripped back the curtains to your shower as if some serial killer were going to be behind it. And you knew you were going absolutely overboard when you triple checked all the locks on your front door and made sure to close and lock your bedroom door as if that were going to enough to deter a predator.

It was ridiculous to even think you, a mere insignificant fly, was capable of leaving a lasting impression on the man as he did on you. It wasn’t like you were bound to cross paths with him again, you argued with yourself.

He had no reason to notice you—this dread you felt was ridiculously unfounded. But no matter how much you tried to reason with yourself as you laid down for bed that evening, the racing of your heart did little to slow until the man was nothing but a dull hum at the back of your mind.

By the morning, the previous day’s events were nearly forgotten. Perhaps that had something to do with you being late to class this morning and the way you rushed out of your little Shibuya apartment before dashing off to the train station. Not that sprinting would make you not late for class—the train itself only went a certain speed. But the chances of you missing the next soonest train would mean you wouldn’t be that late for class and at least you can still bear witness to part of the lecture—

If only you had made the train.

A defeated sigh leaves your lips; there was no way you’d make it in time. Even attempting to go to your only class now would be a pointless trip to campus. There was still plenty of time until you were supposed to arrive at your boba shop. Seize the day, you figure, as you pay the fee to hop on the train to Inokashira Park. It was a beautiful morning, may as well enjoy the sunshine and attempt to capture the beauty of the landscape through digital painting.

With headphones in, you let the gentle hum of hip hop beats fade into the background while your hand laid out a gestural drawing of the land. A tree here, shoreline there—there was no reason the grumpy man, long forgotten from yesterday, should have been anywhere outside of the depths of your subconscious. But as the saying goes, the more you think of something—or in this case someone—the more likely you’ll notice it more in the world around you. Like how the trees in the distance stood tall as he did and proud of how the natural striations in far off rock formations reminded you of the strange man’s salt and pepper locks peeking from under his hat.

Speak it into existence, or something like that.

Maybe that was the reason the unnamed man was sitting at the park bench directly across from you on a sunny Tuesday afternoon.

Part of you wanted to get up and leave due to the overwhelming sense of dread that crept up your spine. But, considering he was in the midst of what seemed to be a teeming argument under the guise of a normal day to day conversation, you figured he’d yet to acknowledge your existence. That was what you were hoping for anyway. After having the general layout of your landscape laid out on the drawing application on your tablet, you held up your cellphone to take a reference photo to finish the painting later. Genuinely, you thought nothing of it until you heard a gritty, “hey!” Before your brain could process what was happening, the same man you had bumped into the previous evening was holding your wrist in one hand, the other holding onto your phone. “What do you think you’re doing?” He snarls.

“L-let go of me!” You squeak out, causing his grip to tighten further in reciprocation.

“I’m not gonna ask you again, kid,” sandpaper. His voice reminded you of sandpaper.

“I was just taking a reference photo of my painting so I could work on it at home...” considering there was no canvas or paint, it was no wonder he didn’t believe you. Still, he let go of your wrist but held onto your phone well above your head like a bully holding a child’s toy out of reach. With trembling fingers, you reached into your bag and held open your now unlocked tablet to him, hoping your trepidation didn’t blur the photo. As he studied the drawing, he lowered his hand until it was at his side. Even if it were far from finished, he could see the ripples in the water coming from the love boats on the river and a little family of ducks near the rock formation. He could see the luxurious foliage that seemed to frame him and his not-so-friendly acquaintance.

“Take me out of it,” he grumbles, handing your phone back to you and turning away. If embarrassment was an emotion he was familiar with, then that would have been the best way to describe the awkward feeling bubbling in his chest. Maybe if he had undergone different circumstances, he wouldn’t feel the need to interrogate some poor kid in a park in broad daylight.

There’s no point in regretting the past, he decided this long ago. Nobody can change the actions they had once taken—only live with the consequences of their choices and try to learn to move on.

Iwai Munehisa knew that all too well.

And if you hadn’t yet, you were going to learn real quick.

Your shift at the shop had gone by as usual. The school rush wasn’t particularly bad today despite the sunny weather and cooler temperatures. Yet, without fail, the same mousy boy that had come every day at a quarter to five in his middle school uniform showed up. Before he’s even made it to the counter, you begin prepping everything for his routine beverages: small taro iced milk tea with a little bit of extra boba and a regular sized thai iced coffee with an additional espresso shot poured after the remaining components had been shaken together.

“O-oh,” the boy says, a foreign forlorn look on his face, “I-I’m so sorry. I only needed the taro today—my dad said I needed to stop bringing him all this extra sugar every day,” despite only needing the one, he takes out the usual amount of money that he always does for the two drinks. You purse your lips in a tight line, mentally berating yourself for being so presumptuous.

“It’s on me today, kid,” you push the two cups towards him and hand him the thick plastic straws—a blue one for him and green for the coffee. His eyes always seemed to light up just a bit more when he saw the two colors slide across the counter. “I shouldn’t have assumed, I’m sorry. Tell your dad he can blame me for today’s sugar overdose, okay?” The boy’s face lit up, albeit only for a brief second, before taking the drinks and his hand and thanking you profusely.

The rest of the evening resumed normalcy, crawling along the clock. At one point, you’d sent the rest of your employees home because keeping them at the shop was cruel and unusual punishment.

Even after cleaning all the dirty store equipment and preparing mixes and ingredients for tomorrow, you still had an hour left before you were due to close up shop. The irony of Billie Eilish’s ‘Bored’ playing on the store stereo was not lost you.

As the owner, you decided to remain open for another twenty minutes out of courtesy. But, considering not a soul had come by (you swear you saw a tumbleweed blow across your cafe floor), you had decided to flick the neon light off and lock the door, standing in the doorway and fumbling with the key. At least there was a chance of you getting home and getting to bed early, so as to avoid your train-missing debacle from this morning. Maybe even get a chance to sneak some pampering in with a salt soak in the tub and a face mask or even meal prep a few things so that you wouldn’t have run to Big Bang Burger for the umpteenth time this week because you didn’t have time—

“You again?”

You weren’t even thinking about him, you swear. How the hell did the same grumpy man from the park this morning manifest before you?! “Hehehe,” you chuckle in clear discomfort, “w-we gotta stop meeting like this?”

“Actually, I just came by to say thanks for the drink,” the grey-haired man looks down to the half drunken beverage in his left hand for clarity, “but don’t let Kaoru bring stuff for me anymore.” That answered another question that you’d had for a while—you finally knew the boy’s name. But knowing that this man was his father opened a different can of worms entirely.

“Right, gotta watch your figure?” You joked. The man before you looked entirely unamused, only letting out a simple grunt as a form of acknowledgement of your silly question. “Not that there’s anything wrong with your figure—“

“I run Untouchable,” he interrupts, not caring much for your ramble, “sometimes I have questionable patrons that I don’t need ‘im seeing,” your face drops momentarily as you’re met in a deadlock with the man. Being the daughter of a shop owner at one point led you to empathize with the child. And regardless of his reasoning, that didn’t mean that his son didn’t miss him from time to time. From what you knew about this Kaoru boy, he probably used the boba as an excuse to see his dad, even if just for five minutes.

“You know,” you started off slowly, “Kaoru prolly just misses you. And you not allowing him to even bring you a coffee while you’re working denies him the opportunity of seeing his dad on his own terms.” A scowl replaces his blasé features. Wrong move, [name]. Wrong move.

“And what do you know about parenting, kid?” He spits out.

“My names not ‘kid’, asshole,” you bite back, “and we were all kids once. Some of us just choose to live with consequences of our parents actions a lot longer than others.” With that, you storm away.

Well, you try to.

But the grip this man has on your wrist is dangerous, as if trying to let you know you were meeting the end of your life by his hand. “Be careful who you mouth off to, kid—“

“It’s [surname],” you snip once again as you puff out your chest. It was clear to the both of you that you were not backing down. While this surly man was somewhat taken aback, impressed even, by your tenacity, you had figured there was no point backing down now. Even with your posture standing just a bit taller, the man gripping your wrist held it above his own head, pressing both of your chests together.

“A pleasure to meet you, [surname],” he drawls sarcastically, “I’m Iwai. Now stay out of my fucking business,” letting you go, Iwai grumbles to himself before walking away from you with an audible crunch of the sucker between his teeth. When he was no longer in eyesight and ear shot, you let out an audible gasp to replenish the breath you’d been holding. Maybe he was right—there was no reason for you to meddle or to say the things that you had. But at the same time, you knew those morose looks on Kaoru’s face all too well—being an only child with absent parents is a language that only those who suffer can speak.

So maybe you wouldn’t encourage Kaoru to bring nice treats for Iwai, but you made it your mission to make sure Kaoru didn’t go home every night wishing he could see his dad for more than ten minutes.

One of the downsides to being an owner of a shop, or a good one anyway, was dedicating seven days a week to running your business. Sure, you had a few part timers here and there that could easily handle the shop, but they were students who needed to keep up with their studies and wanted to have social lives. Rather than dealing with the hassle of finding someone reliable enough, you made it a point to shoulder the burden on your own. Being slow enough most nights did allow you to work on your own coursework in between—the perks of being in college merely for the sake of learning rather than emphasizing the importance of securing a degree. It also allowed you to tackle administrative work while engaging with your customers.

Including a young boy who still looked so downtrodden as he ordered his small taro boba tea on ice. “It’s Kaoru, right?” You ask him casually as you hand him his drink. The boy offers you a look of surprise.

“Y-yeah?”

“It’s nice to officially meet you, I’m [surname].” He smiles bashfully to replace his stupefied look. Handing off his tea, you notice the way he lingers, as if contemplating whether or not he wants to stay or flit off elsewhere. “You’re more than welcome to hang around here and do homework or something, Kaoru-kun,” you add, noticing the way his eyes flicker back and forth between the alley where you now know his father is.

“O-Okay,” the boy responds meekly before taking a two-top table by the window. It gave him the best view of said alley, and part of you wonders if he did that intentionally. Deciding to leave it be for now, you occasionally peek out the corners of your eye to see Kaoru flipping through what you assumed to be pages of homework. Every few minutes, he was looking up out the window before mindlessly fingering the pages again.

When your line had died down and all customers had been serviced, you walked out from behind the counter with a towel in hand. Using the guise of sanitizing the tables, you approached the boy, clearing your throat so as to pardon your presence. “Looks like entrance exams, am I right?” Kaoru looks up at you again, boyish eyes gleaming as if he had just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar before dinner. “How are your studies going?”

“Uh...not very good,” he admits sheepishly. “Sometimes my dad helps me study, but he hasn’t been home lately before I go to bed.”

Ah.

Why did it feel like you were looking in a mirror every time you talked to this boy?

“Well, I’m sure your dad has his reasons. If you don’t mind, I could always help you study?” Perhaps it was spite that drove your actions. After all, Iwai had told you to stay out of his business, yet here you were, offering to tutor his son just because he refused to be present. Maybe it was remorse because you had meant what you said—Iwai had his reasons. Just like your father did back when you were Kaoru’s age.

That didn’t mean that your father’s absence didn’t hurt you or manifest itself as the young boy sitting at one of your tables.

“R-really?!” The boy’s excited voice pulled you from your inner monologue. You offer a soft smile instead, reaching over to turn his notebook towards you.

Comprehension comes easy enough for you to show him, as well as the various portions of Japanese and English grammar and vocabulary. Math was only slightly more difficult, but not by much considering it was still relatively basic formulas that had just been reworked for the current generation’s curriculum.

Science at this age was something you hadn’t even faced until your second or third year of high school.

“Why the heck,” you emphasize your censorship, despite strongly wishing to drop an f-bomb, “are they teaching you physics in middle school?!”

“They aren’t,” Kaoru all but cries. It’s apparent that this subject has been frustrating him immensely—perhaps that was why he was also desperate for his father’s attention? “I haven’t learned any of this yet, but I really want to make it into this academy but it’s one of the top schools in the prefecture and I’m worried I’m too dumb to get in.” The boy had split every last ounce of anxiety, his words coming a garbled mess as he refused to take a breath as he spoke while teems of hot tears threatened to spill past his eyes.

“Hey, Kaoru-chan?” You say gently as you close his notebook. “You are not dumb,” you murmur firmly while looking him in his wet eyes, “you haven’t learned this stuff yet so of course it’s going to be difficult. That doesn’t mean you can’t learn it.” Kaoru is quiet for a moment, slight sniffles sounding from his face.

“But if we aren’t learning this in school, how am I supposed to learn how to do any of this?” Pausing, you check your watch for the time as you realize how late it must’ve gotten. It was already closing time, and the streets of Shibuya were starting to run thin.

“Tell you what, Kaoru-chan. Give me two days. Two days, I’ll come up with a study guide for you with formulas and units you’ll need to know to learn just basic physics. Does that sound good?” As you shut off the neon ‘Open’ sign, the boy takes this as a signal to begin packing his belongings into his knapsack.

“O-okay,” he hesitates, “but I-I don’t wanna be a bother, [surname]-san. I can always ask my dad, though he’s not much of a help usually,” the last part is mumbled almost unintelligibly.

Almost.

Your chest constricts again because you swear this child, however short of a time you’ve known him, is too much like you to be a mere coincidence. It was more like whatever omniscient being up above sent you this child to help.

“You’re no bother, Kaoru-chan. I’ll see you tomorrow, and I will let you know right away when I have your study guide ready, but you should probably head on home before your dad starts worrying about you.” The boy agrees, the slick appearance of tears dissipating until they were replaced with some semblance of hope. Maybe he could get into the academy—maybe he’s not dumb and his dad doesn’t want to be around him, he thinks.

“Thanks again, [surname]-san!”

“Kaoru, why are you still out right now?” The boy in question whips his head around, meeting the steely grey eyes of his father. “And you, I thought I told you stay out of my business? That includes my son!” Iwai was angry. The lower lid of his left eye shook, and the corners of his mouth trembled as if ready to snarl. He wasn’t just angry.

Iwai Munehisa was livid.

“D-dad, I’m sorry. We lost track of time a-and [surname]-san was helping me—“

“Go home and go to bed, Kaoru. I’ll meet you there shortly.”

“O-okay...” despite not wanting to, Kaoru takes his leave down the streets of Shibuya. Occasionally his gaze would flicker back to the sight of you staring at his father with your arms crossed over his chest and him returning the look with venom.

“What do you want, [surname]? Is it money? Who sent you?” The way your family name leaves his lip is entirely satirical. There’s malice painting his tone, as if trying to submerge his very obvious threatening posture with extra ammunition. “I meant it when I said stay out of my business.”

“I have no problem with that, but your kid might.”

“And what do you know about him? Besides the fact that he keeps bringing you business?” Between the both of you, the volume of your voices is beginning to transcend the quiet streets of Shibuya. And considering the privacy that Iwai clearly strived for, you let out a sigh before turning around to unlock the door to your shop. The disgruntled man raises a brow, teeth clicking against the sucker between his lips as he grunts in confusion. “What, you runnin’ away now, kid?”

“I just don’t think you or your son would appreciate this conversation taking place in such a public space.” You huff with a roll of your eyes before holding the door open for him. Weary, Iwai scuffles in, his clunky boots thumping along the linoleum of your storefront. His caution made you roll your eyes before you locked the door once again behind him. “I offered to tutor Kaoru because he’s having anxiety about his entrance exams.” You bite out. Iwai, now pausing his gawking at your frilly, all white and gold boba shop, snaps his neck towards you. It seems you had his attention now.

“I already told him I would get him a tutor, so leave him alone.”

“Dude,” you huff once again, dropping all formalities along with your patience, “he almost started crying in front of me. He thinks he’s dumb and you’ve apparently put off finding a tutor for long enough that he is freaking out and nearly having public meltdowns.”

For a moment, Iwai is silent. There’s no noise in the shop, save for the incessant clacking of that damned lollipop.

“He’s not dumb,” is all his father grits out, the hardened sugar finally cracking underneath his molars.

“No, he’s not. He actually kept up with my little impromptu lessons. He can pass those exams; he just needs a little help.” With a newfound resolve, Iwai turns around to stand at his full figure, eyes narrowing down towards you.

“Let’s meet somewhere and talk this over. Not tonight obviously, I gotta fix a couple o’ things at home,” he grumbles, much like his son had earlier that evening.

“What, like an interview?” You balk incredulously. What, did he think you were trying to kidnap his kid or something?! Kaoru was nearly your height and you ran a little freakin’ boba shop—what the hell could you possibly do that would be even remotely threatening?!

“Yeah, like an interview. I’ll reach out to ya in a couple days. Later,” with finality, Iwai brushes past your smaller frame, unlocks the door and exits the shop, leaving you to your confused, dumbfounded solitude.

Rest did not find you easy that night.

No matter what tactics you had resorted to in an attempt to find sleep, nothing seemed to work. Guided relaxation and meditation, one of your typical go-to methods, had only left you with even more tense muscles. You tried turning on quiet, gentle music while continuing the digital painting you had started a couple weeks ago. The whole hour you had tried, your eyes had subconsciously flitted back and forth between the area you were painting and the two men conversing on the bench in your reference photo.

Just take me out of it, his voice had gnawed at the back of your mind.

And slowly, the two conversing men had been exchanged with silhouettes of the aforementioned man and a much shorter figure sitting shoulder to shoulder by his side. While it made for decent artwork, the thought of having to paint such a tender moment, as opposed to witnessing it firsthand, had left you full with guilt. The poor boy you were so determined to help—the boy so desperate for his father’s attention. Where was his mother? Couldn’t she help him out?

Then again, it wasn’t like your own mom did much for you either. If anything, she merely stood idly by while your father barked instructions on how to live your life.

Go to college for business.

Earn nothing less than perfection.

Open your own shop.

Be successful.

But also, friendships are unnecessary, and you should sever ties should you make them.

Get a job without help, but also pay for your own transportation said job.

Live independently—do everything on your own so that your success is yours.

These were your guiding principles of life. The only reason you turned out the way you did was out of sheer rebellion, doing everything your parents asked and more in your own way. And when you finally did achieve your rendition of success, you cut all ties with them.

You didn’t want Kaoru to turn into the bitter human you had by following some unwritten code like you had, especially if he didn’t have to.

But thinking of the boy leads you back to his irritated father and the initial reason you couldn’t sleep. The immediate flip in personality of Iwai had left you all sorts of jumbled. At first, he was so adamant and insistent that you stay far away from the Iwai family—to stay out of his business. Was he merely humoring you? Something in those grey eyes told you no. Rather, it told you of a more insidious reason that, even if he wasn’t physically standing before you, made your spine run cold. The type of chill that travelled from the base of your neck down your core.

The more you dwelled on the thought, the more you wondered about how he would get in contact with you. Would he call you? He didn’t have your number, but some inkling in the back of your head told you that wasn’t going to stop him. Would he just come by after work again? Maybe you should make sure your security cameras were working so that he didn’t kill you inside your own shop. The idea didn’t seem farfetched, you attempted to rationalize. Considering the death grip he had on your wrist twice now, he could have easily broken a bone or two. Iwai could easily slam his big hands on your throat and break your hyoid bone, crushing your windpipe. He could bind and gag you—

Okay, [name], time for bed.

Despite all the tossing and turning from the previous night, you had managed to make it to your digital design class early enough to grab a coffee on the way. Lord knows you needed it.

Much like the night before, the hour-long course had dragged on with every second stretching the minutes. Since your mind and presence were practically nonexistent, you had opted to head to a cafe nearby in Kichijoji. It was a short, half-hour walk that seemed to tick by much faster than your morning had. Sitting outside, enjoying a beautifully crafted latte and a light lunch while working on your digital painting had been the reset you’d needed. It seemed to ebb away the sleepless night. Maybe work wouldn’t be so daunting later.

But that feeling of dread is pokes its head once again upon receiving a text message from an unknown number.

Where are you.

Part of you becomes weary of your surroundings, scoping out for any suspicious characters that might be looking your way. Another part of you scoffs at the message—why on earth would you reveal your location to an unknown number? However, ignoring the text as you thought you should, proved to be ineffective as the unfamiliar number flashes again in the form of a call not once, but twice. When you refused to pick up the second time, another message is sent.

What, you scared of a job interview, kid?

Before colorful words can be muttered under your breath, you answer the phone as it rings for a third time. “How the fuck did you get my number?” You bite out between ground teeth. On the other end of the line, Iwai Munehisa lets out a chuckle before merely stating that he has his connections.

“Seriously though, where are you? I got time before the shop opens.” For a moment, you’re quiet, contemplating on whether or not you should tell him. On the plus side, you were in a public space at the moment. He couldn’t kill you behind closed doors like he was so clearly capable of. Though maybe a small part of you wouldn’t mind feeling that delicious grip on your throat, even if for a second—“Earth to [surname],” the voice chimes on the line. Pulling you from your boundless thoughts, you absently spew off your location as if you were talking with an old friend as opposed to the man you’d been continuously butting heads with. “Kichijoji? It’ll take me a few, but I’ll be there within the hour. Later.”

With that, Iwai hangs up, leaving you to your train wreck of thoughts.

Shit.

He was coming to interview you to be a tutor—which, that part was the least of your worries—but you hadn’t prepared a damn thing for Kaoru yet. Considering how yesterday’s events played out, you figured you had a bit more time. Not that you didn’t perform well under pressure, no. It was more of the fact that the Untouchable owner made your skin crawl and your blood boil and triggered your fight-or-flight response with a single look.

Exiting out of the digital painting program, you pull up a blank note page in your tablet before creating a rough draft of Kaoru’s lesson plans. While you were initially just helping him with science, you figured it would be helpful to refine other subjects of the entrance exams just for Kaoru’s peace of mind.

Still awaiting his father, you begin writing out a formula sheet to be used with his study guides for both the math section and the science section. Even only glancing at the boy’s workbook briefly, you had a rough idea of the material content—acceleration due to gravity, formulas for mass, Planck’s constant, conversions between Fahrenheit to Celsius to Kelvin—

“Huh. I didn’t expect you to take this so seriously.” Iwai has a hand on the back of your chair, leaning his weight on the furniture as he looks over what you have written so far. Much of the letters and symbols looked like a whole lot of mumbo jumbo to him—a foreign language that he didn’t expect a girl like you to be so well-versed in.

“Oh!” You squeak out, startled by his sudden presence. “Jesus, give a girl a warning next time, would ya?” Iwai gives a roll of his grey eyes before taking the seat across the table from him. The waitress swings by upon seeing a new guest, grabbing his order for a basic drip coffee with cream and sugar on the side.

“It looks like you know what you’re doing. You just pull these outta your ass?” His roundabout phrasing isn’t as effective as he thinks, you muse. Not that you blame him for his suspicions—you ran a little boba shop that probably didn’t net much profit or had relatively simple supply systems with no need for knowledge of these types of formulas.

“No,” you huff out a small tuft of air in a scoff, “I graduated with a degree in astrophysics.” Iwai quirks a brow, clearly not hiding the confusion at the drastic dichotomy of your current occupation and your area of specialization. Even more than the confusion, he was clearly skeptical of this being true.

“Is that so? Say I believe you,” this man was very good at pushing your buttons, you note, “why waste your degree tutoring my boy?” The question grit against your thin nerves.

“Well, considering I’m running a tea shop instead of finding more habitable planets on the International Space Station right now, I would say that at least tutoring offers me a small, singular use of my degree.” You balk, simultaneously propping your elbow on the table and cradling your head to further emphasize your irritation. Beneath his breath, you swear you hear the man mutter, ‘brat’.

“Fine, next question.” Iwai pauses momentarily, sipping his coffee and setting down the mug a little less than gracefully before slumping back into his chair. His arms and knees are crossed, the telltale signs of one keeping their cards close to their chest. “Who are you?”

Huh?

Iwai repeats his questioning, adding pressure to the first word as if he were indirectly prying for a specific answer.

“Uh, I’m [surname] [name]. I’m 29, Toho graduate in astrophysics, as I mentioned, as well as a double major in business, while currently taking a digital design course for shits and giggles?”

“And?” You narrow your eyes at him, blood constricting and your pupils turning to pinpricks out of sheer annoyance.

“And what?”

“That’s all there is to ya? No tricks, no hidden agendas; It’s that simple?” The question coming from his lips seems to be more to himself rather than directed at you. His body is no longer scrunched—however difficult that may be for someone of his hulking stature—with his legs spread out a bit more comfortably and his arms relaxed in a looser cross. With him stretching out, his feet just barely brush yours, but neither of you make the motion to recede them.

“Simple? You sure know how to make a girl feel special.” Feeling the slightly laxer attitude, you mirror his posture. Despite leaving your hand on the table and cradling your chin, the action is more fueled by intrigue rather than annoyance as it had earlier.

“What can I say? I like ‘em simple. Better than dealing with dramatics and feeling like a babysitter.” You aren’t totally sure if he was aiming for a joke—from the blasé look on his face, you would say no—but you can’t help but laugh. Despite his scary appearance that had rattled every vertebrae in your spine from a single look, Iwai was no better than a grumpy old man yelling at the neighborhood kids for playing too loud in the middle of the day. Or at least, from that tiny interaction he did. The bubble of laughter, however, grates at his nerves. “Alright, last question. You get oddly protective when it comes to my son. Why?”

Protective.

Huh?

Is that how he viewed it? Your initial reaction was to offer a rebuttal—to outright deny his claim. “I-I’m not—“

“[name],” the vowels and consonants strung together like honey straight from the dripper when he spoke your name, rather than the malice that his tone held. “Just spit it out.”

“I’m not protective, I’m preventative.” Well, he did tell you to spit it out. So your words come out unrefined like a rough draft to a thesis while the two of you stare at each other. Grey on [eyecolor]. “My parents used to run a little shop in Sendai—spent all their time there and left me to just do whatever. I always lived by their rule, always tried to be perfect so maybe they would come celebrate my achievements with me.”

But they never did. Student council president? Big whoop.

Valedictorian? You’re only in high school.

Got a perfect in your entrance exams to Toho? So what.

Graduated summa cum laude with a double major? They didn’t even come to your graduation.

“It hurts a kid. A lot. I saw all the same signs in Kaoru, I just don’t want another kid to grow up like me.” For a moment, Iwai is quiet. He’s contemplating his words, careful and cautious of what to say. On the one hand, he understands what you’re saying. Truly, he does. He understands it isn’t fair to his son—it’s not fair to constantly leave him alone and in the dark and all to hide his past. Kaoru never asked for that.

Hell, Kaoru never asked to be born, let alone sold and left on Iwai’s front porch.

At the same time, Iwai Munehisa takes a long look at you. While he acknowledges the tired, nearly empty gaze in your eyes and your gaunt, frail body that clearly lacks some form of nourishment, he also sees the raw intelligence. He sees drive and passion and guts and part of him thinks if his kid turned out half the person you did, maybe that wouldn’t be a bad thing.

However, he also realizes that he’s wrong for thinking that. You are a product of poor upbringing, and you were trying to break the cycle.

“Personally,” the grey-haired man starts off slowly, “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you. You’re a gutsy woman that’s standing up for what she believes in.” Iwai can tell you’re ready to fire a rebuttal immediately, to which he holds his hand up. “But I get what you’re saying. Kaoru shouldn’t have to take the same journey just to achieve the same results—so you have my permission.”

You close your lips back together as you clench your jaw. This should have felt like a victory for you—you get to help this poor boy feel validated in his efforts. But you know it doesn’t come solely from you, a stranger that just happened to hear his pleas.

“I need more than that, Iwai. You need to start being there for him too, otherwise this is all moot.”

The man in question licks the dry plains of his lips before pursing them together. How was he going to justify leaving the shop? That would mean his part-timer would have to close up shop for him. What if Tsuda or Masa end up at the shop—

It doesn’t matter, Iwai realizes. This is for his son, his literal fucking world. He would be no better than Kaoru’s birth mom if he couldn’t even be there for his boy.

“Okay,” the weapons dealer agrees after a minute, “whatever he needs. But the tutoring sessions happen in my home and nowhere else. Understood?”

Without a moment’s hesitation, you hold your hand out to shake on the deal, not even registering the fact that you were going to be inside the Iwai home or picking up on how adamant he was with this request.

While Iwai Munehisa was a relatively strict man, you were grateful that he showed some flexibility to your own personal schedule. Sure, it was something that any normal, decent human would do, but for some reason you just hadn’t expected that courtesy from him.

Your tutoring sessions started at six in the evening which gave everyone ample time to take care of their own needs. You had time to complete your own coursework and manage your shop, Iwai was able to teach his part-timer how to close up shop for the evening, and Kaoru would be able to take care of assignments due the following day or attend cram school. Each day that you had tutoring sessions, Munehisa would pick you up from your own store, walking with you side by side back to his shared apartment. Some days, he would be silent. Others, he would indulge you with mundane conversations.

“Wait so you’re back in school, just for the hell of it?” The gun shop owner had asked when you presented him with the painting. The one of him and Masa in Inokashira Park, though the latter was no longer in the photo. Instead, the silhouette had been exchanged for a much shorter one, paying homage to Kaoru instead.

“Yeah, I told you that during my interview,” you remind him casually, looking anywhere but his direction as the photo was being zoomed in and out from all sorts of directions under his scrutinizing eye. “I wanted to get better at art, so I took some local classes.”

“Huh,” he hums thoughtfully, handing you back your tablet, “pretty impressive, kid.”

You’ve learned not to take offense to him calling you that. In a sense, he was almost old enough to be your dad (or at least that was what he kept telling you, but you had your doubts)—essentially everyone is a kid in his eyes. If anything, it was more of a term of endearment at this point.

After he opens the doorway to the apartment, you take your shoes off before calling out his son’s name. In the short three weeks that you’ve been at this routine, you’ve found yourself already familiar with the space and easily make yourself at home. Kaoru is in the living room, hunched over a coffee table with his notes scattered everywhere. The boy is muttering formulas to himself as he punches numbers into a calculator, followed by anguished wails before noticing your presence. “[name]-san, help,” he whimpers.

Another normality that’s been created is that Kaoru has dropped the formalities with you per your request. Iwai holds his hands up in defeat, knowing the two of you were going to be busy by the frustrated look on his son’s face. “I’ll get dinner started,” he adds as he saunters off to the kitchen. He knows better than attempt to help in the math or science department—that’s your area of expertise after all.

“Alright kiddo, let’s take a look.” Immediately you get to work, assessing his problem—physics, which had been a real struggle for the boy—step by step while his dad observes from the half-wall in the kitchen. You look entirely at ease, patient and productive as you sit shoulder to shoulder with his son. Iwai can hear your simple explanations for why certain numbers do and don’t work in the formula that the question calls for. “...this is why you gotta make sure that you’re always very specific with your units. It’ll lead to context clues later...” you may be a brat, Munehisa muses, but you were an absolute natural with his boy.

As promised, Munehisa was present for your tutoring sessions and often checked in on Kaoru’s progress. Not just by being there either, but pulling out questions from his study guides, changing the numbers, and having the boy solve them so that he could apply what he learned. On top of that, Munehisa made dinner for the three of you each night as well as prepped his son’s lunches for the next day. It was strangely domestic, but also filled a part of his heart he hadn’t known was missing. “Come eat, you two,” he called out from the kitchen as he finished setting the table. When he hears no response, the grey-haired man pokes his head into the living room to see you and Kaoru engrossed in a very serious conversation fueled by hushed whispers. Focusing his hearing on words rather than the gentle pitter patter of rain hitting the window, he can make out a couple sentences.

“...what if I don’t pass the exams?”

“Hey, you’re gonna do amazing, Kao-chan. You’re already figurin’ out most of these problems on your own, you could get into any school in the prefecture. And we’ve still got a couple months to go, and you’re doing so well, you don’t need to be so hard on yourself.” A small part of Munehisa’s heart aches. Where did he go wrong as a dad for his son to be this hard on himself?

“You’re going to ace it, Kaoru,” he says without thinking, causing the two of you to snap your heads in his direction. Iwai’s expression is soft—a juxtaposition to how it usually is—as he locks eyes with his son. For a moment, the boy looks as if he’s going to cry while having the ability to light up the entire apartment with how bright he’s smiling. Such a soft, tender moment between father and son that you can’t help but think you shouldn’t be here. “Now c’mon, let’s have dinner.” Iwai offers you a hand to pull you off the floor while his son is already setting off to the small dining room at Mach speed. Even after hoisting yourself off the tatami mats, however, Iwai’s hand is still loosely gripping yours. “Thank you. For everything.”

“Uh, y-yeah, no problem!” Your hand retracts from his immediately, as if his skin were made of fire rather than flesh, before you flit off to take the empty seat across from Kaoru to gush over how wonderful your meal looked.

That softness never left Iwai Munehisa’s face, even as he took the seat between you and his son at the little circular table designed for four. The three of you say grace before digging in, with a small reminder to have Kaoru eat his veggies. Since you had started tutoring him over the last couple weeks, the environment in the Iwai household had shifted to something more domesticated—homier—than Munehisa was used to.

And he would be a fucking liar if he said he didn’t like it.

A part of him wonders if this could have been his life from the get-go had Kaoru been born his son; if Kaoru had you as his mom, would this be what life would be like?

Full stop, Munehisa, he grumbles internally.

This was a contract deal. You tutor his son for entrance exams in exchange for meals because he knows for a fact now all you eat is garbage, as well as ensuring that Kaoru is receiving the care that a lonely only child needs. Yet, despite this whole contract set-up, you found yourself seeing the boys even on the days you didn’t have tutoring sessions. There were days when Akira, the part-time employee at Untouchable, would watch the store and both the Iwai men would pay you a visit at the shop, staying until you had finished up your shift for the day. Other times, you and Munehisa would subconsciously meet outside your shopfront and walk together towards his apartment before realizing it was a Sunday or a Thursday—two days you always had off from tutoring.

You were at his apartment almost as much as you were at your own.

Conversation flowed between you and Kaoru so easily, ranging from school to local sports to art. “Oh! I forgot to show you something Kao-chan! Pardon me,” you abruptly stood up, skipping to the living room to grab your tablet from your work bag. Unlocking it and pulling up the painting, you flip the screen over to show Kaoru the completed artwork. For a moment, the boy is marveled as he recognizes his father’s coat and his school uniform on the figures facing the water. The striations in the rock formations, the shadows of the trees—everything is mesmerizing.

“Don’t forget to print a copy for us so we can hang it up,” Iwai reminds you. Though, it’s the first you’re hearing of this. You shoot Iwai a sheepish half-grin before clearing off your plate. Of the three of you, you’re the last one to finish, so Kaoru takes his time clearing the table while Munehisa grabs you a glass of red wine to accompany his own neat whiskey. “I’ll take care of the dishes—“

“Wait, no you cooked. Let me—“ you tried to offer, but the weapon’s dealer just shooed you away with a nonchalant flick of his wrist.

“You kids finish studying before it gets too late, I’ll take care of it.” While Kaoru has already sputtered his gratitude towards his dad and flees back to the living room, you’re still standing in the small kitchen slash dining area, collecting the remaining dishes for Iwai. “What did I just say?” He balks, drying his hands on the towel draped over his shoulder. Before you have a chance to respond, he grabs your wine that’s perched on the counter in one hand, the other gingerly placed on the small of your back as nudges you towards the living room, mumbling something along the lines of, “you never listen, ya brat.” Without another protest, you pluck the glass from his fingers, pretending the heat from his large hand on your back didn’t cause your flesh to erupt into flames.

“Alrighty, where did we leave off, Kao-chan?”

“We were working on phenotypes and genetics.” Easy enough—first year biology, you think to yourself. You go through explaining alleles to Kaoru and dominant and recessive traits with him, and how recessive traits can end up becoming more prominent in offspring.

“So if I was actually my dad’s son, there’s a chance I would have had grey eyes?”

Huh?

“Kao-chan—“

“It’s okay. I’ve always known he wasn’t my real dad.” Oh. Oh. Well that makes this ten thousand times more difficult. From your own experience, it was already hard enough being the only child and never being enough for your biological parents. In theory, they should love you unconditionally—they brought you into this world. However, this circumstance is entirely foreign to you. “My parents died when I was a baby, and he took me in because he was close to them. But sometimes, I wonder if he did that just because he was close to them, ya know? Sometimes I wonder if he even views me as his son.”

Your heart broke—shattered into thousands of tiny little shards that stuck to the muscle fibers in your body. It probably didn’t help at all that Iwai was initially so focused on running his stupid shop to the point where his own son—biological or not—needed to make excuses to see him. But at the same time, Iwai Munehisa was so overly protective of Kaoru that there was no way he didn’t view him as his child.

“Maybe,” you start off slowly, thinking back to the final question of your interview with Munehisa. “His own example of parenting is a little skewed, so he’s trying his best to do the opposite of how he was raised so that he does better with you.”

“Yeah, but you’re much better at it, [name]-san,” you frown slightly at this. In the month or so that you’ve known the Iwai family, you have to commend the fact that Munehisa has been doing much better than when you met him. His guard was still up, of course, but he was home much more with Kaoru and he was absolutely trying. But there are still parts of the boy that are filled with uncertainty and doubt—parts of him that still long for being coddled like a child because he was still one underneath it all. Subconsciously, you wrap an arm around his shoulder, offering him a loose hug that he was free to back out from at any moment.

He didn’t.

“You know what one of the first things I ever said to your dad was?” Kaoru stiffens slightly but doesn’t say anything in response. Instead, he buries himself further into the hug because he can’t remember the last time that he was given a crumb of parental affection. “‘We were all kids at some point. Some of us just choose to live with the consequences of our parents’ actions longer than others’. I told him that because every choice I make is a direct result of how I responded to my upbringing.” And now that you think about it, maybe Iwai Munehisa has seen more than you realize. In fact, you’re almost certain he has by the way he lives and raises his own child.

He was also still living with the consequences of how he was raised.

It seems his son resonates with the sentiment, as Kaoru sniffles while sitting up, but remains quiet while he still leans shoulder to shoulder with you. Despite textbooks and notebooks still being open and scattered across the living room, it was clear that he just needed a moment to be—to exist and sit and stew on his own thoughts. Once again, you reach to wrap an arm around Kaoru’s shoulder while your free hand reaches for the stemless wine glass, both of you watching the drips of the rain creating streaks on the glass of the balcony door.

From the kitchen, Iwai shuts off the water when he’s cleaned off the all the dishes. The only noises that can be heard from the living room is the water hitting glass and the occasional setting down of glass on wood, but there’s no talking. No praise from solved equations and gentle goading to finding the right answer. There’s nothing at all. There’s an intimate stillness that Iwai almost feels guilty for looking in on that creates an ache in his chest.

How the fuck were you so much better at handling his son than him?

Iwai swallows the contents of his glass in one gulp before pouring him another shot of whiskey that he will hopefully sip on as intended.

Looking outside the balcony door himself, Munehisa realizes the rain isn’t going to let up any time soon. Kaoru also likes a nice, hot mug of cocoa on rainy nights like this. While turning to heat milk on the stove, the weapons dealer wracks his brain as to if he even owns an umbrella so that you don’t have to walk home in this storm without one. He should have one, right? There’s no way he’s that shitty of a father that he doesn’t have an umbrella for his kid when it rains.

His extra one is still at Untouchable, where he usually keeps it in the event someone else needs one or if he’s got business to tend to. Upon this realization, Iwai groans before bringing the cocoa to the living room for his son.

“Kaoru, ya got an extra umbrella somewhere?” Munehisa asks gently, ignoring the panic that spreads across both Kaoru’s and your faces while the two of you pry yourselves apart. The boy thanks his dad, shamelessly sipping at the treat before turning to face away from the window.

“Actually I think I left it in my locker at school, sorry dad.”

“S’all right,” he says nonchalantly as you begin helping Kaoru pack up his notes and study guides, “maybe [name]-san can have her husband come bring by an umbrella so she don’t get sick—“ you sputter out a distinguished laugh, grateful you hadn’t been drinking the rest of your wine or you surely would have spit it all over Kaoru.

“Husband? The only thing I’m married to is the idea of getting to work for the International Space Station.” Munehisa doesn’t receive the opportunity to comment on the fact that you’re nearly thirty and not married, thanks to his son who lights up like a start at the mention of the ISS.

“Woah, is that your dream job, [name]-san?! That’s so cool!” Kaoru begins rattling off a few facts he knows about the solar system and a few accomplishments of NASA and where water can be found on Mars. Feeding his enthusiasm, you explain why water can be found on Mars in the first place and how, despite this discovery, we can’t necessarily just up and move to that planet. While the two of you geek out slightly over the stars and planets, Iwai has replenished your now empty glass of Cabernet. “Dad, why doesn’t [name]-san just stay the night until the storm stops?”

“Kaoru, that’s inappropriate.” He would be lying if he said that thought hadn’t crossed his mind. At first, he immediately banished it because he just assumed your spouse would come and get you. Then knowing there was nobody waiting at home, Iwai just didn’t want to admit that he liked the idea of you staying a little more than he should.

“B-but It’s worse to let her go home in this weather cause she’ll get sick and you’ll get sick from walking her home!” Coward, his subconscious screamed. Coward coward coward, you’re a fucking coward Munehisa. His own son has to scold him into what is clearly a smarter choice for everybody’s health merely because he’s too fucking chicken to deal with potential situations that would arise from you staying over for a night. Wait, his mind argues, nothing would even happen because you would have to have some semblance of interest in him for any of those scenarios and there was no way—

“Kao-chan, your father’s right. I couldn’t put you guys out like that. Besides, it’s not that far of a walk, I’ll be alright—“

“What? No, you’re not putting us out,” Iwai combats, feeling the need to squash the idea that your presence is a burden on the family. If anything, your presence was a necessity.

“It’s not that big of a deal—“

“I’ll sleep on the couch tonight; you take my bed.” The grey-haired man is adamant now, while Kaoru is slightly pleased with himself. It’s been a long time since they’ve had company, let alone someone stay at their house. In fact, he doesn’t think anyone has since he’d been adopted. And Kaoru likes having you around, and it’s clear as day to him that his dad doesn’t mind either. So what if his umbrella was in his closet?

After it had been decided that you would crash the Iwai home, Kaoru had finished his cocoa while continuing to ask about other things about space. It was a pleasant surprise, being able to talk about these things with another person who was just as interested. Who knows, maybe one day Kaoru would grow up and want to study galaxies too?

When the boy had said his good nights, Iwai lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in. “You’re both a pain in my ass, ya know that?” His arms are draped over the back of the couch, one hand cradling what had to be his fifth glass of straight whiskey. You turn to face him from where you’re still perched on the floor, your back resting along his right leg with your torso still facing the storm.

“Hey, I said I could go home—“

“Yeah, you could. But Kaoru would never let me hear th’ end of it.” The two of you lapse into silence once again, letting both of your minds wander.

“He’s a good kid, ya know,” you start off slowly, “and I know it’s none of my business, but whether he’s biologically your son or not, he’s still your son.” A stifled laugh rolls off of Iwai’s chest in delicate waves before it’s washed down with more whiskey.

“He’s my son, that’s for sure. I just don’t want him to turn into a good-for-nothing scumbag like me,” your eyes peel away from the lightning lighting up the streets of Shibuya, setting your glass down with a scowl crossing your face as you turn to face the weapons dealer. “Maybe he’s lucky that he doesn’t share any of my genetics. Otherwise he would be doomed from the start.”

“Iwai, children are a product of their environment. Look at how much happier he’s been since you started coming around more often. If he hears how lowly you think of yourself, he’ll start to reflect that behavior—“

“What good does it do him to have a thug for a dad?” The grey-haired man snaps, grabbing ahold of your wrist much like he had the very first time you confronted him, though definitely not as tight. His grey eyes are locked with yours once again, hulking body causing yours to pale in comparison.

Prey.

Him versus you.

But this time, you don’t feel fear tingle down your spine. You don’t feel the need to shrink away from him because you know he could hurt you like a predator hunts. Iwai Munehisa wouldn’t do that to you. “That scare you, kid? Knowing sweet little Kao-chan’s dad is a thug? Is former Yakuza? That daddy’s got people coming after him and Kaoru left and right because of shit I did in the past?”

Iwai Munehisa wouldn’t hurt you.

“Sounds like you’re more scared about him knowing that than I am. Why would your past bother me? It’s in the past.” A growl tears at his lips before he throws your wrist towards the couch. It’s not enough force to hurt you in the slightest, just enough to pull you away from him so he can bury his shamed face in his hands with his rocks glass long forgotten on the tatami mats.

“I’m a fucking coward,” he admits, taking a long pause before continuing, “ever since he was a baby and his mother tried to sell him for drug money, I was so hellbent on making sure he never found out the truth about himself or me—that anyone found out the truth about us. Otherwise people would prolly just attach a stigma to his name like they did to me when I was a kid.” Still listening intently, you fix yourself on the couch properly so that you aren’t kneeling on the tatami mats anymore, but rather sitting beside Iwai. He’s not crying, but you can hear the caged and choked breaths trying to escape his lungs. It’s deafening, even with the flooding rain outside, Munehisa drowns out all noise, including the sound of small footsteps approaching.

“Sell me?” Both you and Iwai snap your heads towards the hallway where Kaoru stands in his pajamas, alarm painting the sclerae of his eyes. “W-what are you talking about, dad?” The man in question curses under his breath, once again cradling his face in his hands. This was not how he pictured telling his son the truth—in fact he never even planned on it. He always pictured Kaoru doing something great with his life like finding a cure for cancer and settling down with a nice girl, maybe giving him grandchildren. Everything opposite of Munehisa’s own life.

“Just tell him, Mune,” you whisper, placing a hand on his shoulder. Under the skin you could feel knots that had been long built from years of carrying his burdens. Much to your surprise, he doesn’t shirk off your touch, nor react to the use of his shortened name. In an attempt to calm down, he takes in a deep breath that you can feel inflating his lungs to their full capacity, slowly deflating as he lets it out.

“W-When you were a baby, your mother tried to sell you to me for quick drug money. I told her no, but she just left you on my doorstep. At the time, I was Yakuza, but I took you in and left the life behind,” Iwai’s fingers are laced loosely over each other as he stares at the tatami mats. It feels like his world is collapsing—like you and his son were judging him much like everyone else had when they learned who his mother was. Who knows, maybe Kaoru would rather go stay with you and have you raise him instead. He would probably do better with you anyway—you could actually help him with his education and his livelihood. What good is a dropout-turned-yakuza thug anyway?

“Even if that’s the truth, that doesn’t change the fact that you, Iwai Munehisa, are my dad. And I’m your son.”

Wow. You really felt like you shouldn’t be here at this moment—you’re ruining it. Quietly, you try (and fail miserably) to sneak off to the kitchen to grab more wine because stars above know that you need it. There are hushed words shared between the two of them, low enough that even straining your hearing doesn’t permit you to distinguish anything. Their much-needed talk goes on for quite some time, allowing you to inadvertently snoop through your surroundings. There are a few pictures of him and Kaoru on the fridge from fishing trips and school events, as well as a math exam that has a red one hundred one circled. It’s clear to you that whatever had been weighing down on Munehisa never stopped him from loving his son, just chucked the boy away in a vault to be safe from the dangers of his past.

Voices are still indistinguishable, that is, until you hear Iwai’s voice raising nearly to the volume of the thunder outside. “Don’t make me ground you, kid,” but the threat seems empty to you as Kaoru walks away laughing.

“Goodnight, mom-san!” You spit the Cabernet you were holding in your mouth back into your glass—a gross visual and even grosser to actually do.

“Kaoru!” Munehisa stands up in a half-assed attempt to chase his son. He stops in front of the kitchen, drooping his head before looking at the embarrassment creeping up your neck. “Sorry about that.”

“I-I should go, shouldn’t I?” The weapons dealer just shakes his head.

“I’s fine,” he mumbles, “let me get ya some clothes to sleep in.” Iwai disappears temporarily, leaving you alone in the kitchen with your now nearly empty glass of red wine while he shuffles about in his room. He’s not gone for long, not nearly long enough as you would’ve liked to attempt to compose yourself.

“Thank you,” you mumble quietly as he sets the clothes on the counter.

“I should be thanking you,” Munehisa replies, grey eyes locked on yours. He looks like he wants to say something more, a giveaway from the way he licks his lips. “So it really doesn’t bother you, huh?” Absentmindedly, you pick the clothes off the counter, holding them between your hands while you finger a loose thread on the oversized tee. Anything to avoid the intense gaze in his normally stone-cold eyes.

Lava felt cooler than his gaze.

“Why should it? It’s not who you are anymore, right?” You can’t bring yourself to look at him right now. He’s too intense, too wild and free from the chains of his past. Iwai Munehisa is a loose cannon now, no longer needing to hide any part of himself.

“So then what’s got you so scared you can’t look me in the eye?” When you say nothing in response, he bounds closer to you until he’s towering over you much like he did during your first meeting. Long, surly digits wrap around your chin and jaw until you’re met with his steely eyes. Though, maybe steel isn’t a proper comparison. Steel is typically cold, and his irises are anything but. The man before you had just had a catharsis, like coal had been heated and pressurized and revealing the birth of brand-new diamonds. “Look me in the eye and tell me you’re not scared,” his voice is husky, thicker than his usually brusque tone.

“I’m not scared,” your words barely pass your lips, but do not waver with trepidation. There was no reason to be scared, not of Munehisa. Scared of the fact that he’s standing so close to you while he cradled your jaw? Absolutely. Frightened slightly by the way his face cautiously edges closer and closer to yours until the overwhelming scent of gun powder and alcohol floods your senses? Check. Terrified of the fact that you are incredibly turned on knowing he could probably snap your neck in a heartbeat?

Hell yes.

“I’m not scared, Mune,” you repeat, reprising the use of his shorter name. It sounds different coming from your mouth, he subconsciously notes. Back in his yakuza days, that name was sinful—a reminder of his reputation. But from your lips, it sounded heavenly.

“I am,” is all he responds with before slotting his lips over yours. Warm and pliable, is the first thought that comes to your mind, much like modeling clay that had been worked between your fingers. Contrary to everything that screams ‘Iwai Munehisa’, his kiss is gentle—experimenting to feel every layer of fragile skin of your lips against his own. Shy, tender, and tentative, Iwai moves his fingers from your chin to wrap an arm around your waist.

Delicate was never a word that you think of to describe Iwai Munehisa. Or maybe delicate wasn't the right word—fragile? It made sense in your train wreck of a mind from the way he sucked in his breath through is nose as your fingers cupped his cheeks. So fragile, as if he were going to break from such a gentle action that he needed to pull away before he crumbled.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” Iwai breathes, taking three steps back like you’d suddenly come down with the plague.

“Wha—no it’s—“

“You should get some sleep kid,” before you can say anything else, the weapons dealer has already fled down the hallway and locking the door to the bathroom and leaving you to your own devices. Between pursed lips, you grab the empty glasses that you shared and washed them quickly before grabbing the clothes you carelessly tossed on the floor. From the bathroom, you hear the water running accompanied by wordless grumbles.

Munehisa’s room is exactly how you pictured it. Simple and clean with no superlatives. The bed is made nearly hotel style—like the room hadn’t been lived in for years. Considering the catharsis that he had gone through tonight, part of you wonders just how many of his days he had spent watching every second like it was going to be his last, rather than being in the moment.

Alive and a life are two very different things.

As expected, you drown in the fabric he’s given you—expected from someone twice your height and overall size. They’re comfy, you note, the warmth of the masses combating the springtime storms. Robotically, you check your phone for the time—the clock inching towards midnight to Sunday. From routine alone, you knew that Kaoru didn’t have school tomorrow and you and Munehisa had a later start to your day thanks to your part-timers’ availability.

Before you have the chance to think twice, you’re back on your bare feet, all but stomping towards the living room to where Munehisa lays facing towards the sliding door, staring at the rain. He heard you—he had to have. There’s no way he can’t hear the deafening silence of your own revelation; he has to know. “Go to bed, [name],” he bites with no fire.

“No.”

“Then go home.”

“No.”

Iwai throws the thin blanket he has on himself off as he thrusts his legs off the couch. Every movement is silently violent until he’s hunched over you for the second time tonight. Despite every intention of holding malice in his eyes, he can’t when it comes to you. Not when you’re wearing his clothes and looking up at him with a resolve stronger than his self-loathing. “What do ya want then, [name]?” He asks quietly, echoing the question he had for you three weeks ago.

“Honestly?” You start off, unraveling your arms that were wound around your chest. “I would like for you to let go.”

For a moment, Iwai is taken aback—literally, as signified by the half step he takes towards the couch and away from you. It’s not quite a moment of fear in his eyes; more of an amalgam of questioning and begging—of longing.

The hunter has become the hunted.

“Just let it go, Mune. Your son already forgives you for your past, you need to do the same.” Much to your surprise, a laugh jumbled with a grunt heaves off his chest. The trepidation from earlier is gone, evident by the way his shoulders and chin straighten up from standing erect.

“Let go, huh? You sure you want that?” The double meaning isn’t lost on you, and you’re ready for whatever he throws your way. You’d been ready, you realize, from the moment your fear took a back seat to wanting to aid Kaoru in any way that you could. You’d been ready since the moment you picked up the phone and had him meet you in Kichijouji. Or maybe, you had forgiven him already—not that you necessarily had a place to do so—the moment he had started shifting his focus into being there for his son. It was all you had ever wanted from your family, maybe it wasn’t too late to save other kids from the pain.

Maybe your unresolved daddy issues run much deeper than you thought.

However, Iwai wasn’t much better. He had been so vehemently adamant that if he pretended to be a questioningly upstanding citizen, Kaoru would have a better chance at making it in the world. The grotesque nature of his own upbringing had left him longing for someone—anyone—to unconditionally accept him. No matter how much he told himself the yakuza had welcomed him with open arms, he knows that it was their opportunity to thread his marionette strings. And the society he was surrounded in had blockaded him so long ago, he clutched and grasped at broken straws.

But not you, no. Despite him easily being able to snap your neck and hide your body, you stood toe to toe with him, always ready to fight back without a moment’s hesitation. With you, there was no stigma attached to his name, only knowledge and understanding and an empathy that transcended and smashed through every wall of his.

An unconditional acceptance.

An unconditional love.

Iwai’s mommy issues ran deep, maybe even a little steeper than yours.

“I’m not scared, Mune,” you repeated, pulling him from his reverie that blasted at meters per second. “I have no reason to be.” With large strides, as one would expect of his size, Iwai crosses through the distance he had out between the two of you before grasping at your jaw with finesse and hunger all at once to lock his lips with yours once again. It had been a long time since the weapons dealer had actively sought out the object of his affections; his own desires had taken a back seat for the well-being of his son.

All that was left of him now was depravity and desperation.

Even those two elements to his core were not going to last long. Not with the way you were clutching onto him so tightly with your arms wound around his neck. Despite the flames of hunger constantly being stoked by mere touch, Iwai’s lips are just as gentle and hesitant as they had been before you changed your clothing. It was clear to you that you were going to need to guide the weapons dealer—much as you had been the last month or so. Your tongue cautiously snakes out from your mouth, gingerly running along the seam of his lips to ask for gentle permission.

Things may be moving fast, but you didn’t want to rush this. Not with Munehisa. Not with the man who was so foreign to genuine affection.

Tentatively, Iwai parts his lips ever so slightly, allowing you access to the first layer of him. Candy. He tastes like the cherry sucker he had in his mouth just after dinner to accompany his whiskey. A mixture of smoke and sweetness with a lasting bitterness sounded as if Iwai had decomposed and turned into mere flavor receptors of the tongue. But it’s a taste you find yourself wanting more of as your tongue dances alongside his.

At a snail’s pace, Iwai releases your cheeks and jaw, sliding his palms down the goose bumps on your neck and soft expanse of your arms until they find purchase on your hips. The gesture is cautious, even as he coaxes your body towards him until he falls back onto the couch, bringing you with until you’re left to straddle him.

“Scared, Mune?” You ask in a whisper when you come up for air. Disregarding the need for oxygen, you make it a point to keep your lips ghosting over his, showing the desire to remain connected to him. His eyes are half-open, heavy lids drooping and the crinkles of his crow’s feet are settling in as he attempts to catch his breath—all with the faintest twinge of a grin.

“Should I be?”

“That’s for you to decide.” One of his hands maneuvers its way from your waist, back up to your cheek to cup the skin in full. Perhaps you were more aware from the intimacy of the fact that his hand nearly could hold an entire half of your face or the calcification of hardened skin on his palms, or perhaps your body had slowly come to tune itself to the man beneath you.

“I think I’ve been alone for long enough.” The distance between the both of you closes once again, Iwai’s movements renewed by fire followed by another clash of lightning. His grip on your waist tightens as he sinks you further into him, grinding his pelvis into yours as if granting permission to touch him more. Planting your hands on his chest, you take a moment to graze the backs of your nails gingerly along the openings of his tank top.

You think back to your joke about him watching his figure when you first met him, and silently berate yourself.

Iwai Munehisa didn’t need to watch his figure—he’s a literal statue of Adonis come to life.

Hard muscle twitches under every touch of yours in conjunction with the occasional throaty groan that rumbles along your lips. His tongue is somehow both rushing to explore every nook and cranny and crooked edge of your teeth while simultaneously attempting to commit every inch of your mouth to memory. Despite the loss of his hands on your waist, the sudden cold rush of air swirling around your midriff is a welcome sensation as his calloused digits working their up your body from under the shirt. Your entire body erupts with need—it was no longer a want or a mere whim. You needed this man in every way.

In hopes to urge Iwai further, you break apart momentarily to remove the borrowed clothing from the upper half of your body, leaving you bare chested in front of the weapons dealer. “Fuck,” he mumbles, pupils turning to pinpricks as he drinks in the sight of your slightly erect nipples. Like a man hypnotized, his lips latch on to your left breast, licking and sucking at the flesh as your head tosses back. The motion causes you to grind further into his lap, greeting his clothed erection with a welcome reminder of your presence.

You had never been one for a ton of oral attention, but there was something so damn mesmerizing about Iwai holding a nipple between his teeth while he rolled the nub with his expert tongue. Part of you wonders if it has something to do with the suckers. Another part of you only thinks to let out a sharp hiss of breath as he tends to your right nipple next. “M-Mune,” you whimper, earning another grind of his covered cock against your damp folds, “l-lemme touch you.”

“Hold on a sec, baby, I’m a little busy.”

Your brain goes into overdrive as he frees a hand from holding you up to dipping into the front of your borrowed pajamas bottoms, nails scraping along the waistband of your panties. The thought of Iwai getting closer and closer still coaxed a moan from your lips; or maybe it was the way he goaded your nipple to complete erection. Maybe it was both—maybe it was the way he made it a point to tease by inspecting the wet spot in your panties with two fingers.

“M-Mune, please.”

“All nice an’ wet for me, baby? Lemme just double check.” Even with you still straddling and trying force yourself closer to him, Iwai managed to sneak his fingers past your knickers until he’s met with a sloppy, slick cunt. His half-lidded gaze up at you was laser-focused—as if he couldn’t look anywhere else but your own lust-laden eyes. The pads of his fingers glide along your slit before slightly nudging apart your opening to get a real feel for you. The mere thought of touching you, rubbing your clit until you screamed, cumming and gushing around his fingers—Iwai can’t even remember the last time such thoughts crossed his mind, let alone turned him on so much.

He wants to take his time, he realizes,

Iwai’s touch sends a thousand volts up your spine, causing the tension in your neck to throw your head back as you hissed in pleasure. His middle finger searches every nook and cranny of your nether regions, smearing your excitement all around until no area is left untouched. While he’s preoccupied with exploring you, you reciprocate the treatment with dizzy kisses, unabashedly sliding your tongue against his while your fingers tugged at his tank top. He’s only slightly annoyed that the two of you have to pause so that you can pull the fabric off—a small sacrifice to further progress. The second he’s freed from one of his prisons, his brittle lips latch onto your left collarbone, teeth sinking in to be chased by his tongue while leaving reminders of the moment. At the same time, his ring and middle finger circle your clit in a steady, languid rhythm, coaxing more of your wetness to come forth until you’re absolutely drenched. “O-oh, f-fuck Munehisa!”

Hearing his name made his groin throb beneath you, the pulsing wet, hot warmth tantalizing and torturing you both. Giving your clit one last swirl, his fingers travel further downward, pushing apart your lips until he slowly nestles his middle finger inside your sopping wet hole. His digits are much larger than your own, you noted immediately—his longest finger alone already stretching you more deliciously than your tiny infantile hands. “Ohh, fuck yeah, baby. I’on’t even gotta stretch you out with how fuckn’ wet ya are for me.”

“But I want you to,” Iwai lets out his signature gruff laugh before jamming his finger deep into you with no warning. The lone digit is roaming, exploring your deepest caverns to figure out the fastest way to make you go from zero to hundred. “Mune, it feels so good.” All the praise goes from his ears straight to his dick, the flesh between the two of you now painfully straining against his thin boxers.

After a few twists and turns, Iwai brings his pointer finger to the party, the duo now on the hunt for that squishy tissue to send you over the edge. He refused to fuck you until you came at least once—he couldn’t disappoint you. Not now, not after all the progress you two had overcome together. Crooking both digits, his nails finally find their target, scraping along your g-spot that makes you tremble and your muscles spasm. “You’re mine now, baby girl,” he croons.

You wished he gave you a better warning—a sufficient warning for the relentless attack his fingers had on your g-spot or the way the angle of his wrist was shamelessly scrubbing at your clit. The muscles in your legs can no longer maintain their terse nature, dropping the suspension you had in his lap slightly to give better access to your nether regions. Even still, Iwai couldn’t stop now. “Oh fuck, oh fuck Mune, fuck fuck fuck fuck holy shit I’m gonna—“

“Just let go, baby,” his voice is sardonically sweet despite his damn near malicious actions. A third finger joins the rest of the digits mercilessly pounding away at your insides, stretching you beyond what you were used, while your abused clit cried for him to stop. That cry coming in the form of your walls squeezing around his fingers until a gush of fluid secretes itself onto his palm. Thanks to the breakneck speed of his movements and the sheer force of your orgasm, your release sprays all onto his bare chest and the waistband of his boxers, even parts of his face. “God damn, woman,” he pants out, a new hunger forming in the pit of his belly. Despite you trying to catch your breath, Iwai pulls his fingers from your core and wraps his soaked hand behind your neck and crushes your lips to his.

Tasting yourself on him is a strangely delightful experience. The slight saltiness of your emission mixed with the signature musk of his skin and sweetness from an overdose of suckers has you groaning throatily into the kiss. Shamelessly your pelvis grinds into his, rubbing his proud, protruding covered cock along your tingling slit. His hands move from where they are holding you against your neck and hips, hooking into the waistband of your borrowed bottoms before pulling them off of your lower half. It’s tricky to maneuver with the way he refuses to stop kissing you—he can’t stop, he learns—but he manages to guide the clothing off of you somehow.

The only thing separating the two of you now was thin, soaked boxers and your last chance to walk away from one another.

Not that you would.

Instead, you hook your claws into the elastic of his boxers, suspending yourself above his lap momentarily to slide the fabric past his knees. Your soaked entrance slides along the length of him, greeting him with lubricant. Iwai grits his teeth as you do so, throwing his head back before he pulls your head down to rest your forehead against his sweaty skin. His grey eyes bore straight into yours, electricity sparking between the two of you. “Y-ya sure, [name]?”

Rather than answer, you swivel your hips to slide his cock in before slamming the entirety of his girth inside you in one fell swoop. In hindsight, that was probably a bad idea with the way you can feel the mushroom head of his weeping cock knocking at your cervix or the way the width of his cock stretches you even further than three of his massive fingers. “Jesus fucking Christ!” You howl and sob, head thrown back as you nearly sob from the intrusion. Through heavy pants, Munehisa anchors your hips in place so that you can’t pull away, no matter how torturous for the both of you.

“Just stay still, baby, don’t move.”

“M-Mune, it hurts.”

“Well nobody told ya to shove my whole dick in at once, idiot,” the two of you share a laugh for a moment before he guides you to rest on his chest while your cunt stretched and acclimated to his dick.

“I-I wanted to,” you whimper as he shifts ever so slightly, the curls of his pubis scraping along your thighs.

“Yeah, baby? You wanted to? That why you started hanging around my kid—to try to get daddy’s dick?” His salacious words cause your walls to pulsate around him, squeezing him further in and making him groan at the contraction. “That’s it, isn’t it? Naughty lil girl, you don’t deserve my mercy.” His large hands, wrapping every square centimeter of your hips, began to jostle you in a way to rub your skin together before they start lifting you up in his lap. It’s a reprieve, almost, having his large cock begin to withdraw until his hands force your pelvis back down onto him.

“M-Mune,” you whine, “still hurts.” But the curses and cries do nothing to slow down his rhythm. If anything, Munehisa plants his feet on the tatami mats below him to thrust himself further up into you every time he brought your hips back down. The lightning and thunder painting the sky past the sliding door is merely a full thought, each violent thrust of his cock much more noticeable than nature’s storm.

“Tell me the truth and maybe I’ll go a little easier on you!” He howls, no longer giving a shit if Kaoru heard the lewd slapping of his heavy ballsack against your skin or the breathless cries leaving your lungs. Okay, that was a lie, he did care. But it was more of a subconscious thought buried at the back of his mind that was drowned out by the mere thought of stuffing you full of his cum. The idea alone was enough to drown out the wordless babbles leaving your mouth in accompaniment to the drool dripping from the seam of your lips. “Gonna take my cum like a good girl, baby?”

“Y-yes, please! Please!” You warble, squeezing your walls around his thick cock like a vice. His thrusts are relentless, his hips skyrocketing towards your limp body that can no longer stand his brutality. Iwai’s head is thrown back once again as you collapse forward, your body too numb as your second orgasm begins to wrack through, allowing you to nestle into his bare throat. “‘M so close, Mune.” Your bones are turning to jelly, you notice, as you snake your hands towards your clit for the final push.

Well, attempt to anyway.

Iwai smacks your hand away with blinding speed, thrusts slowing down a fraction as he does so before his hand replaces yours on your nub. “Only I get to make you cum from now on, got it?”

“Then hurry up and fucking do it!” You howl, sinking your teeth into whatever parts of his flesh you can reach. The pads of three of his fingers are relentlessly scrubbing away at your clit, a mixture of both of your slop spraying over the both of you. “Oh god yes, right there! Right there!”

“Fuck!” Iwai sobs as his balls tighten before flooding your pussy with his cum, his thrusts becoming languid as he sees his release all the way through. At the same time, the throbbing of his dick while he cums resonates within your walls, amplifying the rush of him attacking your clit. “Mm, come on, baby, I can feel it. Cum for me, fucking cum for me.” You aren’t sure what exactly does you over—if it’s his gently softening, massive cock still twitching inside you or the way his digits know just how to play with your bundles of nerves or the way he called you “baby”— but your body tenses one last time as the blue hue of lightning fills the living room.

“Munehisa,” your voice comes as a broken trill, though his name is clear as day, as you release one last time, a waterfall running and soaking his fingers. Proud of his work, Iwai slows his pace down until his fingers are moving dully to bring you down from your overstimulation. The both of you are panting and sweating, nearly half-dead from the exhaustion.

“C’mere, baby,” he purrs in your ear after god knows how many minutes passed. You hiss when he carefully removes his flaccid length from within you, globs of cum dripping from your walls. Without thinking, Iwai takes two fingers to catch the loose emission and stuffs it back inside you for good measure. He never asked if you were on any form of contraceptive—part of him almost hopes that you aren’t. “Lemme clean ya up a lil.”

“Mm, can’t move.” Munehisa chuckles, wrapping his large hands around your thighs before hoisting the both of you up. Despite the action being chaste, your whole abused body tingles at the movement. He carries the both of you towards the bathroom, setting you down on the narrow space of the vanity before untangling your koala-like limbs from his body. Without saying anything, he grabs a washcloth, running it under the tap and wipes away the loose cum that’s already starting to dry and crust over.

It’s hard to tell what he’s thinking, the way his grey eyes have grown cold, and it seems he’s hyper focused on cleaning your skin as best he can. You elect to ignore the fact that he’s making damn sure not to let any cum that’s sitting in your pussy out. Even after he’s cleaned you and himself off, the two of you are lingering in the bathroom in silence, unsure of who should speak first. It seemed it would have to be you. Again.

Finally finding strength in your gelatinous state, you hop off the vanity, grabbing one of Munehisa’s large hands and lead him back out to his room.

“I should sleep on the couch,” he says quietly, though he makes no motion to get up from where both of your naked bodies are pressed on the tops of the sheets. You only shake your head in reply, holding onto his hand even tighter.

“I don’t care if it was dirty talk or what,” you start, recalling the salacious title Munehisa granted himself, “but I have no ill intention towards Kaoru or you. So as long as you let me keep coming around you both, I’ll be here. I’m not going anywhere.” He’s quiet for a moment, eyes darkening at he stares at the floor in contemplation. When he says nothing, you try again. “Will you let me stay, Mune?” The weapons dealer’s head snaps towards you. How the fuck had just his name come to have such a bewitching hold on him? Had it always sounded so pretty? So loved?

It was it just because it was from your lips?

“If I let you stay, I might not let you go.”

“I never said to let me go.”

[psyga315]

Some Roses Will Never Bloom: A Rewrite Of Volume 8, Part 1

Never before have I felt so disappointed with the turnout of a RWBY Volume. It had the potential to be extremely good, but it chose mediocrity. Again. It felt like Volume 5 all over again.

I know I should probably wait for the final two episodes, but let’s be fucking honest here. Atlas is done. The plot is finished. These two episodes, if people are to be believed, are to hype for the next Volume and even then, given how RWBY did its “hype” and “payoff” in Volume 8… No, fuck that noise. Those last two episodes will get their own segment called the Volume 9 Character Short. If anything, only scenes with Emerald from those two episodes will be brought over to Volume 8 and if they’re big scenes, like her interacting with Cinder, I’ll make an addendum.

Before we begin, keep in mind that this is not a complete rewrite. If there’s a scene I haven’t mentioned, that’s because it’s good as is and can be left in. Length wise, I’ll try to aim for the same 14 episodes, but minutes wise… Who even counts these anymore?

So, let’s get into the meat and potatoes with a Meta-Rewrite. If this does not interest you, skip ahead to when I start talking about the episodes.

Grimm Expectations

Let’s rewind the clocks back to the hiatus of Volume 7-8. Rooster Teeth is proud to announce a new contest where Grimm entries are submitted and the winner would receive a prize. There was controversy the minute it began and it only got worse when the finalists were called.

So, let’s fix that. In this Meta-Rewrite, Rooster Teeth decide to instead broadens the prize pool to include five winners instead of the one, with no popularity contest to determine the winner. Of course, this doesn’t fix the contest results, which includes a controversial figure. However, because there is no voting involved, it instead becomes a flame war over the design that, let’s be honest, wouldn’t have mattered in the grand scheme of things.

So, yeah, RT uses all five Grimm winners, disregards any fucks that the fanbase has (again) and the only thing I could see happening is if the artist personally reached out to Rooster Teeth and requested it to be removed, to which RT will word it so that it doesn’t backfire in their face.

Alright, now let’s do it.

Divide

We’ll start right where the show left off, with Oscar witnessing the Whale arrive onto Atlas. However, curiously, it is stationary. Oscar asks what’s up with it before Ozpin cryptically tells him that’s what she wants it to do. We don’t need to see a huge montage of Oscar getting to the Crater, but just enough to know how he got there.

We cut to RWBY and co discussing what to do now, especially with Salem making good on her threat. Ruby tries to contact Qrow and Oscar, but she can’t reach them. Pietro and Maria pilot the aircraft down to the same discreet spot they parked in Volume 7. However, as they get off, they’re ambushed by soldiers. Just then, Johanna, May, and Fiona barge in and beat them with an ambush of their own.

“What the hell just happened!?” Johanna barked at Ruby. We’ll cut to fifteen minutes later where they all discuss what happened

“So, Ironwood’s finally lost it.” May mutters. They hear the news and see their wanted posters. Most notably, they see that Robyn and Penny are added to the list and that she and Qrow have a big “ARRESTED” sign over them. However, with Oscar, there’s a clear big red X over his face, causing Ruby to fret. Jaune gets upset and punches a wall, blaming himself for leaving Oscar behind on both occasions.

I don’t think Jaune would blame Ruby at this point, since 1) he, at this point, knows better than to point fingers and 2) it’s more his character to beat himself up rather than someone else.

It’d still be Yang, but she’d be joined by Ren. Yang brings up how Ruby’s leadership led them to this situation and Ren mentions how they destroyed Ironwood’s trust, not knowing what was really said up there back in “Gravity”. Ruby told Yang about how they not only went behind Ironwood’s back but also theirs by telling Robyn about the Amity Tower and thus burned their bridge with Ironwood, only for Blake to go on full blast and say what Critics have been saying for the entire hiatus:

“YOU GUYS ARE ACTING JUST LIKE THE WHITE FANG!”

She explains how they’ve done the exact same things that the White Fang had done, taking lives, stealing vehicles, but she adds the extra caveat of bringing up how they’ve also borrowed from Ozpin’s playbook. She confesses to being the one who planned on telling them about Amity.

However, Johanna breaks up the fight and tells them flat out: doesn’t matter what they did, they need to worry more about what to do. This is when they argue more about what’s important: Amity or Mantle. The team splits up the same way, since it is integral for their arcs to be like this and not go with the obvious “Ren cared about saving the world so he’s going for Amity and Nora cared about Mantle so she will help Mantle.”

Ruby frets more, since “this is what Salem wants”, only for Yang to retort: “well, she’s already getting that right now…”, which stings Ruby since she feels like it meant her splitting off with Ruby while she actually meant what happened with Ironwood. We’re not gonna do the “future” stuff. I feel like that should happen naturally instead of confusing people.

Just before they go, though, Ironwood calls Penny and tells her that Salem is here. Penny is about to answer when Ruby takes the phone away and tells him to fuck off, only for Ironwood to go “hey, people are going to die if you’re acting like a doofus about it!” Ironwood tries to talk more, but Ruby hangs up on him.

We smash cut to Ironwood growling in frustration, looking at the arm he lost in order to stop Watts. He gets a solemn look, pondering to himself about how far he must go in order to save the world. His arm trembles and thinks back to shooting Oscar. He begins to have second thoughts about what he had done, though they’re brief as the Councillors came in. During their rant, Ironwood grabs Sleet by the throat and drags his ass out to a window where they see the whale.

“YOU SEE THAT!? That is what we tried to protect the world from and now it’s at our front door. That’s why I’ve enacted Martial Law.” He then tosses Sleet to the guards and tell him to lock the Councilmen up. “You two have gotten in my way before. I won’t let it happen again.” As they get dragged away, he looks over to Winter and apologizes. Had he not arranged for her to be the Winter Maiden, she wouldn’t have been injured.

Winter reassures him and tells him that he was the only person who has given her purpose in life after her father ruined it. Ironwood is both touched and horrified with that comment, especially once the Ace Ops come, having done their grieving for Clover. Harriet also affirms her faith in Ironwood and tells him that Clover died for his Kingdom. Ironwood gives a moment to think… Closing his eyes.

“So… If I’ve led you all onto the path of hell…” He opens them as we see the light in his eyes disappear, followed by the sound of a loud, distinctive click. “Then there’s no other choice but to keep moving forward.”

And as we get our first official look at Mettle, the opening plays out.

Refuge

The villain scene from Episode 1 is moved over to here, but Cinder brings up why they haven’t made their move yet. Salem brings up that Tyrian’s report of the situation has confirmed that Ironwood has taken her bait and is now the greatest weapon they have. Let him destroy Atlas from the inside out and then clean up the mess. She then brings the relic to the Hound and has him sniff for Oscar’s scent.

The rest of the episode plays out like usual, with Ruby and Yang’s teams doing their thing, but with Oscar at the Crater, he’s not there for the scenes. He does still have his chat with Ozpin about how they’ll be one soon, however. He sees Yang, Ren, and Jaune arrive with people and he is elated to see them. He is elated to see them and asks what happened with the others. Yang sums up and then Oscar asks what happened to Qrow, Clover, and Robyn.

Cut to the jailbirds and Qrow saying how he wants to murder Ironwood. The Councilmen are tossed in while they extract Watts.

The Hound Scene gets changed somewhat, as we see it attacking Oscar in the middle of the Crater, bringing people to harm against the Hound. This furthers the reason why they couldn’t just shoot the Grimm, since the Hound threatens the lives of the refuges in the Crater. We end our episode there.

Strings

So, here’s where I think we’re going to make the big changes and axe a subplot. While the premise of Penny being hacked and her aura resisting it is good, I feel like, of the subplots that need to be cut, this would be the one. We can dedicate more of this time to her conflict with being the Protector of Mantle and now being the Winter Maiden, in other words being the Protector of Atlas.

Meanwhile, Nora, Ruby, and Blake all have their doubts. Ruby and Nora are obvious, but Blake has trouble deciding if she made the right call in returning to RWBY. Weiss, in a Tsundere way, brings up how she is a very integral part of the team. Blake then brings up how, if it weren’t for her, then they wouldn’t have had a hard time getting to Atlas, blaming herself for both their rejection at Argus and how Adam ruined their plans in the hijacking.

Weiss, however, wants none of that. While this was Ruby’s plan, Weiss takes charge of the operation due to Ruby being emotionally compromised. She gets a taste of being a leader in this episode, one she had wanted in Volume 1.

During this, Ironwood discusses matters with Watts, where they talk about the possibility of hacking Penny. For this rewrite, I think keeping the ‘Watts is working with Ironwood’ angle, complete with Ironwood having guns pointed to him, would benefit Ironwood’s arc and show how low he’s going. Not just working with one of Salem’s thugs, but also holding them at gun point. Ironwood justifies it by saying that this is Watts’s ‘punishment’ for the crimes he’s done. Watts, however, plays it by ear and waits for the opportune time for a backstab. That and he wants to stick it to Pietro.

The rest of the episode plays out like normal, but we get that ‘made a deal with the darkness’ scene as Watts is dragged back to his cell, Harriet has a hissy fit, and Robyn is like ‘you’re looking for someone to blame’. As the Ace Ops and Guards leave, Watts brings Qrow’s ‘we kill the man who put us here’ idea back to him and says he’s interested in his offer.

Fault

We open right where we leave off, as Watts reveals that he’s only getting close enough to Ironwood to acquire the right tools to escape. He then proceeds to dangle the carrot in front of Qrow.

“We’ve all been screwed over by Ironwood in one form or another. He disrupted your business, abandoned your town, betrayed your Headmaster.” The last part gets to Qrow and he lashes out. “We all want him dead, so… are you in or are you out?”

“Preposterous!” Jacques, to Robyn’s surprise, beat her to the punch. “Let’s not forget that you’ve done your fair share of screwing. Believe me, I had my experience. I know better than to trust you.”

“You’ve trusted Ironwood, right? And look where it got you. All of you.” That comment hangs in the air.

“We wanted Ironwood out for some time, but not like this! Are you mad?” Sleet asked. Robyn is visibly horrified at what Watts is suggesting and is the next to speak up.

“Jacques has a point for once in his life. Why should we trust you when you’re the reason Mantle is in this mess in the first place?” Then Qrow raises his hand.

“I want to hear him out.” Qrow said.

“What? What do you mean? You realize he works with-”

“I know! But remember who we’re dealing with. This prison… It’s not like the kind of prisons I’ve seen, especially in Atlas. No other people but us, only the top of Ironwood’s army are allowed to check in, and I’m pretty sure the guards aren’t allowed to give you that shiner. No… This isn’t our holding cell. It’s an execution cell, and we’re just waiting for Ironwood to drop the axe.”

We end on that implication as we see the episode play out like normal. While I like to have Ren bring up Pyrrha, I think the “cheated into Beacon” thing is big enough and we’ll need to unravel that bundle of worms. Instead of the “yeah, Ruby” scene, we could have Yang ask Jaune what he meant and Jaune reveals his fake transcripts. He also reveals that, for a time, he blamed Pyrrha’s death on his inexperience and that he knew about Pyrrha using her Semblance on his shield some time later. Yang, however, isn’t really in a position to pat Jaune’s back.

Meanwhile, the group crash at Whitley’s mansion, but Weiss doesn’t immediately point a sword at him. She’s tempted to as Whitley complains about having to harbour criminals without an explanation as to what’s going on, but then she notices that… he’s afraid. She then remembers Willow’s words to her and calmly goes “If you’re willing, I’ll explain everything. Please. Just help her.”

And we end on the Grimm River.

Amity

This episode is mostly the same, but with two exceptions. One, Ironwood does not, in any way, try to interfere with the broadcast. This had been the thing he was working on the whole time and, albeit without the Ironwood could no longer be trusted bit (which he looks solemnly away to), is pretty much what he wanted. And two, Watts ‘fakes’ hacking Penny.

He later reveals to his coup that there’s no way to hack Penny, bringing up how they had her schematics back in Volume 3 but were unable to activate the virus for her. What he really did was force a reboot and lied out of his ass about how it was a failed attempt. He then reveals the broken phone and offers the escape plan one last time.

Midnight

Here we are. One of the biggest episodes in Volume 8. The big backstory reveal for Cinder…

And we’re instead going to make it about Hazel, so instead, it’s going to be…

Gingerbread

We open with twins, lost in the woods. The elder reassures the younger that everything will be fine. They were abandoned by their parents to line their bellies and forced to fend for themselves. There, they come across a house that looked like it was made of gingerbread, with eagled eyed viewers being able to spot a young Cinder being carted off.

A blind woman greets the kids and brings them into the house. We know the schtick here, though instead of fattening the kids up to be eaten, she toughens them up to be sold to wealthy people who use them as child labourers. Gretchen finds out about this but she gets captured and is about to be killed to be silenced. Hazel, in a fury, ends up awakening his Semblance and, using a Dust Crystal, sets the house ablaze as they escape.

A montage plays out of them surviving however they can, even joining some bandits and raiding towns. However, during one such raid, they’re stopped by a young Qrow and have them be brought to Ozpin, which plays out similarly to how Ruby got inducted into Beacon.

We cut to Oscar chatting with Ozpin about Salem’s plan and how it seemed to be working before getting the idea to do the same to her. As Hazel walks in and gets upset that Ozpin casually says hello, Ozpin asks: “Why? Why do you follow Salem?”

“You know why. Did you tell him the full story?”

We cut back to another montage where we see that Hazel and Gretchen are part of the same team and they were the best years of their life. Unfortunately, they go on a mission to Mountain Glenn where it just so happens to be the time a mad scientist was fucking around there. They try to stop the Grimm from overrunning it, but it seems hopeless. Hazel, as the team leader, pulls the team back. However, Ozpin gives them the order to not run away and to hold the line. Gretchen follows this to a T and sacrifices herself in vain.

This devastates Hazel and causes him to drop out of Beacon, bearing a grudge against Ozpin. Not only that, but it paints some parallels between Hazel, Qrow, and Jaune, as all of them had friends they lost to the orders of a Headmaster who they despised. Qrow teeters in the middle (he talks big about killing Ironwood but hasn’t committed to it yet) between Jaune (who accepted Pyrrha’s choice and lets go of his hatred) and Hazel (“OZPIIIIIN!”). It also presents a dark parallel to the current story, since Atlas and Mantle are currently undergoing a similar siege, but it’s Ruby who insists on holding the line.

Ozpin admits that this was just one of his many mistakes, but asks again why he decided to work with Salem because of it, when she was the one behind the Grimm. Hazel then answers the obvious:

“I tried to kill her.”

We then get to see Hazel beat her senseless in a flashback, only to reform from dust and taunt him. Eventually, he gave up as Salem comforts him before revealing that Ozpin has sacrificed people like him for one huge lie (as she does this, Sacrifice plays). He then swears his allegiance to her if it means there’d be no more Gretchens.

Ozpin cuts the flashback by retorting that she’s planning to bring-

Salem comes in. The show’s about to start.

Cut to Weiss as she enters Whitley’s room. She notices that he just finished calling someone and suspects he’s ratting out on them. Whitely denies this and calls Weiss out for being overtly protective. Weiss counters by saying that she grew up in a hostile home and can’t really trust any Schnee but her sister, which she begins to doubt.

Whitley brings up that she barely had it as bad as he did and talks of his turmoil of living with the parents alone while Winter was at Atlas and Weiss was at Beacon. Between his mother’s drunken rambles and his father’s angry rants, he barely had time to live his own life. He just lets Weiss have it for ditching him before he breaks down and realizes that, no, he’s just jealous because she got to be free while he was still stuck in the cage. Weiss remembers when she was grounded and stripped of her title and realizes “oh… shit.”

Then the doorbell rings and, surprise, it’s Klein. Whitely explains that they need a doctor for Nora and without Jacques, he figured to invite the person he fired just to further spite his ass. He and Weiss begin to rekindle an old flame that they never ignited.

Back with Salem, the scene plays out like normal, but when we see Cinder get tortured, we see flashes of Cinder having a shock collar, hinting to her big backstory event. Then Salem has a small speech.

“It would appear that we have been brought forth into the light as monsters and villains. So, why not play that part and show them why dear old Ozma had to keep me a secret for so long… It’s time.”

Suddenly, Beringels fly out of Monstra and Zerg Rush the shields while the Grimm River activates and rushes forth, destroying the hut that RJY were at and almost killing them. Jaune sends out a distress call with his scroll as they try to avoid getting washed away in the water. They see that it’s heading to Mantle and that the plan by Salem is a two-prong attack to further force the division between Mantle and Atlas by putting them both in peril.

During this, Ren tries desperately to activate his Semblance, but just couldn’t. He panics, he worries, he sees Grimm emerge from the River to try and kill them and he just can’t make his Semblance work. He asks why now of all times must this happen. He closes his eyes and tries to think… Then sees petals on himself. Before he has any time to figure out what happened, they see a plane arrive and blast the River, stopping it in its tracks. Just before Jaune is about to thank their savior, they see that it’s Winter and the Ace-Ops…

War

The Beringels break through the shields and invade, destroying much of Atlas and overrunning the city, killing people on-screen. The rest of the scenes play out, however, when we cut to RWB, we see Weiss is trying to restrain Ruby from running out there, saying that she could be arrested or killed and Ruby responds with wanting to do the right thing. May interjects and asks why they bother saving Atlas when all they do is laugh at the misfortune of others. She’s basically the “Let Atlas Fall” part of the fanbase.

And this is where RWB give their counter arguments.

Weiss says how, even though the elite are snobby twits, Atlas is not exclusive to just them. May and her were just born with silver spoons in their mouths but that doesn’t excuse them from leaving everyone else on Atlas to die, bringing up how the Mantleans they saved were also on Atlas.

Blake brings up that, yes, Atlas has done bad things in the past, but so did every Kingdom at one point or another, bringing up Mantle’s role in the Great War, so to say that Atlas deserves to burn is to basically say Mantle deserves to burn.

Ruby then uses her “there are no sides” bit, but also blurts out that the whole situation was her fault and that she’s at the very least trying to fix it. And that starts by heading straight to the Whale and beating Salem herself.

The whale scene plays out the same, as does RJY’s scene right up until they plan to blow up the Whale. Yang and Jaune argue against it while Ren vouches for Atlas, saying how this may be the only chance they have at beating Salem, proposing to Winter to go ahead into the whale to scout it. This leads to the argument about replacing Oscar which pisses Ren something fierce as he finally drops the Pyrrha bomb on their ass.

“You say that like we haven’t lost a team mate before!” Boom. In a flash of light, Ren could see clearly. While muted colors were around him, he can see the petals around everyone. Jaune has blue petals, Yang has red petals, and Harriet has burning crimson petals. He could hear what each petal represents. He hears crying when he sees blue, he hears screaming when he sees red, when looking at Winter, he hears a bunch of different things as he sees multi-colored petals.

He sees that most of the Ace Ops don’t have a consistent feeling. Not even Vine and Elm, who he can’t help but see himself and Nora in their places. Then he looks to his own petals. Pure white as he hears exhaling: calmness. He’s reached a zen state, making peace with what he had felt in Volume 7: A desire to stop Salem and prevent what happened to him and Nora from happening to other people.

Hopefully that gives a slightly better explanation at what his Semblance does without directly telling the audience. However, he doesn’t use this to basically read the script and tell the audience what people feel because, reading the dialogue, it just feels forced. “You’re going to be a good guy because I have magic petal seeing powers!” Instead, he plays therapist.

“I understand why you think people are replaceable. I guess it comes with the territory of being in the army.” “If you can’t even gauge what your partner is feeling, you can’t work as a full team.” “What did you hope to accomplish when you joined the Ace Ops?” “Who are you trying to prove yourself to?”

I feel like that’s a lot more in character for Ren. As for Winter, she doesn’t go “I outrank you” but rather appeals to Harriet’s blood thirsty nature by saying that they’re basically sentencing them to a trial by Grimm, even tricking Harriet into agreeing that, should they survive and free Oscar, that they’d be let go, kinda playing into how she’s the Hare.

Back at the manor, Weiss gets ready to accompany Ruby. Willow approaches her and they have a small chat about what to do now that Jacques is arrested. Willow brings up that Jacques was promptly fired from the SDC due to his treason and, as a result, his previous rulings are called into question, including stripping Weiss of her title. She lowkey implies that Weiss should return and become the proper heiress to the SDC once more, even resisting the lure of the bottle to prove that they can make it right.

Weiss, however, looks to Ruby and Blake getting ready, then says to her “thanks, but… I think I’d rather be a team player than a team leader.” The two have a small, proper mother-daughter bond before BOOM!

It’s Penny, and she says that she’s sorry.

And that’ll wrap up this half of the rewrite. There are a lot of unaltered or even minor altered stuff, I know, but the front half of Volume 8 was alright to say the least. I think the back half of Volume 8 will be where major changes for this rewrite will happen. So, tune in for part 2.

[newcaptainofsquad9]

Overlay Me In Your Heart~Park Jimin x black! fem! reader {1}

Summary: After embarrassing yourself at your local arcade in front of popular, dance major (not to mention your school girl crush) Park Jimin, you seek advice on how to approach him, which is more than encouraged by your friends. Little did you know that Instagram would be the gateway, however once Jimin follows back, you can’t help but freeze at the realization. Can you manage to break through the constant filters and say-sos about Jimin to get to see him as a genuine person? And as a potential friend and eventual lover?      

Genre: Romance, Fluff, Comedy, College AU, Slice of life, Smut(in later parts)

Word Count: 1, 839

Author’s Note: More Jimin because why not? (I know I’m biased) Also! My other Jimin fic, Mr. Flirt is on hiatus at the moment, I’m sorry if any of you guys really wanted me to continue that, I’m not really getting anything out of that fic at the moment. If you guys have any BTS or EXO requests send them my way! Hope ya’ll enjoy!

The first time I saw Jimin I thought he wasn’t real, like he was a model that stepped from the pages of Vogue. He doesn’t model, at least that’s what his best friend, Kim Taehyung told me when I asked him one afternoon in our Literature class. I wanted to ask him more about Jimin, yet I held back and saved it for Jungkook, who lives in the same building as I do and goes to Purple Bullet Arcade during the weekend too. That’s where I first saw Jimin, then and there as I lost all function: my eyes remained on his silver hair, white leather jacket, designer shirt and dark jeans that brought out the toned definition of his muscles extremely well.  

The Tekken round I was in the middle of was over once my attention got captured, leading Jungkook to make a comeback from his magic pixel of life. His guttural cry of victory broke me from my hypnotic fixation as both my eyes along with Jimin’s traveled over. 

“Finally!” Jungkook roared, “I beat you!”

I frowned as he continued to jump with glee, dancing like a goof without a care in the world. He stopped abruptly, eyes moved past me once I felt someone’s presence behind me.

“Hey Jimin!” he greeted. 

I turned, met Jimin’s smoldering dark brown eyes and froze. 

“Hey Kook,” he said, “you must be the one he beat, ah?”

“Ah, I’m I-I’m Y/N,” I said, “s-sorry I gotta go!”

  ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Real smooth,” my best friend Denise says, “why’d you scurry out like a mouse?”

I cast my eyes down as I take in a sip of my vanilla latte. Magic Bean Cafe on campus makes the best, and it isn’t crowded on Fridays when Denise and I catch up. We also get to talk as loud as we want without anyone throwing looks our way, which is quite liberating especially after an 11 a.m lit class. 

“Um, you didn’t answer my question,” Denise presses as she leans across the table with a serious eye, “why were you so scary with Jimin?”

“Why wouldn’t I have been scared?” I counter, “Jimin is super intimating, he’s crazy gorgeous, popular as hell and he’s got like over a thousand followers, right?”

Denise shakes her head.

“Try half a mill and counting,” she says, “did you know he used to dance professionally in Busan before transferring here?”

“No,” I groan, “telling me that won’t help me.”

“Uh, yeah it will dude,” Denise notes, “most of his classes are in the liberal arts building and that’s where yours is as well so talk to him.”

I narrow my eyes at her. Did she not just hear what the hell just happened when I encountered him at the arcade?

“That’s easier said than done,” I say.

“Look, Jimin is super nice and I think you guys would hit it off,” she says, “Jin’s friends with him, along with Namjoon.”

Hearing her mention Jin makes me change the subject swiftly. 

“Jin eh?” I ask, “so how have things been with Jin, you guys make it official or what?”  

Denise scrambles a bit in her chair, attempting to play with her blue streaked braids as she struggles to find the words.

“We’re uh-”

She’s cut off by a sudden noise. 

“Your cheesy stuffed pretzel is ready!”

We both turn toward the counter of the coffee shop to see Jin in his well fitted white chefs apron and hat, posed elegantly on top of the counter with a plate that holds the said cheesy stuffed pretzel. 

I turn back to Denise who already has her head down on the table. Jin steps over to us with a model waiter stance: standing posed with his chin up and arm around his back.

“Hey Y/N,” he greets before turning back to Denise, “your snack Jagiya.”

I raise an eyebrow at the pet name.

“Jagiya, huh?”

Denise raises her head back up. 

“Yeah we are official,” she says, “kinda.”

Jin frowns. 

“Kinda?” he asks. 

Denise changes her tune quickly at Jin’s saddened tone.

“We are, we are,” she reassures, “it’s just a little embarrassing how you spoil me sometimes.”

“That’s because I want to,” he says, “now eat your pretzel Jagi.”

Denise rips off a piece prior to nudging the plate toward me. 

“Want a piece?” she asks.

I start to nod, yet Jin cuts me off.

“I can get her one! That one is for you to enjoy!” he scolds.

Denise rolls her eyes. 

“Jin, if you don’t.”

I chuckle at their apparent lovers quarrel. 

“Should I leave before the both of you start making out?” I joke. 

“No, wait!” Denise urges, “now that we got Jin here, he can tell you that Jimin is totally cool, right?”

I look to Jin who nods as he pulls up a chair to sit next to Denise. 

“Yeah, he’ll like you Y/N, you’re cool,” he explains, “wait, did you tell her about his Instagram?”

I grit my teeth as Denise nods.

“Yeah, what of it?”

“I wouldn’t go too much into that when you first talk to him,” Jin says, “he says a lot of American women are stunned by his amazing filters or whatever, I don’t know it word for word, but just try breaking the ice with something else!”

“Ok,” I say, “what would you suggest?”

Jin tilts his head. 

“Maybe dance?” he suggests, “that’s what he’s studying-”

“Or!” Denise growls, interrupting Jin, “you could be yourself and talk about gaming, take him to the Purple Bullet Arcade! You’re always there with Jungkook.”

“Yeah, but how would I know if I’m Jimin’s type?” I ask.

Jin tilts his head in confusion. 

“Eh! I already said he’ll probably like you!” he groans.

Denise nudges him in the ribs.

“Not what she meant,” she says, “she means black girls like us.”

Jin’s eyes widens but nods. It seems like that already had some sort of talk. Good. 

“Look Y/N, Taehyung always hangs out with the black frat guys and I think he dated a girl from the Step team,” she notes, “and Namjoon practically can’t keep his eyes away from the black women on this campus and I’m sure Jungkook-”

“Ok, I get it!” I say, “that’s Jimin’s company, but what about him?”

“I can’t tell for sure,” she says, “but the best thing to do would be to talk to him.”

I can only nod as the words get hammered into my head.

   ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Denise’s words, along with Jimin didn’t leave my mind as I sprawled over my messy, paper infested bed. I’m supposed to be reading Pride and Prejudice for my literature class, yet here I am scrolling through Instagram and absentmindedly liking my friend’s posts. 

Jungkook’s recent photo, he’s in front of the Purple Bullet Arcade.He’s dressed in a black hoodie and a beanie with the with one of his sleeves rolled up to show off his impressive muscle. The caption under the picture read: never skip biceps day or half off tokens day at the Purple Bullet Arcade! I mentally roll my eyes, but he’s shouting out the arcade. I got to like for that.

Namjoon’s photo comes next, he’s in a green cardigan with his glasses hanging on the edge of his nose and an open book in front of him. It looks like he’s in the Magic Bean Cafe. Of Course Jin would allow Namjoon to use it as his personal photo-shooting area, being that his parents founded the cafe and that they’re close friends. The caption under Namjoon’s picture read: finals are coming up guys don’t get too caffeinated and keep your heads in your textbooks!  At this point Namjoon is just asking to get roasted. That’s exactly what Yoongi did, another mutual friend of me and Denise.

His response was: no body looks that clean cut while studying, please take your prep school lookin ass back to the library!

It’s difficult not to hold in the laughter as my finger presses the heart to like the comment along with the post. For a good roast and roasting material. I continue to scroll until find Taehyung’s recent post and freeze. 

Taehyung looked flawless as always in his Gucci shirt and black slacks, yet he’s not alone in this one. He’s pictured with his arms around Jimin and Hoseok, both of them wearing baggy sweats and hats with matching logos. The caption under it read: just watched my bestie and his amazing dance partner practice, they’re gonna own this performance next month!  

I like it, of course, along with Hoseok’s comment with hearts and Jimin’s own with multiple smiley faces. My fingers don’t continue my pattern of scrolling however as my thumb hovers over Jimin’s username: ParkJimin_95.

I know Jin said not to bring up Instagram, but he didn’t say not to look at it when I’m alone. I click on his page before I over think  it, instantly regretting soon after.

I remain on his page a bit longer than I expected, fascinated by how stunning he is. The most recent pictures of him has him sporting his familiar silver hair, but his older pictures show him with various different colors: blue, pink, red, orange and black with different filters as well. I quickly scroll back, my heart skipping a beat once I realized that I accidentally followed him. Shit. 

I go to close the app, yet someone’s typing at me. My panic clears a bit once I realize it’s Namjoon. 

Namjoon: Get off instagram and study!

I roll my eyes.

Me: I was taking a break Joon.

Namjoon’s typing again. 

Namjoon: Oh ok, don’t stay on here too long!

Who’s mother does he think he is? No, I shouldn’t roast him, Yoongi already did that for me. Instead I answer back calmly.

Me: Sure mom!

Namjoon doesn’t respond back, good. Another notification pops up for me however and I click to see what it is. 

The notification read: ParkJimin_95 started following you. 

My thumb immediately finds the home button before I place my phone back onto my bed with it’s screen face down. Jimin, Park Jimin just followed me back. Maybe Namjoon is right, I should get back to studying. 

Just looking at Jane Austen’s bored expression on the back of my novel doesn’t get my brain’s wheels turning back towards the productive. Instead I gather up my phone again, it lit it up more Instagram messages: one from Jimin and one from Namjoon.

I ignore the one from Namjoon for now, because I don’t have time to be scolded and peek at the one Jimin sent me.

Jimin: Hey! I remember you from the arcade! So, you’re the infamous Y/N that beat Jungkook all the time.

I stare at the message for a moment, carefully put my phone into sleep mode and not open the message fully to leave him on read.

Maybe Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy can help me get my mind straight after all, cause I can’t seem to respond. At least not right now. 

Fin~Part I

[jjbaconsumedmysoul]

Heeey! If it's not too much trouble could I request the Bucciarati Gang helping their s/o with homework and studying? Since I could use a little help with that too :") (also I love your writing style!!💖)

MY FIRST REQUEST AFTER A LONG HIATUS! YAAAAY! 

Lots of people are getting back into school soon, so here are some loving and supportive gangstars to help motivate you!

Bruno:

The best way Bruno thinks he can help is soft words and encouragement. He’ll gently knock on the door of their room to bring in a cup of tea or a plate of cookies every once and a while, or lunch if they haven’t eaten yet. If he notices they’ve been working for hours on end, he’ll take a seat next to them and begin rubbing their shoulders.

“Amore, you need a break. You won’t get anything done if you push yourself too hard.”

“But Bruno, I need to—”  He hushes them with a gentle kiss, before resting his forehead on theirs.

“You need to relax. It’s a wonderful day outside, how about a walk in the gardens?” Even if his s/o wants to keep studying, they can’t resist Bruno’s charm. Spending an hour or two alone with him wouldn’t hurt…

He also gives the best back rubs. He’ll sit behind his s/o and massage their shoulders and their scalp until they melt into his arms, maybe even falling asleep if they’re tired enough.

Abbaccio:

Abbaccio sees himself as fairly well educated, so he’ll do his best to help his lover with their homework. He’s fairly good at history and literature in particular, and while he may get a bit frustrated if they don’t understand, he’ll do his best to hold the anger in for their sake.

If his s/o is the one to get frustrated however, he’ll encourage them and tell them not to give up.

“I know your strength and I know what you’re capable of. You’re smart and determined and you’re gonna beat this professor’s ass.” For some reason, Abbaccio always treated it like a fight to win, like his s/o has someone to beat and something to prove to themselves. 

He won’t realize they’re tired until they start yawning. Then it hits him, and before they know it Abbaccio has thrown them into bed. 

“You’re not gonna work well without sleep—”“Leone, I—”

“No buts,” He grumbles as he pins them down to the bed. “No more work until you’ve slept…”Despite how cold and hard he usually is, the night is filled with cuddles…

Giorno:

Giorno always did well in school, however, he never finished his education. He’s great at logic, math, sciences, and literature, so he can definitely help out his s/o if they have any trouble in those areas. 

He always makes sure to use positive reinforcement. If they get a question right he’ll gently tap the end of their pen, transforming it into several beautiful violets.  If they get two questions right he’ll give them a quick kiss.

He’ll bring cookies and other treats if they’re getting burned out or take them on a short date if they can’t study any longer.

Mista:

This is. Way beyond his pay grade. There’s no way he’s gonna be able to help with… whatever this crap is. All these numbers and words? He seriously wants to help his s/o but there’s no way he’s ever gonna understand any of this. He’s still gonna try his best though! Maybe they need someone to bounce ideas off of, or maybe to complain about homework to.

He’s an absolute cheerleader though! Every question gets his s/o a kiss on the cheek or the lips or anywhere! He’ll try not to let it get out of control though. Also, he’s surprisingly a pretty good baker, so after a long day of study he might bring in a big slice of homemade cake (with two forks, of course!) and laugh along with them as they watch a rom-com on Netflix together or something. 

After a test, he’s gonna be so thrilled when they come home, scooping them up in a massive hug as he lifts them off the ground. 

“YOU DID IT! CONGRATULATIONS BABE!”

“Guido, I don’t even know how I did! The grades aren’t out yet!”

But he’ll keep hugging them and kissing them and laughing. His s/o is so smart!

Fugo:

Bitch get ready to STUDY! Fugo can get ahead of himself sometimes. His teachers usually asked him to tutor the younger students, as did Bruno with Narancia, though he isn’t always the best… 

He can get a bit frustrated when his student doesn’t understand, but it’s easier with his s/o. At least they aren’t gonna try and pull out a knife on him. So as long as he takes deep breaths and looks into their eyes and remembers how precious they are, how much they deserve, how much he wants to help them achieve their dreams, he’s a great teacher.

He’s the one who’s gonna get burnt out.  He’ll keep pushing and pushing and telling them that he believes in them, that they can do it, and as soon as they turn to him to check to final answer they’ll realize he’s nodded off in his chair. 

His s/o gently tucks him into bed and kisses his forehead after a day of long hard work helping them. 

Narancia:

At first, this poor baby doesn’t understand why his s/o wants to work so hard anyway. School is BORING!!! Math is HAAARD!!! He’ll hug them and kiss them and try to sit on their lap when they’re hard at work.

 But as soon as his s/o sits down with him and explain, he’ll realize why they’re trying so hard. Maybe they want to become a doctor to help save lives, maybe they love learning about the past and want to become a historian, maybe they want to help change the world. He’ll realize they have a higher cause, something worth fighting for. It might almost bring him to tears, his s/o is such an amazing person, he doesn’t deserve someone as talented and as smart as this…

So he’ll do everything he can to make it up to them! He’ll make sure to be quiet then they’re trying to study. He’ll have some of the other boys teach him how to cook sweets for his s/o to surprise them after a day of hard work. If they’re alright with taking a break from studying he might take them to see a movie, or just watch something at home. But, at the end of the day, they always fall asleep in the arms of an overwhelmingly affectionate Narancia.

Trish:

She’s had her fair share of difficulties studying as well, so she knows what it’s like to have a hard time. But she’s filled with encouragement for her hard-working s/o, and is always there to help out if they need it! She’s surprisingly good at math and science, and music theory if they happen to be taking a class in that area, and she’ll always lend a hand if they have trouble understanding the logic behind the equations. She’ll sit next to them on the couch reading a book or listening to something in her earbuds, always keeping her s/o company and ready if they have a question.

But she’ll definitely bug them if she thinks they’ve been studying for too long. 

“Y/n! It’s been three hours, come on,” Trish grabs their hand as she jumps up and down excitedly. “We’re going to the beach!” an ice cream date and a walk along the shore ought to get them to relax!

[alleiradayne]

Crazy Little Thing Called Love

Summary: Elizabeth Andersson is about to get deported back to Sweden, but her dedicated assistant, Dean Winchester, comes up with a solution. Square Filled: Proposal AU Warnings/Tags: I might have totally missed the mark on this square. All fluffs, lots of Queen references because why not. Alcohol consumption. Characters/Pairings: Dean Winchester/Elizabeth Andersson Word Count: 900 A/N: For @spnfluffbingo2019​, this fills the square Proposal AU. Thank you, as always, to @atc74​ for beta’ing. Song: Crazy Little Thing Called Love by Queen

“I think I have to shut down the company.”

That tiny statement played on loop, a broken record intent on ruining everything he had worked for over the last decade. Dean Winchester stared at the center of her desk, unseeing. He had taken a chance on the opportunity of a lifetime. A chance to do some honest work, to get out of the family rut just like Sam had. He had invested over ten years of work into that stroke of luck only to have the rug pulled out from under his feet.

“Dean?” she repeated. “Are you… are you going to be okay? Do you think you could find another job soon? I’d hate to leave you unemployed, but I don’t have much of a choice.”

Dean shook his head as though to clear his rambling thoughts. “What happened?”

“My Visa. I have to go back to Sweden,” she said. “I've been trying to get dual citizenship for years but my number hasn't come up yet and so every year like a good little ex-pat, I renew my work visa. They denied it this year.”

Of course. Why wouldn't bureaucracy fuck him over. “There has to be something we can do.”

She shook her head, stray wisps of her blonde falling loose from her typically perfect coiffure. Dark circles weighed heavy on her eyes and lost was her usual spark, that flame that shined so bright. It pained him to see her that way, vulnerable and defeated. So Dean did what he did best.

“Let's go out,” he said as he stood. “One last happy hour.”

Elizabeth sighed as she motioned to her desk. “I can't, Dean. I've got a mountain of work to do—”

“No, you don't,” he started as he reached across her desk and grasped her hand. “It'll all still be here tomorrow. I promise.”

Her jaw worked as she searched for the excuses. “Alright,” she said with an exasperated huff. “Where are we going?”

“The Amsterdam?” he asked as he held up his fingers in a makeshift A.

Elizabeth stood and grabbed her coat from the nearby rack. “The Amsterdam, as always. Lead the way.”

“I've got an idea,” Dean started, “but I don't think you're gonna like it.”

Elizabeth stared over the rim of her glass as she sipped her whiskey. The heavy crystal thudded on the think oak of the bar as she set it there, then said, “I'm all ears, Dean. You know I love to listen to you talk.”

Great. Dean filled his lungs work a deep breath, then spoke. “Marry me.”

Elizabeth didn't miss a beat, her barking laughter filling the bar and drawing the eyes of other patrons. A few tears even rolled down her cheeks when she regarded him once, then twice, only to break into a further fit of giggles.

After a long, embarrassing minute, Elizabeth noticed his discomfort and quieted. “You were serious.”

After that reaction, Dean wanted little to do with the thought. “I was just joking,” he said with a flippant wave of his hand. “Stupid, really. I mean, we'd have to live together, act like a real couple, go on dates, have sex. Sounds like a lot of work just to—”

His words clipped short when Elizabeth's lips landed on his, and Dean nearly fell off his car stool. But then he was on his feet, pressing between her spread thighs, and she has to push him back lest he fold her right there in the bar.

“I'll marry you, Dean. On one condition,” she said.

He grinned against her lips as he said, “Anything.”

“Tell me you've always loved me,” she demanded. “Tell me it wasn't all in my head and you actually love me.”

Dean wrapped her up in his arms and pulled her to his chest, holding her tight. A trail of kisses placed along her jaw stopped at her ear and Dean spoke.

“I love you, Ms. Andersson. I've loved you for years, since the day we met.” He returned to her lips for a brief kiss, then added. “And it wasn't your legs, or your ass, or your tits, or your lips, or those hazel eyes of yours that seem to change colors on a whim. It was your heart that won me over the first time we talked. Your passion knows no bounds, Elizabeth. I admire that tenacity, that dedication. And if you love me even half as much, I'll die a happy man at the end of my days.”

If Dean knew Elizabeth half as much as he hoped, her underwear would be ruined after that, and she would invite him back to her place. And though she gaped in wide wonder at him, the moment passed as fast as it came. Elizabeth grinned as she asked, “My ass really did nothing for you?”

His hands slid down her back. “Maybe a little.” As his touch smoothed over the supple curve of her ass, he hummed through his nose, more than pleased.

“Well?” she asked.

He licked his lips in anticipation. “Okay, you caught me. I’ve dreamed of your fat bottom,” he sighed. “Imagined my face buried in it, fucking it, grabbing it, slapping it. God, you’re death on two legs. I need you, Liz. You're the love of my life.”

She smiled a coy smirk at him as she said, “Alright, lover boy. Let’s go home.”

Feedback is appreciated! Feel free to reblog, too!

If you want in on any of my tags (Sam/Jared, Dean/Jensen), send me a DM or an ask!

ALLEIRADAYNE’S SPN FLUFF BINGO MASTERLIST

ALLEIRADAYNE’S SPN MASTER LIST

The Whole Thang:

@atc74​  @hannahindie​ @bevans87​  @meganwinchester1999​  @plaided-ani-on-hiatus​  @oneshoeshort​ @jonogueira​ @andkatiethings​ @elfinmox​ @wonderfulworldofwinchester​ @princessofthefandomrealm​  @just-another-busyfangirl​ @jmekitchens​ @81mysteriouslyme​ @dolphincliffs​  @seenashwrite​  @canadianspnhunter​  @meowmeow-motherfucker​ @depressed-moose-78 @staycejo1​ @hobby27​  @pretty-fortune​ @mypopculturediva​ @fanfictionjunkie1112​ @sandlee44​ @4llmywr1tings​ @claitynroberts​ @maddiepants​ @scarletluvscas @donnaintx​ @blackeyedangel9805​ @rainflowermoon​ @winchesterprincessbride​  @lazinessisalliknow​ @the-is13​ @waywardafgrandma​ @keymology​ @sister-winchesters99​

Dean’s Dames (Jensen):

@supernatural-jackles​ @jerkbitchidjitassbutt​ @akshi8278​

[rpf-bat]

Spent My High School Career Spit On And Shoved To Agree

Pairing: Gerard Way x Reader

Genre: High School AU, Romance, Drama

Summary: You find out that a classmate has been picking on your best friend, Gerard. You won’t let this go - even if he tells you, that you should. 

A/N: Guess who came off, like, a year long hiatus from writing, just because I read a really shitty high school AU fic, and thought I could do better? (It me. Sorry for being inactive for so long!)

Trigger warning for bullying/violence, and usage of the f-slur.

You held the paper towel Coach Rickly had given you to your nose, trying not to bleed on your Misfits shirt as you walked to the nurses’ office.

As soon as you entered the clinic, you saw a familiar figure seated on one of the cots.

“Gerard?” you blinked, surprised.

“Y/N?” your friend looked up at you, not expecting you to be here. “Oh geez, what happened to your face?”

“I was in gym class,” you explained. “We were playing dodgeball, and when Ray threw the ball, it hit in me in the face.”

“Oh no,” Gerard grimaced.

“It was an accident,” you shrugged. “He apologized like six times, he felt really bad. I told him I’d be ok.”

“I hope so,” Gerard replied.

“More importantly,” you asked, “what are you doing here?”

Gerard lifted up his shaggy hair, revealing a black, bruised left eye.

“What happened?” you gasped.

“Matt happened,” Gerard sighed.

“Matt, from French class?” you guessed.

“Yeah,” Gerard confessed. “The, uh, the school play is coming up. It’s a musical this year. The tryouts are today, so I was in the boys’ bathroom, practicing my singing. Matt came in, and he heard my falsetto, and started making fun of me. Said only fags sing that high. And then his friend was like, I bet if you kick him in the dick, you can make that pansy boy sing even higher. So, Matt kicked me, and I tried to fight back, and then his friend punched me in the face.”

You saw red.

 “I’m going to kick Matt’s ass,” you growled. How dare he bully your friend like this! You were going to make him pay.

“Y/N, don’t….” Gerard protested. “I just….I’m just gonna wait for the nurse to come back with that ice pack for my eye, and then I’m going to back to class. And so should you. Just forget about it.”

“I can’t forget about it!” you insisted. “Matt’s a douchebag! I won’t let him get away with hurting you!”

“Don’t get in trouble on my account,” Gerard argued.

“I don’t care if I’m in trouble,” you fumed. “You’re my friend, Gee. I hate the way people at this school treat you. You don’t deserve it. I’m sorry that I wasn’t there to protect you.”

“It’s not your fault that we don’t have fourth period together,” Gerard shrugged. “And it’s not your job to defend me. Guys are supposed to be able to defend themselves….I just need to get stronger.”

“You don’t need to change anything about yourself.” You loved Gerard for the chubby, nerdy, soft boy that he was. He wasn’t like all the other boys in this shitty New Jersey town. Nothing was wrong with him.

Something was very wrong with the system, that allowed a popular kid like Matt to get away with this. But, you were going to fix that, and god damn the consequences.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

You found Matt at lunch, sitting with his goon friends from the football team. You stormed right up to his table, rage in your eyes.

“Hey asshole,” you glared. “I heard you beat up my friend.”

“Who, the little poof from the art club?” Matt chuckled.

“His name is Gerard,” you snapped.

“I don’t care what his name is,” Matt shrugged. “He’s a fucking weirdo. Putting on lipstick in the bathroom mirror, singing some fag song about being a ‘sweet transvestite’….does he want to be a chick or something? Wasn’t sure his dick was actually there til I kicked it.”

His friend high-fived him, as if this was the funniest joke he’d heard all day. You weren’t laughing. You grabbed Matt by the collar, pulling him out of his seat.

“Hey, let me go, you psycho!” Matt protested.

“Eat me,” you swore, and punched him directly in the face, knocking him backwards.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Matt screamed, getting back up, and launching himself at you. You dodged his punch, and kicked him in the shin, sending him tumbling  back onto the cafeteria floor.

“Guys, help me!” Matt cried, and his friend (probably the one who had blackened Gerard’s eye) leaped up from the table and punched you in the mouth.

You tasted blood - the lip had split. You didn’t care. Still fueled by rage, you punched Matt’s friend in the gut. He cried out in pain.

“Miss Y/N!” you heard a horrified voice scold, and you whipped around to see the principal standing in front of you. “What on earth are you doing?!”

Shit, you thought. I’m in trouble.

“My office,” the principal barked. “Now.”

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

Ultimately, you were given three days of suspension. Matt didn’t get suspended along with you, which you thought was bullshit. But, you weren’t really sorry for what you had done.

Your folks had grounded you, when they found out what you did. But, three days sitting at home watching zombie movies while they were at work, still wasn’t all that bad.

You were halfway through Dawn Of The Dead when you heard a knock at your front door. You hit pause, wondering who it could be.

You looked through the peephole and saw Gerard standing on your doorstep.

It’s four o clock, you realized. School must have just gotten out. He came straight here to see me?

He really was the sweetest friend a girl could have. You opened the door to let him in.

“Hey, Gerard,” you greeted. “How’s your eye doing?”

“The bruising’s gone down,” he shrugged, shuffling awkwardly into your foyer. “How’s your lip? I heard you got hurt, trying to….avenge me.”

“I’m fine, Gee,” you assured him, shutting the door behind you. “Don’t worry about me.”

“But, I am worried!” he said, and you realized he sounded near tears. “I….I wasn’t man enough to fight my own battles, and so you got dragged into it, too. And he hurt you.”

“You don’t have to ‘be a man’, Gee,” you sighed. “You’re just a sixteen year old kid. The adults - the teachers - they should do something about all the bullying that goes on at our school. They should try and help you.”

“They don’t care, Y/N,” Gerard frowned. “Matt is the teacher’s fucking favorite, he’s the MVP, Homecoming King, whatever, and I’m just some weird loser….”

“You’re not a loser,” you insisted, grabbing Gerard and pulling him into a tight hug. “You’re amazing, Gee. You draw, and you sing, better than anybody else I know. You’re special. They just don’t know you like I do.”

“I’m not special,” Gerard mumbled, pushing you away. “The drama teacher probably won’t even give me the role of Frank N. Furter. She’s gonna tell me I suck.”

“You don’t suck!” you reassured him. “You can get that role!”

“Even if I did,” he argued, “prancing around onstage, in that costume, would just make people like Matt, make fun of me even more.”

“Who cares what they think?” you scoffed. “Gee, listen to me. Two more years at this piece of shit school, and then you’re gonna graduate, and you can finally get out of this town. You’ll get into a good art school in New York. I know you will. And in the big city, people will appreciate what you can do. They’ll be more accepting, of people who are different.”

“They keep calling me gay,” Gerard frowned. “I mean, there’s nothing wrong with being gay, but, I....”

He blushed and trailed off.

“But, you do like girls,” you supplied.

“I’ll never get a girlfriend,” Gerard mumbled self-loathingly. “What girl is gonna want a fat wimp who can’t even defend himself? Who hides behind a girl, like a coward?”

“I chose to fight Matt,” you reminded him, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder.“You didn’t make me do this for you. As I recall, you told me not to.”

“I knew you were going to get in trouble,” Gerard said, looking up into your eyes. “You’re suspended from school, because of me.”

“I’d do it again, in a heartbeat,” you confessed. “I care about you a lot, Gee. I couldn’t stand to see what he did to you, and just do nothing.”

Gerard turned red again, and looked away. “I, uh, I brought you the notes from French class, that you missed today,” he stammered.

“Thank you,” you replied gratefully.

“There’s going to be a test the day you come back,” he reminded. “So, you’ll need to study while you’re stuck here.”

“I will,” you nodded. “I appreciate the heads up.”

Gerard looked around your living room awkwardly, unsure what to say next.

“Since you’re here,” you asked, “do you want to watch the rest of this movie with me? It’s your favorite.”

“Your folks won’t mind?” Gerard asked uncertainly.

“Oh, they won’t be home for a few more hours,” you shrugged.

“Were they really mad,” Gerard wondered, “when they found out, that you got suspended, for getting in a fight?”

“A little,” you winced. “They confiscated my car keys. And my phone.”

“Oh!” Gerard realized. “That’s why you didn’t answer me, when I tried to call you last night?”

“My phone’s been off since yesterday,” you frowned. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s ok, I’m….actually kind of relieved,” Gerard admitted. “I was worried you weren’t answering, because you were mad at me.”

“Never,” you said gently. “You’re my best friend, Gerard. I couldn’t possibly stay mad, or blame you, for something like this. I was the dumbass who decided to fight him in the middle of the cafeteria! Whatever consequences I get...that’s on me, not you. Okay?”

“Okay,” Gerard smiled, sounding like he was feeling a bit better. He sat down on your couch. “Let’s watch some zombies eat people.”

You grinned, and unpaused the classic Romero movie.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

As the credits rolled, Gerard sat up straight and turned to you.

“Y/N….” he began nervously.

“Yeah?” you smiled. “What is it, Gee?”

“So, the day after your suspension is over,” Gerard said quietly, “is also the day of the school dance.”

“Are you planning on going this year?” you asked. “I think it was pretty fun last year, when we went with a big group of friends. I know Frank got in trouble for spiking the punch bowl, but…”

“I don’t want to go with friends this year,” Gerard interrupted.

“Oh?” you blinked. “Is there a girl that you’re going to ask, to be your prom date?”

“I shouldn’t even bother,” Gerard sighed. “Never mind.”

“What do you mean?” you frowned, looking over at him. You wished he had more self confidence. “You’re really cute, Gerard. I’m sure if you ask a girl, she’d be happy to go with you.”

“I’m...cute?” Gerard repeated, like he didn’t believe the words he was hearing.

You looked him over again. His long, soft-looking hair. His big, strong hands. His squeezably chubby cheeks. He really was a cute boy. Secretly, you’d thought that for a long time.

You leaned in closer, and his face reddened.

“Gerard,” you said, almost in a whisper, as you looked into his hazel eyes, “is there something that you want to ask me?”

“I….I can’t,” he blushed.

“Well, then, I can,” you smirked, leaning over so you were almost touching him. “Gerard, will you go to prom with me?”

“Y/N, I…..”

“Not as friends this time,” you clarified, a long-hidden attraction in your eyes. “As a date.”

“Yes,” Gerard whispered hoarsely. “Yes. I never thought you would say that, but, yes, please!”

You closed the gap between you, kissing him on his stunned mouth. He didn’t move at first. It was as if he was waiting for you to tell him, that this was all some kind of sick joke.

But when he realized this was real, you wanted him, his mouth responded to yours eagerly, and he pulled you closer, into his lap.

“No matter what Matt, or anyone, says,” you gasped, coming up for air, “you are so handsome, Gerard, and so talented, and one day, the world will appreciate you for who you are.”

You pressed him down into the couch cushions, enjoying the redness in his cheeks and the desire in his eyes. You thought he was beautiful - and you were certain that one day, you would be far from the only one.

[saltyspaceboi]

Just a Reddie thing

(I am still figuring out my writing style. Please be gentle with any criticisms you may have) 

Warning Angst-ish stuff. 

Part 1.

The first show Richie did after it happened was in Little Rock, Arkansas. He had performed there once or twice before never with much of a turnout. The local population tended to drift towards more Blue Collar comedy or would rather listen to that puppet guy tell the same ten jokes he’s been telling for the past decade. Although the arena he would perform at wasn’t small by any means, he figured he wouldn’t get much of a crowd.  Especially since he’d taken a nearly eight-month hiatus with no warning and had barely spoken to anyone let alone been active on social media throughout that time. 

As expected it was a small crowd. They laughed at his jokes and his impressions and he did his best not to make it obvious how much he didn’t want to be there.

His manager clapped him on the back and congratulated him as soon as it was over, so he figured he didn’t fuck it up too bad. He smiled and laughed and cracked his jokes over a fast-food dinner with his manager and some of the roadies, but looking closely would show you that a smile never reached his eyes. No one ever really looked closely. It wasn’t as if these people actually knew him. He was friendly with them, had been on the road with them too many times to count and yet... They couldn’t even tell anything was off.  

 There was a rock in Richie’s shoe. Just a small pebble, annoying and bothersome. Yet he didn’t stop to take it out. He ended up finding some use to it.  Anytime the conversation left enough room for his mind to wander and he found himself thinking about Derry at all, Richie would simply apply pressure to that pebble and have it dig painfully into his heel. Maybe he could train himself not to think at all. 

  No one asked any additional questions when he lied and said he had been gone on some emergency family business. He felt alone no matter who he was with anymore. 

It was nearly 3 in the morning when Richie finally gave up on trying to sleep in the hotel bed.  He threw on some clothes, not looking or caring what he looked like, and walked out. He decided he might as well explore while he was here.  It had looked gray and ugly on the drive in from the airport, but the thought of trying to sleep sounded as unappealing as going to the gym. 

There were only a few people dotting the streets. He could hear people laughing in the distance, music playing from some bar nearby, car horns far away. 

The air was cool and smelled like cigarettes and rain. He took a deep breath and started walking. Richie had no earthly idea where the hell he was going, but he felt like he had to go somewhere. Get away. He didn’t know what he was trying to get away from, but he had to get away. 

He came across a park alongside the river. There were some pretty neat sculptures that he paused to ponder over for a few moments. There was a little tunnel made of vines and plants that was interesting enough. He paused before walking into it. There were lamps on the inside so it wasn’t too dark or creepy. He just paused, looking into it. For some reason, it made him uneasy. As if things wouldn’t be the same on the other side. He shook his head and scoffed to himself, then entered. He could see glimpses of light from streetlamps peeking through the foliage.  He reached the other ended quicker than he thought he would, and again, he hesitated. Looking out at the dimly lit world from inside this well-lit tunnel filled him with some kind of anxiety that he couldn’t quite describe.

“For fuck's sake Rich, it’s just a stupid tunnel.” He mumbled to himself. Yet he still waited a few moments before he finally took that step to the other side. Nothing felt any different. The world was still the same on this side as it was on the other.  Richie rolled his eyes at himself. He could imagine Stanley rolling his eyes too if he were there.  Richie adjusted his foot and dug that pebble into his foot. 

“Stan’s not here.” He reminded himself. 

The voice in the back of his mind then cruelly reminded him, “Neither is Eddie.”

He dug that damn pebble deeper into his foot. 

He kept walking. Gotta get away.  

There was a jungle-gym on the other side. Richie didn’t even think, he just started to climb.  He looked out over the river from atop the jungle-gym and watched city lights dance upon the water.  For a moment everything was calm, quiet, almost perfect.  It was at that moment Richie’s chest heaved as he tried to choke back a sob. He took off his glasses and tried to wipe away tears that were suddenly flowing.  His heart ached and he cried until he caught his breath again.  Shutting up and regaining his composure as he heard a group of people approaching.

Richie dried his face with his sleeve and took several deep breaths before climbing down. It was just a handful of college kids, they smelled strongly of weed and alcohol.  Richie pulled up his hood, avoided eye contact, and started walking again. 

He eventually came upon an area next to the river, he leaned against the railing and shut his eyes, sighing deeply. 

“What the fuck is going on with me?” he whispered. He was so confused and felt so goddamn alone.  He stood there for a long time before he finally opened his eyes again. 

He pulled his phone from his pocket and stared at it, wondering if he should text someone. 

He could message Beverly. She was always the first person he thought of texting when he got like this. Richie missed her. She was always the one who knew what to say.  If Stan were still around, Richie would bet that he would be the first person he would have texted, but Beverly probably had better advice than Stan would have ever had anyways. 

Richie typed a message. 

“Hey, Bev” was all it said. Richie’sthumb hovered over the send key. It was late, maybe he shouldn’t.  He sent it anyway and for a moment felt selfish for doing it.  He moved to put his phone away but was surprised to have Beverly text back almost immediately. 

“Are you gonna make it down here tonight?”  It read. Richie squinted and reread the message. 

“What?” he sent back.

“You don’t know?” 

“Know what? You going crazy Bev?” Richie typed quickly. He waited for her to explain what the hell she was talking about. Maybe she thought he was someone else? Maybe she was in some kind of sleep delirium. 

“Call Mike.” She replied. Richie bit his lip and typed out a response. He didn’t send it. Beverly would probably just give him the same answer. She was stubborn like that. 

Richie rolled his eyes the way Stan used to do and dialed Mike Hanlon’s number.

All he got was a busy signal, so he sighed and hung up. He opened up messenger to text Beverly again. 

“Are you high right now? wtf is going on?” He typed out. Just as he sent the message, his phone rang. “Mike Hanlon, Do NOT Answer”  lit up his screen, Richie almost laughed as he had forgotten that was what he had set to be Mike’s caller ID.

“Hello?” Richie answered. 

“Richie? It’s Mike.”

“Yeah I know who you are genius,” Richie teased, “Is something going on, I texted Bev and she told me to call you. I’m not sure if she’s going wacko or if y’all are just partying without me or someth-”

“Richie.” Mike cut him off. The seriousness in his tone turned Richie’s blood to ice. 

The silence between them seemed to be an eternity long, as Richie tried to gather words to ask. 

“Is... Is it back?” Richie asked. 

“What? No! It’s not that.” Mike said. 

“Then what the hell is going on? Are you guys doing drugs or something?” 

“Richie... You need to get back down here.”

“Hell no!” Richie said. No way was he going back to Derry. He was fairly certain he never even wanted to set foot in Maine again. 

“It’s Eddie,” Mike said. 

Richie froze.  His heart lept into his throat. 

“Don’t fuck around with me like that, Mike. Tell me what the fuck’s going on before I hop on a plane just to come beat your ass.” Richie said through clenched teeth. How dare Mike try and use Eddie against him like that. How could he-?

“I’m not fucking with you,” Mike said, “They, found him. Please, I can’t explain it over the phone, you just have to come down here.” Mike begged. 

Richie gritted his teeth and hung up. He sank to his knees and started to cry again.  This time not caring if anyone saw and not trying to stop it. Sobs washed over him like a tide. He buried his fingers in his hair, trying to ground himself.  That pebble, that goddamn fucking pebble was digging into him again. 

In a hot fury, Richie ripped off his shoe and grabbed that little fucker. He reared back and threw the sucker as far as he could into the river. 

“He’s gone.” Richie sobbed, “He’s fucking gone, please just let me forget again! Why can’t I forget?” He cried. Begging whatever bullshit god might fucking exist. 

He drew in a shaking breath and tried again to stop crying. 

His phone was ringing. 

“Mike Hanlon, Do NOT Answer.” Flashed across the screen. 

Against his better judgment, Richie answered. 

“What the fuck do you want?” Richie’s voice broke. 

“Richie, Please listen to me.” Mike’s voice pleaded. 

“Don’t...” Richie tried to swallow the lump in his throat, “Don’t try and tell me he’s there. Don’t try and tell me we left him down there alone.  He... He can’t be,  He’s- Eddie he’s...“ Richie couldn’t speak further. He covered his mouth. He didn’t want Mike to hear him cry.  

“Don’t believe me, then come down here and see for yourself,” Mike said.  Richie hung up again. This time he didn’t answer when Mike called again.  Richie put his phone on silent and tugged his shoe back on. 

He adjusted himself and started walking briskly back to his hotel. 

It’s a trick. It’s some dirty trick. There’s no way. 

Richie wiped his eyes and adjusted his glasses as he walked. He headed straight up to his room and fell into his bed. He didn’t bother removing his clothes. He knew he wasn’t going to sleep anyways. 

Richie simply gripped onto a pillow and cried some more.  It must have been an hour before he looked at his phone again. 

17 missed calls.  15 from “Mike Hanlon Do NOT Answer”, and 2 from “Bev.” 

There were several text messages too. Richie shoved the phone under the pillow without looking at any of them. 

“It’s a trick. It’s some dirty rotten trick. It’s a trick, you bet your fur it is.” Richie kept repeating to himself. He got up and went to shower. Maybe it would help. 

It didn’t.  He got out of the shower and almost robotically put his clothes back on.  Then he packed his things up, went downstairs and checked out of the hotel, and got an Uber to take him straight to the airport. 

“It’s a trick,” He kept thinking, but that didn’t stop him from purchasing a red-eye flight to Tennesse, from there he could catch a flight to New York and finally go to Maine from there. He didn’t look at his phone until he got to New York the next morning. 

He had 8 more missed calls. 4 from “Mike Hanlon, Do NOT Answer” 2 from “Bev” 1 from “Ben Hanscom” and 1 from “Can’t write for shit Bill”

Richie had put that in as his contact for Bill Denbrough purely because Bill had been watching him do it and knew it would annoy the shit out of him. 

Richie was sitting in the New York airport terminal, waiting for the final flight, when he texted Mike. 

“Where are you guys?” 

Mike replied with the address and after a moment sent another message.

“Are you coming?”

Richie thought about making a sex joke, but instead just turned his phone off. Not wanting to look at any of the worrying messages Bev or anyone else had sent him.

“It’s a trick.” He said to himself. “It’s a trick and you’re probably gonna wind up dead.” but he never turned back, and didn’t hesitate when he boarded the next flight. 

“Well if it isn’t a trick, somebody owes me money for this shit.” he thought. 

He chuckled a bit at the thought.  Then as he strapped into his seat and waiting again for a final flight, he whispered, 

“Please don’t be a trick.”

[bucky-at-bedtime]

It Could Be Worse

Pairing: Bucky x Fem!Reader (friends to lovers)

Summary: You think there’s an intruder in your apartment – turns out it’s Bucky and embarrassment ensues. 

Warnings: Second-hand embarrassment, whoops. Also nakedness. and making out. It’s wild. 

A/n: I don’t really know what this is but... here you go?? It’s a bit of fun, I promise. Also, this is just a short break from the hiatus while I had inspiration – we’ll see if it stays lmao. 

Wednesday

It was early – not even 7am – but the sun had woken you up, just moments before your alarm. You had hopped into the shower immediately, letting the warm water run across your sore muscles and making an effort to wake up.

You were about to get out, when you thought you heard your front door open.

Through a haze of steam and sleepiness, you sprung into action. At this point in your life, you’d learned to keep a gun in almost every room of your apartment – being an Avenger was wild. You stepped out of the shower, pushing your wet hair back and pulling a towel around yourself, before opening the bottom drawer and pulling out the ‘bathroom gun’.

You left the shower running, hoping the intruder wouldn’t hear you coming as you tiptoed down the hall, gun up in front of you, safety off and fingers hovering above the trigger. You could hear your heart pumping in your ears, knowing it was possible that you were about to walk into a gang of Hydra agents or thugs – once again, being an Avenger? Wild.

You turned into the kitchen, finger twitching over the trigger as you noticed the shadow standing at your open fridge, and as they turned to face you, you jumped into action – but the rushed movements of bringing the gun up to aim, caused you to lose your grip on the towel.

“Oh, my god! Bucky!” you scrambled for the towel at your feet, pulling it up to cover as much of your naked body as possible, clutching tightly at the edges. “What the hell are you doing here?!”

You didn’t need to ask – as soon as you realised it was him, you remembered what day it was. Wednesday. The day Bucky picks you up to get coffee. Definitely, not an intruder.

“Uh– I… shit, I’m sorry, the door– I mean it was unlocked and–” he was rambling, stuttering like he always did when he was nervous. A deep shade of red had saturated his cheeks as he turned away, running his hands through his hair. “I thought I’d just… wait for you here– I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t ‘ve– I didn’t see anything.”

It was a lie. You both knew it was a lie. He had seen everything. He basically had to battle himself to tear his eyes away – your bare skin made his heart jump from his chest, but you had no idea that your hold in him was as tight as your newfound grip on that towel. He thought the words might give you some comfort. He also didn’t want to admit how much the brief glimpse at your bare body affected him.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s... fine. Not completely your fault.” You clicked the safety of your gun back on and placed it down on the kitchen bench with a sigh. “I’m gonna go... get dressed.”

He groaned when your bedroom door shut behind you and fell back onto one of the seats in the kitchen, running his hands over his face. He was pretty sure he was never gonna get that image out of his head.

Monday

That was all it took – a brief moment of embarrassment, and now you would hardly even look at Bucky. He had tried, at first, to make normal conversation – asking you for new Netflix recommendations and bringing you cups of tea like he used to – but there was always something off. You had stopped making eye contact, and even when you did, it wasn’t the same. He was pretty sure he’d ruined a perfectly good friendship.

Sam was sick of hearing him complain.

“Dude, if you don’t shut up about her, I’m going to jump out of a plane. Without my wings.”

“Please do,” Bucky grumbled back, throwing another punch at the bag.

“I’ll tell you what needs to happen – she needs to get even.”

“What’re you talking about?”

“Oh come on – it happens in TV shows. She just needs to see you naked, and everything will fall back into place.” Sam stopped, tipping his head back to take a gulp of water and wiping the sweat from his face with his t-shirt. “Maybe she’ll even like what she sees,” he smirked, sending Bucky a wink.

Bucky flushed in embarrassment (he seemed to be doing that a lot these days) and turned back to pick up his own water bottle. “That’s so dumb. That would just make things worse.”

“I thought you said things couldn’t get any worse.”

“Well, you seem to have found the one way they could.” Bucky hiked his gym bag over his shoulder, rolling his eyes at Sam.  “I’m going to hit the showers and head home – you and Steve still coming ‘round for the game tonight?”

“As long as you have beer in your fridge.”

Sam almost didn’t notice the middle finger that Bucky held up as he disappeared into the change rooms.

It was only a few moments later that you waltzed into the gym, ready to train. Sam spotted you immediately and a cheeky smile made its way to his face. He had a plan.

“Hey! What’re you doing?”

You gave him a confused look, raising an eyebrow. “Working out?” you deadpanned, changing direction to walk towards him.

“You said you wanted to learn how to box properly, right? You want a quick lesson?”

You knew how to punch – of course, you knew how to punch. You’d learned a lot of different fighting styles in your life, but never classic boxing. You figured it could be useful when your sparring with the others who knew it.

“Uh, yeah, why not?” you dropped your bag beside his, smiling thankfully at him. “You got spare gloves?”

He smirked – mission success, but you missed it, glancing around at the boxing ring and punching bags. You were excited to learn something new, and glad it was Sam teaching you. You knew if it was Bucky, you wouldn’t be able to focus.

“Yeah, they’re just in the locker room – I don’t think anyone’s in there.”

You started for the change rooms, oblivious to the running shower that had just shut-off, already trying to pump yourself up to train. You failed to notice the lump of clothes on the floor, or the bad sitting on one of the benches.

When you turned the corner, glancing behind a few shelves, you felt the air escape your lungs.

It was as if you had both frozen. Your eyes were wide and your mouth had dropped open, unable to tear your eyes away or even move. You were in a state of shock. Bucky’s hands were loosely holding onto long strands of hair, not even moving to cover himself out of complete surprise.

And then everything clicked.

He spun, hands covering his crotch. You got an eyeful of his perfect ass before you turned away, bringing your own hands up to your temples. Your heart was beating fast and you were saturated in embarrassment.

“Oh! Oh my god, that’s your– Bucky, you’re…” You felt heat rushing to your face and squeezed your eyes shut in embarrassment.

There had never been any doubt in your mind that Bucky would look good with his clothes off, but seeing it in the flesh was so much better than you could ever imagine. Even after turning away, the image was seared in your mind – the glistening droplets of water clinging to his smooth skin, the defined muscles along his abdomen and the cut V-line leading right down to–

“What are you doing in here?!”

You tried to blink away the image, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Holy shit I’m sorry– Sam said there was no one in here and I was just coming to grab– y’know what? I’m just gonna go.”

The roles had suddenly been reversed – you were the one struggling through your words, the one stuttering over an apology while Bucky scrambled for a towel, or some shorts, or something.

You found yourself practically running from the locker room, still too shocked to respond to Sam’s faux confusion. You raced out the door. You really needed some fresh air. Or a cold shower.

You had almost made it to the elevator when you heard Bucky’s footsteps – he was running after you, and as you glanced back, you saw him haphazardly pull a t-shirt over his head, not seeming to care that it was on backwards.

You anxiously pressed the down button, praying that the doors would just open before Bucky got there. You almost cheered in excitement when they opened, allowing you to slip inside. But you did not account for how long they would take to close.

The first thing you saw was Bucky’s metal fingers, curling around the side of the door. His body followed, cheeks flushed red with embarrassment. His hair was messed up, wild and still damp from his short run.

“Stop,” he huffed, holding his hands up as a sign of surrender, “You have to stop running away from me.”

You turned away from him again, running your hands across your face. God, you couldn’t look at him without wanting to jump his bones.

Bucky, on the other hand, couldn’t stop looking at you – even with your clothes on, you were the most beautiful, irresistible thing he had ever seen. He realised how much he missed your smile – the one that used to warm up a room. He missed the look in your eyes when you looked at him.

Silence had fallen in the elevator, an awkward intensity filled the small metal box, but Bucky knew he had to fix this. He couldn’t live like this. He took slow steps towards you, a gentle hand on your shoulder prompted you to turn around.

“Look at me,” he mumbled.

He was close. You could practically feel the warmth radiating off his chest. You realised you were staring at his chin – the stubble there was far less confronting than his eyes and you knew if you looked any further down, that image would pop back into your head. You couldn’t have that – not when he’s standing this close.

“Please.”

Your eyes squeezed shut and you took a deep breath, trying to gain the courage to meet his gaze. When you finally opened your eyes, you were staring straight into his, and you were starting to think that was worse than seeing him naked. A shaky breath escaped your lips.

“I know it’s awkward – the last few days have been… so awkward.” He shook his head slightly, but didn’t take his eyes off you. “But it doesn’t have to be so weird between us. Ever since… the incident, things have been… off. And I’m pretty sure Sam just made it so much worse, and I’m planning on beating his ass for that but–”

“I hate not being able to talk to you. I hate not making you smile and I miss what we had– whatever that was.” his hands were suddenly on your arms, warm fingers brushing against your skin. You could feel yourself giving in, and with his final words, you were lost. “I miss you.”

You weren’t sure how it happened, but suddenly your lips were on his. Your fingers were tangled into his hair and you were pulling him down towards you. He froze, but when he realised what was happening, he basically melted into you an arm encircled your waist, pulling your body closer to his.

One hand stayed tangled in his air while the other moved to his shoulder, pushing him back against the elevator wall. Your fingers ran across his chest and the image of his naked body flashed in your mind and suddenly every touch, every brush of his fingers was like a fire on your skin, burning through your body like a shot of expensive tequila.

With a sharp intake of breath, you pulled away, one hand still on his chest.

“Woah,” he whispered, wetting his lips.

The elevator doors opened with a quiet ‘ding’ and you allowed your hand to drop. He pushed himself up from the wall and you both stepped out into the lobby. You were both buzzing from the kiss – Bucky could’ve sworn his entire body had been dipped in ice the moment your lips left his.

You adjusted your shirt and he ran a hand through his hair – but you knew neither of you looked presentable at this moment. Bucky’s short was still on backwards from his rushed exit. Neither of you said a word until you got out of the building, the fresh air seemed to snap you out of your trance.

You reached out, entangling your fingers with his metal ones and pulling him to a halt. The traffic rushed past behind you and his hair fluttered in the breeze. You could feel yourself getting lost in his eyes again and you had to look away to get the next words out.

“Okay, I know this usually happens before two people see each other naked and make-out in an elevator… but, would you want to get coffee?”

“Like, a date?” He sounded shocked, and you couldn’t believe that after that kiss, he didn’t expect this.

“Yeah,” you confirmed, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth. “A date.”

“Are you serious? Because I thought you hated me after I… well y’know. And then things were awkward and fuckin’ Sam made it worse. I thought for sure–”

He stopped rambling when you leaned towards him, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek.

“I really don’t hate you, James.” you finally looked up at him again, your own face echoing the smile on his lips. “Especially after, uh… seeing everything.”

A chuckle escaped his lips and he threw his head back in amusement. “Oh, so that’s the real reason you asked me out?” he joked.

“Let’s just say its the… encouragement, I needed.”

Tags:

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[hellholland]

A headcanon of Tom dating a shy reader who is his co star and has anxiety?

aww yessss! this is a long one so buckle up. the beginning is more meeting/getting together and the bottom part is more of the headcanons/anxiety-related things

• you and tom initially met at the screen testing of their movie

• tom was cast a little bit before you were. you already knew about that and it scared the shit out of her because she was newer to the big movie scene than he was

• you were over the moon when you found out you were cast, both a little anxious and excited• ”is gonna be a douchebag???” “what if he doesn’t like me?” “will they recast me?” a LOT of self doubt and concerns about tom

• once you arrived on set to work on a few testing scenes and green-screen stuff, harrison was the first to greet you. tom was running late, somehow

• “what if that messes up our schedule? is he gonna get in trouble?” you said that out loud, much to your dismay. you were thinking too fast because of how anxious you were about filming

• this was one of your first big movies, let alone a movie with a marvel star? “if he’s a dick or something goes wrong, it could wreck everything, especially if we don’t have chemistry” - your internal monologue, repeatedly. your mind rambled through all of the worst outcomes

• harrison had this weird look in his eye when you didn’t readily accept the fact he was late just because iTs tOm HoLlAnD

• turns out that weird look was some prophetic thing. he knew you and tom were gonna get along

• tom arrived to set twenty minutes with tessa and a latte for dogs

• he rambles to the director, who’s slightly unhappy with this “i’m really sorry i just saw the ad for it and i got so excited-“

• he didn’t notice you standing by at first because of how apologetic he was for being late

• this settled your nerves a bit because what a fucking dork move. you loved it

• “oh, oh my god! you’re (y/n), right?” “uh yeah, tom?” “nice to meet you!”

• he hugged you instead of shaking hands

• the first few days were awkward banter, but he still was really warm and welcoming person, constantly trying to make you feel happy and at-home with everyone

• going out w/ the cast and posting pictures was common. fans started commenting on how “close” you two looked

• tom really liked trying to make you laugh during serious scenes. once, instead of sitting on the chair behind his desk like the blocking told him to, he ran, jumped and slid over it while you followed him into the fake office

• he biffed it. bitch almost got another broken nose

• you almost got a panic attack from how much his nose was bleeding but he ended up being the one calming you down until you laughed again

• here comes stunt filming

• you told the team you’d do your own stunts. you wanted to go out of your way and try new stuff

• anxiety made that really, really hard. you felt like a lot of your childhood wasn’t spent like it should be. you missed out on a lot because of how severe it was and you told yourself at the beginning of 2018 you’d make it up to yourself

• nevertheless, as soon as they strapped you in the harness you started breathing really shallow. you felt constricted rather than safe

• you didn’t say anything. your throat was so dry you felt like you couldn’t anyway

• you were supposed to fall off a platform, cling onto the edge for a few seconds then fall twenty-something feet till the harness stopped you. there was protective stuff underneath in case something went wrong, but you were almost crying

• heights weren’t your favorite. you did it anyways, after about ten minutes of pacing and tom coming out of his trailer to encourage you

• he only vaguely knew of your anxiety. he didn’t know you were shooting the scene on your own till he came out, which instantly got him worried for you

• “hey, i’ll catch you if you fall!” “yeah?” you yelled back, mustering up the humor to give him a half-hearted smile “yeah, but only if you’re falling in love!”

• you laughed. and blushed. shit.

• “i think i like him?” “took you long enough to figure it out,” harrison replied, sipping his coffee

• anyway the same day of the falling-stunt, something went wrong with the rope and you fell further than what they told you. you fell into the tall mesh/foam pads but it caused a full blown panic attack. you weren’t expecting it

• you couldn’t move, but your heart was beating so fast you thought it’d pump too much blood and you might die

• you were just frozen, waiting for your body to register what happened

• in the meantime, your brain was kind of on fire. your head felt hot and you were getting dizzy just laying down

• “hey, hey, (y/n)” tom’s familiar voice rung out and you felt a weight beside you, fumbling to unclip the metal bit from your harness. “that was terrifying, but you’re still here, yes?” he spoke in a really calm voice, slowly lifting you off the landing and getting you to the ground

• the set and staff were scrambling to fix things, people were apologizing left and right

• you could move again, but you didn’t want to talk. everything was blurry.

• he walked you into his trailer, where harrison was laying around. you faintly remember them talking about whether or not you were okay

• you sat down on tom’s bed in the back area of the trailer, tom looking at you worriedly from the doorway.

• you started to cry and shake a lot

• while it was an awful feeling, at the same time you were grateful you could make sound again

• “okay love, it’s alright,” tom murmured, sitting on the bed to hold you and kiss the top of your head

• after a solid fifteen minutes of sobbing into his chest, you fell asleep

• unbeknownst to you, harrison came in to talk to tom

• “you’re really whipped for her, huh?”

• “i guess you could say that,” tom replied quietly, rubbing circles into your back

• fast forward two months. you’re shooting the final scene, which includes a kissing scene

• …but not between you and tom.

• you were getting really worked up over it. the actor was nice enough but you weren’t close

• tom was no where to be seen, even though you had to shoot more stuff together right after the kiss

• eventually you got it over with, after a couple takes

• that’s right, a couple. you felt a little light headed but managed to to go knock on tom’s door

• “come in” “hey, i haven’t seen you around. what’s up?” you asked as you poke your head in. “nothing,” he replied with an offbeat tone. he was on his phone, not looking up

• “sounds like you’ve got a stick up your ass today, holland”

• tom looked up with a very confused look on his face. “since when did you talk like that?”

• “since i started being honest with other people and myself.”

• tom swore in the moment you held that cheeky grin on your face was when he fell in love with you

• but of course he didn’t say anything. he didn’t express he was bitter about your kissing scene. he was scared of brutally honest communication, yet you weren’t.

• this was odd, even to you, that you were so willing to say that to his face. you had no malicious intentions, you just wanted to get him to open up. you were feeling comfortable around him now. (it used to be you almost had an anxiety attack if he made a joke about you, to you. you’d read too far into it and think he hated you)

• “i finished ‘the big scene today,’” you sighed as you sat down next to him. he was still staring at you. “what’s wrong?”

• “nothing. nothing’s wrong.”

• your stomach flipped. he seemed really pissed which made you very panicky. “a-are you sure?”

• “yeah.” he looked away, tossing the phone onto the table by him and looking up at the lights.

• “you’re scaring me.” you said weakly after minutes of silence had gone by.

• tom realized what he’d done, that he’d been short with you when it wasn’t your fault. he forgot about your anxiety. he forgot that you were a human with fears. he was just settled on the fact you were outside making out with another guy, even though it was fake.

• “i’m sorry”

• “i just want you to talk to me. you know you can say whatever you want.”

• (harrison really was an ass for making you two do this on your own)

• “how do you feel about noah?” he asked. your co-star. your on-screen lover.

• “he’s okay, i guess. why?” you raised an eyebrow.

• “alright. i like you. a lot. and i don’t like seeing you kiss other guys because i want to be the one kissing you.”

• very blunt. you were in shock for a bit and tom got really nervous because he thought you didn’t reciprocate, but the moment you kissed him, everything he was thinking just dissolved

• from then on, the rest is history.

• after eight months, your relationship went public, which brought a lot of love and a lot of hate. (you got really upset over that to the point of disabling comments and social media hiatus’)

• you moved in together! something your fans found out quickly. they were like detectives, a lot of people gave you shit for “moving too fast,” but tom reassured you constantly about those anxieties

• one time someone told you to kill yourself. tom came home to you crying in your bed, having one the panic attacks where you don’t think straight and just want to distance yourself from everyone.

• “it’s better if i leave, tom. they’ll stop being awful to you. we won’t get bad press anymore. it won’t hurt as much.” your eyes were pink and your nail beds were raw from how much you picked at them. you’d scratched one part of your palm so much that it was bleeding.

• tom’s heart broke, and he found himself cradling you again on a bed. “i love you so much, (y/n). you’re my fucking world and no one else can change that.” he said, kissing your knuckles. he wiped your tears away and looked you in the eye. “you know that, right? that i love you?”

• you couldn’t look him in the eye. you were shaking so much and so very convinced that others would tear you apart.

• “i am not moving until you say you know that. because i absolutely need you to know that i adore you and love you in every single way there is.” he picked up your chin to look at him.

• “i know you do.” you eventually whispered, tears still slipping down your cheeks. he pulled your head into his chest, rocking back and forth slightly. “i love you too.”

• paparazzi was the worst. you hated them. as soon as the flashing lights started you would begin to shake

• tom would always to the best of his ability, find routes or entrances that paparazzi wouldn’t be at when you went out

• when it was unavoidable, he’d grip you around your waist, running so fast he’d nearly carry you into places. sometimes he’d cover your eyes too

• if you were out in public, he’d always give you his hat and sunglasses to wear to help you feel safer

• “hey! (y/n)! how does tom feel about you and noah centino’s hot scene in the new movie?” “(y/n), look here, look here! show me a smile, pretty lady!” “that’s one fine piece of ass you got there, holland” - the paparazzi could be really vulgar sometimes

• “can you fuck off?” he said to all of them, almost yelling. he almost hushed the crowd as he flipped them all off and walked inside with you.

• when you had bad days with your anxiety, you had s tendency to scratch yourself. when tom got home from work or you got home from work, he’d always make sure you had a bandaid or something to protect them.

• there were days where you helped him, too. when the public lifestyle was too much, you’d sit behind him and brush his hair as long as needed. sometimes it was hours while he ranted, or just silence.

• sometimes he’d just fall into you while you were laying or sitting somewhere, resting his head on your chest.

• holding him was the best anti-anxiety medicine you ever had.

• you were always in awe of each other. awed by how beautiful your relationship was, how understanding one person could be, and everything in between.

• tom never, ever yelled at you. not once. he tried his best to never be snippy because he knew it scared you, but some days it was really hard. you did the same for him.

• when you got sick, he held your hair back. throwing up usually triggered some form of anxiety, and he’d just hold you in the bathroom floor when you were done. you might be sweating and hadn’t showered for three days because you couldn’t get up, and he’d just sit there, his head again the wall with his arms wrapped around you.

• on those days when there was no reason for you to be anxious, but you were, he would check in to make sure you were taking care of yourself.

• sometimes he’d leave you alone because you needed it. he could read you effortlessly. when one of you got home, sometimes the greetings were just a simple hello. other days they were a drawn out hug and a passionate kiss.

• being in each others presence was enough. you didn’t always have to be doing something, touching or talking, it was comforting to just know that they were there.

• tom helped you. he didn’t fix you, because you did not need fixing. he just helped. he was there when you needed it and vice versa. he was a caretaker and could give you the truth. he was a lover and a friend.

• his forehead kisses were like drugs to you

• when you woke up in the middle of the night from a bad dream, he’d wake up too. he’d just grab your hand, look at you and give you a soft kiss on the corner of your mouth. he never once let you go out onto the balcony to “get some air.” on those nights. he knew you might stay out there all not and not sleep, or your panic attacks would get worse from the heights and half-conscious combination.

• tom was a sucker for dancing in the moonlight. when those same nights were really, really bad, he’d make you get up and you two would just sway to the non existent music. sometimes he’d sing to you.

• you liked having your head on his chest when he talked or sang to you because you could feel the vibrations as he spoke.

• he loved you. you loved him.

• often, the only two words that could describe him seemed odd, but fit so well

• beautifully human.

[classic-rock-roller]

1. You and Axl have made peace with each other since he showed you kindness after your accident. One day, you hang up the phone from a call with him as Bonham gets home. She asks who it is, and when you tell her she says, “Ah, Axl. How is he, that bitch?” How do you respond?

He’s doing good. At least better than before. He’s on meds now so he’s no longer a psycho bitch. 

2. You get to your band’s hotel room one day to hear uncontrollable laughter coming from Sean and Linus. You get there and hear Bonham say into a phone in a very bad and exaggerated Eastern European accent, “Hello! You have reached Svertik, the famous cheese maker. What can I do for you this evening?” You ask what’s going on, and Erik says, “They bought a burner phone and posted the number online with the title, “War Angel hotline” and now she’s answering it and doing this crap.” How do you respond, and what does everyone say once the ‘hotline calls’ end?

“Seriously? You could at least answer burning questions.”

They don’t stop they keep coming at all hours of the night. One day I’ve had enough of hearing it ring so I take it, lower the window in the bus, and chuck it out the window while screaming, “By War Angel Hotline. Don’t fucking come back!” 

Linus: You realize we can get another one right?

Sean: Jesus! Psycho much 

Bons: Jesus Christ! You could have at least answered it 

Erik: That was unnecessary. 

They buy another one at the next stop and it starts over again but now we place a do not disturb function on it between the times we sleep.  

3. Bonham has been quiet lately, and one day she comes to you and the rest of the band and says, “I want to expand my artistic horizons, I want to cover that album So There by Ben Folds. Before you say anything, I know it’s nothing like our direction. I know that, and that’s why I want to do it by myself. This is going to be a 100% solo effort, and all I ask for is your blessing.” She wants to do something entirely on her own, which will translate into her taking at least a 2-year hiatus from the band. What do you all say and what is the final decision?

We agree because we have been touring non-stop and it will give us plenty of time to relax and come up with new material. Erik goes back to Germany to spend time with his family, Linus ends up using those two years to release a solo instrumental guitar project, Sean comes and lives with me and Kevin since his parents kicked him out after he joined our band, and this gives me and Kevin enough time to spend with Mal (and ends up with Eddie coming along right before we get back together) and then after the two years are up we get back together and bang out a kicking new album. 

4. Your band and NSP are collaborating on an album, and you need one more song. You’re struggling to include everyone until Bonham one day suggests that you get together with QR as well and do a big group cover of Rick Wakeman’s Buried Alive (available on request). How does everyone react to the suggestion and what do you all do?

We all think its a great idea. The only problem is Kevin and Danny keep fighting and singing over each other for the lead vocals part until I tell the two of them to stop acting like children. 

5. You’re at work one day when you get a call from Danny and Arin. “Yeah, we got a call from YouTube the other day. That Q&A we did with your band got taken down because of Bonham’s little mini-rant on that Waco incident from the 90s, and she was just arrested for conspiring against the government and disturbing the peace. She used a phone call to call Dan cause she said that you didn’t answer your phone and neither did Kevin, so we’re telling you.” How do you respond and what do you do?

“Ah fuck. I’m in work a the moment. Is Dan still on with her?” 

I hear Dan scream yes through the phone. 

“Tell her school’ll be finished in an hour and then I’ll drive down to pick her up after I drop Mal and Eddie off at a sitter’s.” 

“I mean we could watch them for you.”

Arin and Dan end up watching Mal and Eddie (and making a power hour out of it) while I go to bail Bons and get this whole mess settled. After some legal disputes (that bring us publicity) she is given a slap on the wrist and told not to do it again. 

6. Bonham went with Chuck to a party for one of their dad’s friends one evening, and when they get back you hear them arguing. “I don’t care what he was doing, you shouldn’t have hit him!” she says. You ask what happened, and Chuck says, “They had a male stripper there, and fucking Anita paid him to grind on me. I told him to quit and he didn’t so I punched him. And then they all got mad at me. I didn’t do anything wrong.” What does Bonham say and how do you respond?

Bons: You did do something wrong. He was paid to do that. You don’t just fucking punch him! 

Me: Yeah, not cool dude. You should be lucky if he doesn’t press charges. 

7. Your band is all making guest appearances in an NSP video, and as a result, you’re all wearing spandex pants. At one point, Sean says to Bonham, “Hey, uh, I just wanted to say that, uh, you guys (meaning you and her) look nice in your costumes.” You can see he’s a bit flustered but before you can say anything, Bonham says, “Thanks, these pants really do have a nice ASS-thetic.” How does Sean react, what do you say, and how do Erik, Linus, and Danny respond?

He blushes and runs out of the room while wrapping his cape around him. 

Erik: Do you have to go take care of something buddy! 

Linus: Yeah, just don’t be too long. 

Danny: I didn’t know those pants would have THAT effect on him. 

Me: I could see these pants having that effect on Kevin, not Sean. Linus could you go check on him, please. 

Bons *gag*: I really don’t need to think about Kevin being turned on by you in a spandex outfit. Do you seriously think us in spandex pants did that to him? 

8. Your band is filming a video one day, and at lunch, Sean is munching on an uncrustable. Bonham, who likes giving him shit, asks him, “How does it feel to be a grown ass man eating an uncrustable?” He looks at her and says, “Well right now it doesn’t feel so good.” He takes a bite, and says, “But now…” and smiles with a full mouth. How do you, Bonham, Erik, and Linus respond?

Me: I hate Uncrustables and PB & J sandwiches. 

Erik: How?! It's heaven in a sandwich!

Linus: I wouln't go that far. 

Sean *Though his full mouth*: I would 

Bons: Ok, I get the point. Don’t talk with your mouth full of food. We can’t understand you. 

9. Bonham is being overly critical in the studio one day, and at one point Sean has had enough. “I’m gonna need some ketchup for all those HARSH-browns you’re serving up.” How does she react and how do you and the boys respond?

Bons: ...That one was actually pretty good. 

Me: Bons, I think you have a run for your money in the pun department. 

Erik: Hah! Harsh-browns! Hah!

Linus: You all are idiots. 

10. You get a call one day saying that there’s a new fantasy game in development and they want you, Bonham, your band, Kevin, and a few others to do the voice acting. They want you to be the princess, Sean to be a child, Erik to be a traveling merchant, Linus to be the bard, Bonham to be a siren, and Kevin to be a priest. Soon, you learn that Arin and Dan are there too. They voice a wizard and the game’s deity, respectively. How do you all react to your assigned roles, and how does recording go?

I think its cool and we all have a good time. With a few hiccups here and there (Kevin and Danny seem to butt heads a lot) 

11. You, Kevin, and Bonham are at an award show when Kevin sees Blackie Lawless, someone who he’s a fan of. You all go up to meet him and Kevin says how much he appreciates his work. Blackie is beyond wasted, and he says to Kevin, “I’m gonna kick you in the nuts.” Before any of you can process what he said, he cocks back and punched Kevin in the dick, really hard. He groans and falls to his knees. How do you all respond?

Me: What the fuck?!

Bons: Why did you do that dude?!

Kevin is writhing in pain on the floor and just groaning in agony. 

____________________

1) You and your singer are making Christmas cookies in your kitchen when she turns to you and goes, “Hey, Bons.” You turn and ask her, “What?” She takes her flour-covered hand and smears it down your nose and arm before running away. What do you do?

2) You, Rudy, and your singer are carving pumpkins. Rudy puts his hand in his pumpkin and goes, “Ewww, it’s so gross.” Your singer rolls her eyes at him and goes, “Oh stop being a big baby.” Before she puts both her hands in the pumpkin and pulls out a bunch of seeds and slaps them on the newspaper covering the table. How do you and Rudy respond?

3) You take Mal, Will, Eddie, Jeremy, and Roxanne to the mall to visit Santa. While in line, you see Santa get up from his chair after listening to a little girl’s wish and he goes over to an older man with four elves. The next thing you know, he’s whamming on him and screaming, “Ho! Ho! Ho! Motherfucker!” Someone whispers in line that the guy he’s beating on is a child molester. How do you and your singer respond and how do you explain this to your kids who are between the ages of eight and two years old?

4) Your band is working on a new album and you and the boys go off to get lunch while your singer stays behind. When you get back, you find she has earbuds in and her head is cocked oddly to the side. Her finger is flicking oddly almost as if she’s following an invisible line. Sean leans over to you and goes, “What the fuck is she doing? Has she gone insane?” Your singer answers, “No, I’m trying to pick out the individual instruments from this song. Now shush.” How do you, Erik, Linus, and Sean respond?

5) You and your singer are at her work’s Christmas party with Kevin and Randy. She’s talking to a guy and she goes, “Ugh, I hate this music.” He looks at her and goes, “How can you hate it?” “I like metal.” “Oh, you’re one of THOSE girls.” You whip around at this point and go, “What is that supposed to mean?” “You know...you’d rather bang your head than be banged.” Your singer pulls Kevin over and kisses him deeply before pointing at the guy and saying, “Kevin, would you like to explain in painstaking detail our sex life?” How do you, Kevin, and the guy respond?

6) You and your singer are celebrating Christmas in your apartment but your old roommate, Stephen, has come over to spend the holidays and brought along a drunk Robbin. They’ve been at your apartment a bit when your singer goes to Stephen, “Can I refill your eggnog? Get you something to eat? Drive you out to the middle of nowhere, leave you for dead?” How do you, Stephen, and Robbin respond?

7) Your singer goes with you when you’re supposed to be the guest on The Ten Minute Power Hour with Dan and Arin. She refuses to go on the show though o she sits on the side. About halfway through the show, Dan gets up and starts to pull her into the shot, “Come on, people need to see you.” “No.” “Millions of people stare at you every day. How is this different?” He loses his grip on her and goes flying back through the shot. Your singer gasps and goes, “Oh my god are you ok?!” Before going to help him with the cut on his head. All he says is, “Hah! I got you in the shot!” She rolls her eyes before going, “I’m leaving after this. And you better cut this out.” How do you and Arin respond to this?

8) Your singer is still with you while you’re doing the show. Arin asks her something and she says, “Do you want to see something cool?” Dan shrugs a sure and your singer pulls out a switchblade. Both Dan and Arin jump back once she tosses it and it embeds itself in their table. Dan all but screams, “What the fuck?!” Your singer shrugs and goes, “I get bored. Also, Tommy taught me that so you can thank him.” How do you, Dan, and Arin respond?

9) While you are on the show, Dan and Arin ask you to tell some crazy stories of the bands you’ve hung out with. Your singer pipes up from the side, “Oh, I could tell you stories. There was that one time Tommy and I got super drunk and I kissed some random chick in the middle of the bar. Or the time I got in an all-out brawl with Nikki over the last bottle of Guinness. Or the time Kevin, Bons, and I had to disguise ourselves to get out of a crazy hoard of fans. Or...” How do you, Arin, and Dan respond?

10) When you’re wrapping up the show to leave, Dan and Arin say goodbye to you and Dan goes, “I’m a little afraid of your singer. Is she always like that?” Your singer pipes up next to him, “I hear everything you know.” How do you respond to Dan ‘s question and how does he react to your singer?

11) You are working on your album with Crüe and Nikki had brought a pack of Guinness with him. Your singer and Nikki have been drinking them throughout the day and there’s only one left. They both look at it and then dive for it. After a bit of tussling, your singer grabs the bottle and goes, “What have I told you, Niks? I always come out on top.” Before she pops the cap and chugs the beer while sitting on him. How do you, Tommy, Nikki, Vince, and Mick react to this?

12) You are over at your singer and Kevin’s when you hear your singer yell, “You are not taking a fucking knife in the shower. Lay the fuck down.” And the next thing you hear is Kevin screaming. You run to their room to find your singer straddling a shirtless Kevin and ripping these heart monitor pads off his chest. “Stop pushing them in. It’ll make it worse. This is what you get for doing too much cocaine.” What do you say and how so the two of them respond?

13) You know that your singer is dating Rudy’s brother, Robert, (after Kevin broke up with her so that he could get himself clean) but Rudy doesn’t know. You invite the two of them out to dinner on a double date with you and Rudy. How does Rudy respond to your singer dating Robert and what do you, your singer, and Robert say?

14) You and Randy are helping your singer set up for her and Kevin’s wedding. She places a sign by the bar that says, “Our wedding will have an open bar. It will also be heavily photographed.  So any drunken shenanigans will be well documented and thoroughly mocked for years to come. Proceed with Caution.” You say, “Did you add this because of Nikki and Tommy and the other heavy drinkers being here?” “Yup.” Randy goes, “You know this won’t stop Kevin right?” Your singer says, “Oh yes it will. Because he also has the threat of no sex for three weeks.” Kevin walks in right as she says this. How do you, Randy, and Kevin respond?

@osbournebemydaddy   your turn Bons :)