#i also figure it's good to avoid caffeine at this hour every now and then

[ilostyou]

got a hot chocolate today in honor of the pseudoholiday that is natl hot choc day <3333

[manyfucks]

14. which of your muses second guesses themselves the most? why? and 15. do any of your muses have trouble falling asleep / staying asleep? <333

multimuse meme - accepting. do any of your muses have trouble falling asleep / staying asleep?

muses who can't sleep + why sweeney todd, grief tyrion lannister, fate of the realm and alcohol kathryn janeway, duty, also probably had too much caffeine kim wexler, too much work not enough time malcolm tucker, has whatever brain rot thatcher had that meant she only slept 4 hours eve of eden, she spents 2 hours staring at the ceiling, thinkin house, he's solving it (the universe) muses who sleep well hilda spellman, honk shoo mimimimi robert dubois, he has one really inconvenient nightmare every now and again marcellus wallace, he's busy and needs his sleep datak tarr, he ruined your family and he sleeps like a baby. hogs the bed charles xavier, mostly gertrude robinson, starts dreaming to solve more cases madame thenardier, passed out drunk and very tired from madaming andromeda tonks, passed out drunk and very tired from raising her grandson grunkle stan, sleeps & dreams of money mimimimimuses who don't sleep - lilith, archaic demon who doesnt sleep - seven of nine, alien tech puts her in 'regeneration cycle' - alfie solomons, too much redbull, he will never sleep again

which of your muses second guesses themselves the most? why?

i am starting to realise that my muses are not generally 'second-guessing' types. most of them are ego-maniacs and completely devoted to their own goals, whatever those may be. under the cut because this got long!

i have a genre of character who second-guess their perceptions often - alfie solomons second guesses what he knows constantly because he's brilliant but paranoid, and is not afraid to change allegiances or flip the world on its head. but he does not doubt himself. house fluctuates between self-loathing and arrogance/hubris, but he does not doubt his mind. lilith doubts the reality of what she can impose (specifically when she is under the yolk of the dark lord), but she is dogged and determined to the very end. tyrion lannister similarly can doubt the things he thought were certain, so that he can see more clearly. of the characters listed, he is the one who doubts himself the most, out of resentment that was once from others, and is now in him. kim wexler has a crisis of confidence in who she has become, but when she figures out what the right thing to do, she pursues that no matter any consequences also. to compare her to someone else who goes through a similar experience but for the worse, sweeney todd was a fairly unassuming, sweet person - a traumatic event unmoors him from his life, and he commits wholly to a new life (over a period of time) that he cannot be dissuaded from. any of the complicated feelings of grief, he can sublimate into rage and revenge. the effect it takes on him, hollowing him out, is the same - but he does everything he can to avoid dealing with the tragic, mature feelings that will make him feel uncertain. instead he becomes extremely certain: the world has been bad, and now he will do as the world showed him. people who doubt themselves the most would be: robert dubois: he has been a man with a single purpose all of his life, and now that this is complicated by prison, and by being a father, he finds himself increasingly unsure of what he should do. most of his mission in TSS he spends, half-in and half-out, doubting if he is only a man like his father, or if he can be more, and better. in fact, he's certain of it - his self-doubt is a softening of his idea that he is hopelessly destructive, a cruelty to others lest they try to visit cruelty upon him. i think upon arriving back to america, he would be emboldened enough to try to take on the task of being a good father like he never had, something he actively pushed away for fear of how hopeless it felt.

eve of eden: eve's entire story is about doubt. doubting god, doubting the world, doubting herself. she's been given everything - almost. that last inch of unexplored land festers away at her. i don't think she was easily led (though that was a part of it) i think she was someone who could not help but pull at threads. if the seams of the world come undone, that's a tragedy. but she'd do it again. as i write her (my canon for her is that she and adam are undying and forever roam the earth, even though their children age and die) she is extremely self-doubting, fighting her urge to pick at things with the knowledge that she has ruined things by doing so. she fights her instinct at every turn, and it is this self-denial that contributes to her misery. because, inevitably, she will one day pull at the string again. she will one day see the serpent's bounty and respond without words, respond by wanting to bite into it.

seven of nine is reckoning with having individuality, when this has never before been the case. she's a mess of self-doubt. she's going between the values and way of being she has always known to something more 'flawed'. while she can be incredibly sure of her actions, she has never had that same security in herself as an individual. it comes slowly over a few years, and continues after voyager. once voyager lands, i think seven is truly feeling alone - voyager was a small community of people who absolutely relied upon and needed one another, with a written code of behaviour. the real world would challenge her even more, but i see her eventually buildiing up confidence once again - she remains as someone who is self-doubting, because that is part of the nature of humanity as she has learned it.

kathryn janeway is someone who has taken on the role of a captain fulltime, navigating her crew for seven years through drama and alien hjinks. she has a few breakdowns adn bouts of depressions, exacerbated by self douubt because she simply has taken on too much. usually she is incredibly confident and driven, but the souls of her crew weigh heavily on her - constantly, and without breaks. she makes friends with people around her, she has romantic interests in people off of the ship, but her ideas about authority isolate her from others. she is a Doubter, she doubts if she's good enough for the impossible task put to her.

charles xavier is someone who has a relationship with doubt a little similar to kathryn janeway - he worries if he is good enough to lead mutants. but, he has a strong idea of what mutants should be, formed in opposition to what magneto believes. he is someone with a healthier relationship to self-doubt. while it bites at him, he can see the joy and bittersweet experience of seeing something come to pass that confounds him, or someone showing a new side to themself that he feels he 'should' have caught. he is confident, but he is able to examine himself and his place in relations to others critically, and grow with circumstances.

some of my most confident muses are: malcolm tucker is someone who lunges at his next move with infamous ferocity. but in his final moment, he sees stops talking, the very thing thaht has kept him in power for so long, always moving to the next disaster to prevent or manage into subission and irrelevance. i think his last line is him giving up on it all, truly retiring - but while it's painful, it's not because of disillusionment. he never felt politics was anything but a vicious game to maybe have some good effects through harsh toil. he just knows he will no longer be a part of it. aunt hilda: hilda doubts her place often, but she's got a palpable determination. when lifes trials (mainly zelda) kill her and stick her in the cain pit, she crawls out every time. things don't often go right for hilda, but when they go wrong, she digs her heels in harder to doing what's good for her. the chuurch excommunicates her? ok! she'll go get that job she wanted. the high priest inappropriately propositions her? ok she killed him. in a crisis, hilda never doubts herself, even if she seems a little fragile or gentle in her demeanour.

[babymetaldoll]

I've been working out a little bit (Spencer Reid/Reader)

Requested: Yes.

Summary: Spencer has been working out with Penelope, and they are doing their best to keep it a secret. Until (Y/N) finds out and tries to help. And though he doesn't want to because he is embarrassed about his poor athletic performance, somehow she manages to help.  

Category: Fluff

Warnings: Curses, frustration. Good old fools in love.

Word count: 3.8K

A/N: Hello, pretty people! I've missed you! I hope you like this little story. It's one of the last requests pending on my list. Tomorrow I can finally visit my grandparents, I'll be taking care of them for at least two weeks, and though I know it's hard work, I am just so happy I can be with them again!! I miss them! Take care, whenever you are! Love you!

Masterlist

                                    𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁

- "No fucking way, Spencer!" (Y/N) widened her eyes and laughed so hard tears filled her eyes. She was sitting at her desk at work, staring at her best friend, who could barely walk due to the two hours he had spent that morning training with Penelope.

- "Please, don't tell anyone."- he whispered and looked around the bullpen. He was too embarrassed already to let anyone else know he had to take the mandatory fit test. He wanted to avoid the jokes, especially Derek's.

- "Your secret is safe with me, as always, chipmunk"- (Y/N) smiled and bit her lips, trying not to laugh anymore- "But why on earth are you working out? You have enough case hours to cover a fit test!"

- "Apparently, I can't skip it this year. Both me and Penelope have to take it."- Spencer whispered and sat down very slowly, pain written all over his face.

His best friend stared at him reading the mix of embarrassment and physical pain he felt with each movement he made. (Y/N) smiled and opened one of her drawers, looking for the last Snicker she had hidden in case of need. Watching Spencer in pain was precisely the case. She stood up and handed him the candy, making his heart skip a beat. Spencer did his best to hide the blush on his cheeks and just looked away.

- "I can help you if you want."- (Y/N) whispered and cut him the most adorable smile she had.

- "Help me what?"

- "Working out."- she replied and bit her granola bar- "I can teach you how to kick ass, and I do look hot wearing sweat shorts."

Spencer nearly chook. He flushed and closed his eyes, trying to cover up his embarrassment. But (Y/N) giggled and turned around. Her job there was done. Now Spencer had to be picturing her in her sweat shorts.

Of course, he was. He couldn't stop, actually.

The two agents were the youngest of the team, and somehow sometimes in-between cases, it showed. Especially when they were on their own, and their conversations ended up in casual flirting.

(Y/N) was head over feet in love with Spencer, though she was never going to face it. God knows Penelope had tried to force her to deal with her feelings. But she was closed as an oyster. No matter how much Garcia insisted or how drunk they were, (Y/N) kept denying her true feelings in public.

Spencer wasn't indifferent. Not at all. As a matter of fact, he was in love with (Y/N). Everything about her bewitched him. Ever since the first time he laid eyes on her, he felt it. She was tailor-made for him. If only he weren't a nervous wreck each time he saw her...

After two years working together, Spencer had managed to overcome part of my shyness and awkwardness around (Y/N). They were best friends, and they would usually hang out in their free time. The little free time they had in the BAU. But even when they could playfully flirt all the time, Spencer was sure she didn't like him that way. He convinced himself she was just joking.

--

(Y/N) headed to the Batcave holding a large frappuccino and knocked on the half-opened door before walking in.

- "Penelope García, I had the feeling you were running caffeine low."

- "Oh my pretty little thing! How do you do it? You read my mind!"- the tech analyst nearly hyperventilated as soon as she held her ice and creamed coffee.

- "Reid and I were out for a little break, and I knew you would like one of these to cheer up your afternoon"- Garcia sipped her frappuccino and nodded. But as soon as she had finished savoring the perfect coffee, she asked.

- "So, you and Reid..."

- "We were out getting coffee, like the best friends we are."

- "But, there's coffee here in the kitchenette. There's no need to go out and get coffee unless you want to find an excuse to be alone with him."- (Y/N) raised an eyebrow and sighed. Garcia did that every single chance she got.

- "You and I know the FBI doesn't share our concept of "good" coffee."- (Y/N) looked at her friend and just smiled- "Besides, I told you, I felt you needed some extra sugar and joy in your life after your early workout session this morning."

- "That little snitch!"- (Y/N) chuckled and shook her head.

- "Don't get mad at Reid. He didn't tell me anything. I kind of figured there was something wrong 'cos he looked in so much pain just breathing."

- "Oh man, he is sored, but I am sure he would be way sorer if you train with him."

- "I offered myself to help him"- Garcia raised an eyebrow at (Y/N) 's words, and the young agent wide opened her eyes, blushing- "Stop staring at me like I'm a perv! I meant helping him train for the test. I could help you too."

- "Thank you, but no, thank you. I trained with you, and there's no way we are going to do all that boxing again."

- "Come on! You said you had fun!"

- "I did! I really did... but I could barely move the next day! And I had a date! I couldn't even dance, less doing... other... nevermind"- Penelope stopped herself in her tracks and shook her head.

- "Shit, PG!"- (Y/N) closed her eyes and chuckled- "Spare me the details."

- "Sorry... anyway... you and the little genius should definitely train in a more... horizontal way."

- "Garcia! Stop it!"- (Y/N) laughed and stood up- "I'm gonna go back to work 'cos clearly you have some hormonal issues today, and you are projecting."

- "Stop acting like you haven't thought about it!"- Garcia said and chuckled as her friend walked away.

- "I'm not telling you anything."

- "That means yes!"

- "No! it doesn't!"- (Y/N) was blushing; that's why she refused to turn around and look at Penelope.

- "Oh! It so does!"

--

The end of that day found Spencer even more sore, hungry and weary than he had felt in years. All he wanted to do was go home, eat pizza leftovers from the night before, and go straight to bed.

Until...

- "Hey, chipmunk!"- (Y/N) looked at Spencer, gathering all his things and getting ready to go home.- "Dinner at my place tonight. My treat."

- "I can pick the take out tonight?"- he said immediately and asked himself where did that come from if, a second earlier, all he wanted to do was to go to bed. Probably from the same place that kept coming back to the image of her in sweat shorts.

- "Even better. I'll cook"- (Y/N) answered and winked, playfully- "You deserve a proper homemade dinner after all the workout you did this morning."

Spencer looked at her and didn't even notice the silly smile on his face. If he had known how in love he was looking, he would have probably slapped himself. (Y/N) sighed and stood up.

- "I'm gonna take that silence as a "Great (Y/N)! Thank you! How considered! I'm so lucky to have you in my life".

Spencer rolled his eyes and shook his head.

- "Thank you, (Y/N). But I'll give you more praise if your food turns out to be eatable"- the young agent gasped, pretending to be insulted by his words, and hit Reid's arm with her knuckles.

- "Auch! (Y/N)!"

- "I'm being nice, and you are insulting me! I'm having second thoughts about driving you over!"

- "I can take the subway! You are such a slow driver I can actually be there faster."

Spencer stuck out his tongue at her and ran to the elevator, 'cos his friend widened her eyes and ran after him, probably to hit him again.

Morgan and Prentiss stared at the scene in silence, sharing a few looks, both of them thinking the exact same thing: "When are these two goofs ever going to hook up?"

- "They are annoying"- Rossi stood next to Emily's desk and crossed his arms on his chest.

- "They are in love"- she corrected, but David shook his head and sighed.

- "I know, and they are adorable, but it's so annoying staring at the same scene over and over again, waiting for something, anything, to happen between them."

- "Are you turning into a bitter old man who completely forgot about the charm of being young and in love?"- Prentiss raised an eyebrow and turned to Rossi. The Italian stared right into her eyes and shook his head.

- "I'm just saying someone should try to tell them something."

- "I've tried to talk to him about her a million times. But Reid is one private kid."- Derek said from his desk as the three of them stared at Spencer and (Y/N) getting into the elevator, still arguing and playfully playing.

- "And he is so insecure. He doesn't think she likes him."

- "Likes him? She is clearly in love with him!"- Prentiss said, annoyed- "I swear, if nothing happens between them this weekend, I'm going to intervene."

- "Now who is forgetting about the charm of being young and in love?"- Rossi joked and sighed- "Come on guys, dinner's on me."

--

(Y/N)' s dinner was a success. Spencer ate two portions of honey mustard-glazed chicken bake. She even managed to make him eat vegetables. And Spencer didn't even argue. Not only because it was delicious, and his body really needed some homemade dinner. But also 'cos (Y/N) got him wrapped around her fingers, even without knowing it. And if she asked him to eat veggies, Spencer (no matter how much he would argue) would eat his damn veggies. And he could actually enjoy them.

- "Ok, chipmunk, you ate all your food. You earned your dessert"- (Y/N) smiled and picked the dirty dishes from the table.

- "Let me do that. You already fed me. The least I can do is do the dishes."

Spencer followed her moves and took the dishes to the sink. (Y/N) didn't argue with that. It wasn't the first time Spencer cleaned the kitchen with her, after all. They had been good friends, close friends, for a long time, and they were used to being around each other.

But this time, it felt somehow different. Like there was something in the air warning them things were about to change for good.

- "Ok, doc. Do you wanna eat your dessert watching tv for a while?"- (Y/N) handed Spencer an ice cream bowl with chocolate chips on top and some whipped cream.

- "A smiley ice cream bowl?"- Spencer chuckled as he stared at it. He loved it.

- "Yes, you are never too old to eat food with a smile on it. And that's a life lesson, Spencer Walter Reid."- she said and walked to the couch, holding the remote control.

- "You are filled with wisdom, (Y/N)"- Reid teased her and sat by her side.

- "I know. It would help if you let me train you. You would pass your fit test in a blink."- she said and continued surfing channels.

- "Thanks, but no thanks. I wanna do it on my own."- Spencer glued his eyes on the screen and ate his dessert. (Y/N) just nodded and continued surfing channels.

- "Why?"- she asked him after a few minutes. They had been watching an old movie in silence, just eating their ice cream.

- "Why what?"- he whispered and looked at her just for a second. He didn't trust himself around (Y/N), especially under those circumstances: alone in her house. She had changed into leggings and an old extra-large sweatshirt. Her hair was in a messy bun. And Spencer didn't feel able to look at her into the eyes, 'cos he was going to cave in. He was going to grab her face with both hands and kiss her right there. No questions asked.

Which is why he avoided looking at her.

- "Why don't you want me to help you train?"

- "Just because"- he answered and glued his eyes to the screen. But (Y/N) knew better. She moved closer to him on the couch and held his hands. Spencer shivered right away at the sensation of her skin. It was so warm and soft. All he craved was some more of that. He wanted to feel her. Touch her. Taste her.

His head was going way too fast, and just because she held his hand.

- "Spencer, look at me"- she whispered and practically begged her friend to pay her attention- "I just wanna help. It's just a stupid fit test. It ain't hard."

- "For you."- he mumbled and looked down at his hand as her fingers played against his skin.

- "I didn't want you or anyone to help me 'cos I'm a fucking SSA who should be perfectly able to perform a simple fit test on his own. But no. I can't! And do you know what that means?"

- "That finally I know there's one thing you are not good at?"- she answered and smiled at him. Spencer raised his eyes and met hers. He knew his cheeks were all shades of pink, but for once, he just didn't care. He just wanted to look at her and see if she meant it. Or if she was just teasing him.

- "Right"- he snorted and shook his head.

- "I mean it, Spencer. You don't have to be good at everything."

- "It's a fit test. It's basic to be an agent. I need to be able to catch an unsub."- (Y/N) frowned and tried to understand where all that self-doubt and insecurity was coming from. To her eyes, Spencer had nothing to be ashamed of. To her, he was perfect in every single way.

- "You already catch unsubs, chipmunk. Everyday. You don't have to kick down doors to make a profile. And you don't have to run six miles to get the bad guy. Everything that you do every day at work is what an SSA is supposed to do. And you excel at it."

(Y/N) sighed and smiled at her best friend, trying to push aside the urge she felt to kiss him. His golden-brown eyes looked so big, like honey pools, she could stare for a lifetime. Spencer didn't know what to say. He really wasn't good with praises. He wasn't used to them. Not in that way.

- "Besides"- (Y/N) added after a few seconds of silence when she realized she might have said too much and started panicking.

- "It feels good to finally know there is one thing I am better than you at."

- "What are you talking about?"- Spencer answered right away, in the sassiest tone of voice.- "Just because I suck working out doesn't mean you are better. Even at my lowest, I'm still better than whatever you can do in a gym."

Reid was obviously joking. He knew (Y/N) could kick ass. Not only had she saved his life many times on the field, but also, he had seen her working out. And she could definitely kick his ass if she wanted to.

That didn't mean he wasn't going to tease her just because.

- "You take that back, Reid!"- she threatened him and

- "No"- he sentenced and crossed his arms on his chest

- "Last chance. Take it back, or you will pay for it."

- "Make me."

And that was it.

In a second, (Y/N) was on him tickling him, and trying to practice a chokehold on him. But Spencer was faster, and somehow, stronger than her. Maybe it was because he was struggling with himself. A part of him wanted her closer, and a part of him didn't want her too close, 'cos he knew his pants were going to start feeling too tight if she did.

Whatever the reason was, after two minutes of wrestling, Spencer had (Y/N) pinned down against the couch. And the way she panted against the fabric of the cushion wasn't helping him with his pants.

- "Spencer, it hurts"- she cried and tried to move from his grip, but he didn't let her go.

- "If you want me to release you, you have to say I am the best agent in this house."

- "Never!"- (Y/N) quickly answered and continued struggling.

- "Just say it, I've got you held, and I'm not going to let you free until you say it."- something in his tone of voice, it was teasing but also... sexy? (Y/N) knew Spencer wasn't trying to act that way, but it was working for her in a way she hadn't imagined. He would be so soft. And now, there he was, acting like a dominant man, holding her tight, not letting her move, literally pinned against the couch.

If only it were all happening in a different context.

- "Let me go, Spencer Reid!"- (Y/N) battled against his arms, but it was useless

- "Just say it"- he leaned in and whispered in her ear, and (Y/N) sword she could almost feel his smile as he spoke.

- "You are the best agent!! There, happy?"- she mumbled, making her best to sound annoyed and not turned on. Spencer released her, and she quickly sat down properly, rubbing her left wrist.

- "Did I hurt you?"- Spencer whispered and noticed how flustered she was. That was a first.

- "No. But I gotta tell you, you are stronger than I thought."- she said and stuck out her tongue to him, trying to be playful and innocent, though you could feel it in the air. That moment was anything but innocent.

- "Yeah, I've been working out a little bit."- Spencer answered and chuckled at his own words.

- "Well, you are going to have to learn how to control your new strength, 'cos this is going to leave a bruise"- (Y/N) whined and showed him her sore wrist. Spencer winced, ashamed he had been so hard on her without meaning any harm. He moved closer to her and held her wrist carefully. (Y/N) just looked at him as he kissed her wrist a few times.

That man couldn't be real. He was such a tease.

Did he know all the things he was, in fact, doing to her with that simple touch?

He surely had to know. Otherwise, there was no explanation, she thought.

- "Thanks"- (Y/N) whispered and fixed her eyes on his lips, still landing small kisses on her wrist.

That was when she stopped breathing. Spencer was literally breathtaking. He smiled at her, and she just couldn't help it anymore. (Y/N) leaned in and kissed him. It was a soft, short peck. But she had dared to do the unthinkable.

She kissed her best friend.

Spencer widened his eyes, shocked, and looked at her, not saying a word. They just stayed still for a good thirty seconds until Spencer finally made his move, cupping her jaw carefully with both hands and pulling her face against his.

The way she moaned into the kiss made him feel more in control than he had ever been before.

It was a soft kiss but intense. Spencer's lips rubbed carefully against her mouth, and his tongue moved carefully, making its way until he could taste her. (Y/N) moved closer to him until she was basically sitting on his lap, and his arms wrapped around her body, locking her against him.

They were in heaven.

Until it was over. Their phones buzzed at the same time, breaking the spell, ending the charm. (Y/N) jumped from Spencer's arms and grabbed her phone.

- "We've got a case"- she whispered and turned to him. He was agitated, his cheeks were red, his pants felt tight, and he was starving for more of those kisses.

- "Ok."- he replied but didn't move.

- "I'm gonna change, then we can go."- (Y/N) added, but he didn't say a word. To be fair, Spencer wasn't processing what was going on. He was still trying to elaborate a coherent thought. And most of all, he was fighting the boner in his pants that didn't let him stand up.

You could blame all the sugar in his body after the massive bowl of ice cream, or all the praising (Y/N) had given him, but Spencer found a new level of courage in that kiss. He decided it was time to stop overthinking it. It was time to act on his feelings.

- "(Y/N)"- Reid knocked on her bedroom door and heard her from the walking closet.

- "I'm almost ready. Did you talk with Garcia?"

- "No, but I don't wanna leave things like this. I wanted to talk about what just happened."

(Y/N) sighed and took a look at herself in the mirror. She could still feel her cheeks burning after that kiss, after feeling her best friend hard underneath her body, holding her against him. But she wasn't sure she wanted to hear what Reid was about to say. Most of all, because she was sure it was going to be something along the lines: "That kiss was a mistake, you are my friend. I don't wanna ruin this."

- "That kiss was..."- he mumbled and walked to her as soon as she showed up in the room, but words were hard to find when she looked at him that way.

- "Spencer, I..."- she tried to speak, but he just continued.

- "Would you like to..."

- "Pretend it didn't happen?"

- "Go out on a date with me?"- the two of them said at the same time and widened their eyes in shock.

- "What?"- (Y/N) questioned and stared at her best friend in shock- "You want to go out with me?"

- "You want to pretend it never happened?"- he asked her, scared he might have rushed to the wrong conclusions.

- "No, no, no, I don't... I can't pretend it didn't happen"- (Y/N) quickly answered and held Spencer's hand, afraid she might have ruined everything.

- "I was just scared you were going to reject me or..."- (Y/N) bt her lips and dared to look at him- "I wanna go out on a date with you"- she whispered and watched his whole face change as a big silly grin drawn on his lips.

- "Really?"- he murmured, still not sure it was actually happening. He asked her out. She said yes. He was sure that was never going to happen in real life.

- "Really"- she assured him and leaned in slowly to kiss him one more time. But her phone rang again, and so did his. This time it was a message from Hotch. Wheels up as soon as they reached the FBI.

- "But after we catch the bad guy."- (Y/N) added, and Spencer chuckled.

- "Sounds like a plan."

Spencer Reid’s taglist: 

@calm-and-doctor @all-tings-diego

Requested by @shilohpug​ 

[wonjaekook]

One Minus One Plus One

Pairing: college student!Mark x college student!reader

Description: In all of the years you’ve known Jungwoo, you should have figured out to not take his words at face value because, though you haven’t even met, Mark Lee seems to hate your guts.

Word Count: 9.9k

Genre: kind-of-enemies to lovers! fluff? angst? humor? I honestly don’t know how to categorize this

Warnings: vaguely suggestive ending, some minor swearing

A/N: This is my (late) holiday gift for a friend and to you all, I suppose. It’s an enemies-to-lovers but not really, as they’re not really enemies and it’s more passive-aggressive!Mark and very confused!Y/N. To the intended - I love and appreciate you so much; thank you for always supporting me and listening to me ramble about even the most ridiculous ideas <3 If you ever need anything, I hope you know that you can always shoot me a text or DM! Please enjoy c:

Mark Lee is always sweet. It’s the kind of sweetness that’s warm and fulfilling, leaving a pleasant feeling in the pit of the stomach, like a steaming up of hot chocolate rather than a strikingly sweet popsicle. His nature isn’t something he particularly prides himself on, as it’s partially unintentional, driven by awkwardness and politeness at times, or by the compulsion to simply make people happy. Jungwoo has told him that he’s allowed to be a little more selfish once in a while, he’s allowed to say no and take breaks sometimes. Except, he’s ever the people pleaser, ever the hard worker, ever the yes-man. Mark Lee is always sweet.

Except when he isn’t.

You’re fairly certain that Mark Lee has hated you since before you even met him. When you decide to transfer to the same university that your high school best friend Jungwoo attends, he talks your ear off about all of his great friends and all of the places he is going to take you and all of the fun you’ll have. He’s always been the descriptive type, telling you far too much about his good pals Mark, Donghyuck, Johnny, Taeil, Jaehyun, Kun, Lucas… and countless others, whose names you sometimes have a hard time keeping track of. Jungwoo has a lot of friends, something which has remained true since high school. Whenever you catch up with him, he speaks particularly fondly about Mark, who is one of his roommates and someone he considers to be one of his closest friends.

“You’ll love him,” he says, “but not too much, I hope. That would be super weird, you and Mark.” He wrinkles his nose at that and doesn’t make any more abnormal comments. You don’t think much of it.

In short, you let Jungwoo decide your opinion on Mark Lee before you ever met him. With everything else about moving to a completely different university occupying the majority of your thoughts, it’s easy enough to accept that Mark will be awkward and painfully sweet and that you will become fast friends. That’s your first mistake.

Before you even finish moving in, Jungwoo drags you over to his place to meet some of his friends, who he insists will become your own. It’s just past noon and he claims that everyone will be awake and ready to greet you once you get there. He’s half right, in the sense that only half of the apartment is awake. The early-risers, who Jungwoo didn’t even have to shake before he came over to get you, are at the table in their common area, sipping on various caffeinated beverages. These consist of Mark and Jaehyun. Donghyuck is presumably still curled up in his bed, asleep after a late night of playing games, and Johnny, who had stayed overnight and doesn’t actually live with them, is passed out on their couch, an arm slung over his face to block the light. Your friend has shown you enough pictures for you to recognize them.

Jungwoo practically deflates as soon as he walks in to see only two members of the current household conscious. “This is why we can’t have nice things,” he grumbles before striding over to Johnny and yanking off the blanket covering his long torso.

The elder groans, clearly having only been dozing and not deeply asleep, and moves his arm so he can glare at Jungwoo. “Your disrespect for my sleep schedule is why we can’t have nice things.”

“You don’t have a sleep schedule,” Jungwoo says back, glaring at his friend with the blanket in his hand. “Plus, Y/N’s here.”

Johnny lazily looks over and sees you in the entranceway, to which his response is to roll slightly so that he’s propped up against the back of the couch with one leg crossed over the other rather than just lying down. “Sup. Name’s Johnny.”

“Ew, don’t use your flirting voice!” Jungwoo whines at his friend, kicking him in the shin. In all honesty, you’re both amused and slightly flattered that Johnny is attempting to flirt with you when he’s just woken up. The messy hair is kind of a look. “Y/N’s a friend.”

“Yeah, we’ll be good friends, alright,” Johnny says, looking directly at you and wiggling his eyebrows in the most ridiculous way. That gets a giggle out of you while Jungwoo gawks, kicking Johnny again for good measure, slightly harder this time.

Jungwoo looks like he’s about to start arguing again when Jaehyun kindly interrupts, shifting the conversation. He gives you a small smile, perfectly polite and handsome, his hair straight and soft over his forehead. “It’s nice to meet you, Y/N. I’m Jaehyun.”

You lower your head to acknowledge him. “It’s nice to meet you, too.” You look towards the other boy at the table, who you now realize hasn’t glanced up at you once. Jaehyun had been at least half watching the mock fight between Jungwoo and Johnny, but Mark had just been staring at his cup from behind circular glasses, not even drinking it. His own hair is slightly damp, curling at the ends, making him appear somewhat young. “You’re Mark, right?”

Finally, he looks at you, but looks away quickly. “Yeah.”

That’s… that’s not right.

You try again, smiling as brightly as you can, even though he won’t glance in your direction again. His side profile is full of both soft shapes and hard angles, afternoon sunlight coming in through the window falls as highlights on his cheeks and nose and chin. He appears exactly as your friend had described him to you, but his attitude proves him to be a walking contradiction. You shift on your feet, grasping for the right words to say. “Jungwoo has told me a lot about you.”

“Uh… yeah. He’s told me about you, too.”

You almost outright frown at that. Isn’t he supposed to be super nice and friendly? Instead, it sounds like Jungwoo has been spreading all sorts of nasty stories about you. Hypothetical stories that, apparently, only Mark has been listening to. Neither Jaehyun nor Johnny are acting strangely towards you at all.

All three of the other boys do seem to notice the change in behavior for Mark, though. There are a few moments of tense silence before Johnny elbows Jungwoo. The latter speaks up. “Hey, Mark, can you go resurrect Donghyuck? I think he might be dead.”

The switch is instant and very startling to you. His face loses all of its tension as he looks at Jungwoo, nodding. “Yeah, sure. If I don’t come back in ten minutes, I’m the one who’s dead.” He pushes himself up out of his chair and exits the common area.

After he’s gone, you look at Jungwoo. He stares back. You make a motion with your head towards the front door, where you retreat to and he follows. You stand somewhat stiffly, hands linked behind your back. “Did you say something to him? About me?”

Jungwoo puts his hands up defensively. “Nothing bad, I swear!” He looks back towards the common area. “He must just be having a bad day or something…”

That doesn’t explain the sudden warmth when someone else spoke to him, though. You frown. “Okay… I guess I’ll just have to try harder to get him to like me.”

Your friend seems to perk up at that. “That’s the spirit!” He proceeds to grab you by the shoulders and steer you back to the common area.

You have an amiable enough time chatting with the boys who had remained there. Eventually, Donghyuck emerges from his room, looking even more ruffled than Johnny had, and Mark shuffles out with him. Once again, he doesn’t even spare you a glance. Every so often, as you’re talking to the others or just listening to their strange, all-over-the-place conversations, your eyes flicker over to him. He contributes to the chatter, but it’s like he’s purposefully avoiding you, even though you’re literally in the room with him. It kind of hurts.

Still, you try not to let it bother you too much. An hour passes, which you realize with a start, and you remember that you’re not even nearly done unpacking. As you’re rising from your seat on the edge of the couch, Jungwoo throws a comment out to you. “You’re welcome to bust in here any time!”

He’s met with a chorus of agreement from the others, except one.

The next day, Jungwoo makes a point to introduce you to the rest of his circle. Not long after, you’re added to a group chat with a whole phonebook of unfamiliar numbers. Most of them, minus several who your friend had told you in the past do a poor job of checking their messages, send their names pretty quickly. Jungwoo tells you who the others are. With a pang of disappointment, you realize one of the missing numbers was Mark.

On your first day of classes, you’re pleasantly surprised to find that you share an economics lecture with Donghyuck, who acts both very tired and also full of energy, chatting your ear off before and after class, but looking as if he’s about to pass out when the professor gives her introduction and starts to go over course material. That day, you also learn that you have an ethics class with Jungwoo’s friend Doyoung, stoic and serious and exactly the opposite of Donghyuck, but still smiling at your lame jokes and carefully making sure you get the homework down.

The second day starts out much more slowly. You settle down for your third class, a curriculum development course, and it takes you about a solid minute to realize that Mark Lee is sitting in the room with you. He had come in while you were busily typing out a text to a friend from your previous university. The classroom is not particularly large and you had taken a seat near the middle, so there aren’t many places for him to hide. When he walks in, he takes a seat by the wall closest to the windows. You consider greeting him, walking to his desk to try and talk to see if he had a change of attitude from the last time you saw him, but then your professor enters the scene. As he passes by the far side of the room, Mark looks up from his own phone and smiles, mouth instantly opening to greet him. You stay in your seat and try to look busy as you listen to them chat amiably. Mark laughs in disbelief at something your professor says about his vacation.

At the end of the lecture, you pack up your things quickly and make the effort to take a few small, light steps to catch up to Mark, who’s already leaving. “Hi, Mark! I didn’t realize we had a class together.”

He gives you a sort of half-shrug, keeping his head pointed straight ahead. Almost imperceptibly, his pace increases. “I guess we do.”

He opens a door to a stairwell, not making any particular effort to hold the door for you. Reflexively, you grab the door and slip through after him. You try again as the two of you head down. “Are you going to be home tonight? Jungwoo invited me to have dinner with you guys.”

“No,” he says, voice edged with irritation. He reaches into his pocket, fishing out his phone and a pair of earbuds. “I’ll be out.”

“Oh.” You slow down slightly. “Well, we should hang out sometime. My next class is this way, so… see you.” By the time you’re done talking, he’s slipped both earbuds into his ears and is pushing the doors at the bottom of the stairs open. You hold back a heavy sigh and shrug your backpack higher onto your shoulders.

As he told you, he’s not in his apartment that evening. Though Jungwoo had invited you to help cook dinner, he shirks his responsibilities, slipping away to play games with Donghyuck and leaving you and Jaehyun to cook, with relatively unhelpful commentary from Johnny, who was once again on the couch when you arrived. At some point, their friend Yuta slips in, steals some noodles, and leaves.

After the cooking is done, you and Jaehyun celebrate with a firm high-five, and Jungwoo and Donghyuck un-disappear, coming out of the younger boy’s dark bedroom. The lot of you are halfway through eating when Donghyuck perks up. “Wait, where’s Mark? He said he would do calc homework with me.”

You bite the inside of your cheek and hold back from saying that he told you he wouldn’t be home.

Thankfully, most of Jungwoo’s friends are nice to you and it’s easy enough for you to make friends of your own. You ease yourself into a routine of classes, homework, and hanging out with your new social circles. Mark doesn’t hide that he tries to avoid you about half of the time. At the same time, you try to split yourself between friend groups, as to not force him either to be around you or to not hang out with his own friends. There are the occasional large scale events that both of you are invited to, but there are enough people that you usually aren’t forced to interact. After a month of classes, you stop trying to start conversations, but you still greet him. He greets you back with the indifference of an overworked, tired stranger. During your class, he firmly ignores you. He does more than ignore you - he speaks to virtually every other person in your class except you. All of your friends carefully avoid the topic of his blatant dislike for you, though you know they all think it’s odd.

Finally, one of those large events comes to pass via the boy known as Zhong Chenle. He doesn’t go to your school, but is still somehow acquainted with all of Jungwoo’s friends, so he became acquainted with you as well. He’s eccentric and sarcastic and sometimes you see him playing basketball with Mark and Jaehyun in the school recreation center. So, when he rents out the local ice skating rink and invites you, you’re excited to go. It’s not often that you get onto the ice - it’s always a thrill after you re-learn how to skate, and you enjoy the feeling of the smooth gliding and wide, curving turns on the blades. You imagine that you’re painting with your feet.

Things go down smoothly, like you envisioned. After just twenty minutes, you’ve confidently found your ice legs and you’re racing around the rink with Donghyuck, playfully tipping each other off-balance with carefully or sometimes not-so-carefully timed pushes. A few minutes later, a new player enters the arena. Maybe if this new person weren’t Mark Lee, you wouldn’t have noticed their entrance, but your eyes are instinctively drawn to him.

The boy in question is clinging to one Lee Jeno, another friend of Jungwoo and Donghyuck and all the rest of them, as they both try to find their balance. Jeno seems to be having somewhat of an easier time with the skates on his feet, making slow pushes so that he glides short distances with Mark holding onto him. Mark is adorably flushed, in a way you haven’t seen before, his cheeks aflame with cold and embarrassment. His body is swallowed by an overly large hoodie, completing the cozy and cute look.

Your racing buddy has also slowed down to watch with you, staring at the scene. He suddenly nudges you with an elbow. “You should help him.”

“Jeno? I think he’s gotten the hang of it. Plus, I don’t know him that well.” It’s now a game of who can dodge implications rather than who can dodge physical pushes.

Donghyuck rolls his eyes, skating lazily alongside you. “You know I’m talking about Mark. This would be a great opportunity to get on his good side.”

“Why don’t you help him? He’s your boyfriend, after all.” If you weren’t focusing on turning your skates and keeping your balance because you’ve reached the short end of the rink, you would cross your arms and huff at him more dramatically.

He clicks his tongue sharply, something you know by now that he does when he’s irritated. “Mark isn’t my boyfriend. Doyoung and Taeyong are boyfriends. Mark and I are soulmates. And he’s still painfully single.”

“So are you!” As you protest, you realize that Mark and Jeno are getting closer. Donghyuck fires something back indignantly, but you’re just thinking about what he said before. The offer to help lies in front of you as a real possibility, but how would you feel if someone you hated came up and asked if you wanted help skating? If you really hated them that much, you would just think they were being condescending. The last thing you want to do is give Mark a reason to think you’re acting that way towards him. So, as you skate closer, you pick up your pace and speed on by, not even glancing at the two boys with their arms interlinked. Luckily for you, Jungwoo is just ahead, so you hook arms with him and jerk him forward with your momentum, making him yell out in surprise.

As you’re gliding along, laughing at your friend’s reaction and attempts to push you, Mark stares at you from behind with a small frown on his face.

“Mark?” Jeno’s voice snaps him out of it and he looks towards the younger boy. “Do you need me to slow down?”

“No,” he says rather grimly, “let’s go faster.”

You don’t speak to each other at all for the entire night.

The next month and a half passes unremarkably. Then, suddenly, midterms are rolling up and you find yourself swamped with work, especially in the class you share with Mark and your new friend Yuqi. At the current moment, you’re at your place with your head buried in your arms, groaning dramatically. “I can’t do this.”

Yuqi nods, looking somewhat dead inside. “Professor Lim hates us.”

“I don’t know what chapters we even covered half of the material in. Did he just make it up?” You lift your hand to paw through the textbook in front of you lazily, so much of it seeming foreign. “It doesn’t help that the Instructional Systems Design Model is such a big part of the project.”

“Maybe that’s in Chapter 1?”

You flip through her suggestion before slamming your book shut. “Nope.”

“I know!” You perk up at your friend’s revelation, looking at her from across the table. “We can just ask Mark! He’s good at this class, he probably knows.”

You stiffen at her suggestion. There was only one time you dared to ask him for help, in which he just brushed you off and said he was busy. Since then, you’ve resigned yourself to only asking Yuqi for help, no matter how clueless she is in this class sometimes. A brief moment of panic sends your heart racing as she whips out her cellphone. “Don’t mention me.”

She turns to look at you, finger poised to press call over her phone. “What?”

You put your head back down, muffling your words. “Don’t say my name when you talk to him.” She gives you a weird look, but shrugs, pressing the call button. “Wait! And put it on speaker so I can hear the answer. Please.”

Wordlessly, she rolls her eyes, but pulls the phone away from her face, setting it on the table in front of her. The call connects after two rings and you hear Mark’s voice with the staticky phone call filter over it. “Hello?”

“Hey, Mark! It’s Yuqi.”

“Oh, hi, what’s up?” He seems to brighten up, showing a pleasantness that you rarely hear from him these days.

“I just had a question about our curriculum development class. Do you know what chapter goes over the Instructional Systems Design Model? I can’t find it.”

“Oh, sure. Hold on, let me grab my notes.” From the other end, you can hear the distorted shuffling of clothes and paper for a moment. “It’s Chapter 4, I think. We didn’t really go over that chapter in class, but Prof. Lim told me when I went to his office hours.”

“Oh my god, thank you so much, Mark! You’re a literal life saver,” Yuqi gushes, about to practically kiss the phone in joy.

You press your hands together in front of you in a silent thank you. Mark laughs lightly into the phone. “No problem! If you ever need anything, let me know. I’m always happy to help.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you! Bye, Mark!” After receiving a goodbye from him, Yuqi presses the hang up button. She claps her hands twice in excitement. “That makes things so much easier!”

You’re stuck thinking about what Mark said before hanging up. It’s exactly in line with how Jungwoo used to talk about him - polite, helpful, friendly. An ugly part of you has to wonder what you did wrong once again. What part of you is undeserving of his kindness? An even uglier part feels the green flash of envy. “How do you have Mark’s number?”

“We had a class together like a year ago and he’s a pretty cool guy. Also useful to have around.” The image of them studying together, chatting like close friends, heads bent closely over shared notes, makes the parasite of jealousy dig deeper in your belly. The logical side of your brain knows you shouldn’t be feeling like this, but the two sides of Mark Lee make you want to throw an uncharacteristic fit. She tosses her phone to the side before flipping open her textbook to Chapter 4. “Why?”

“Were you guys ever… like…” You bite the inside of your cheek, not wanting to say it out loud.

“Me? Mark? No, we just worked on a project together. I have no idea what gave you that idea.” She wrinkles her nose at you.

“You just talk to each other so casually,” you huff, trying to expel the negativity from your system, “I don’t know.”

“He’s like that with everyone,” she says easily, leaning back in her chair. “Except you, I guess.”

“Except me. I guess.” You parrot, not feeling any better about the situation. When you proceed to ask her if you did anything weird on your first day of class that would have put him off, she denies it, telling you that you were completely normal. Resigned to forget the mystery for the night, you open up your textbook.

Midterms pass with relative success. At least, with more success than you had at your old university. You’re excited for a break, a reprieve from the pain of studying. Johnny arranges a potluck and movie night at his place, assigning everyone a dish and putting you on dessert.

In your class with Doyoung, who is often assigned as the chef of the group, you pressure him for everyone’s favorites. “Something fruity? Chocolatey?”

“We’re split there. There’s not much you can do that would appease everyone, honestly. Some of them are the pickiest guys I’ve ever met.” He continues to scribble notes as you grill him for info, not even looking up.

“What if I did something different? Like matcha cookies?” You tap your chin in thought and Doyoung lifts a hand to point at you after the suggestion leaves your mouth.

“Yes, do that one. Basically everyone likes green tea.”

“Basically everyone?”

“Not Mark.” Doyoung shakes his head disapprovingly. “He’s not arriving until after we eat, though, so I’m sure it’s fine.”

You’re not sure what to say to that. That night, you work hard making your matcha cookies, setting aside a bit of time for a side project. When you arrive at Johnny’s apartment with two dishes, one quite a bit smaller than the others and labeled with Mark’s name, safely hidden in the pantry until everyone has stepped out of the kitchen area and you can put it somewhere you hope he’ll see it. You can only hope that he at least appreciates your effort. When he arrives a bit later into the night, non-gifting you his usual non-existent glance, you can’t help but impatiently squirm a bit. Before you leave, you make a pass by the kitchen and, disappointingly, but not surprisingly, the container is in the same place as you left it, your note still affixed to the top.

The mystery continues, however, when you approach Johnny a few days later to ask about retrieving your containers.

“There was more than one? I only have that big rectangular one that you brought the matcha cookies in. They were really good, by the way - I can only wish the cookies I make turned out like that…” He scratches his head and you feel like the gesture perfectly represents how you’re feeling as well. If he doesn't have the box… who does?

A small part of you holds onto the hope that the intended person retrieved them after you weren’t looking.

The class you share with Mark is not nearly the most interesting one you have, nor is it one that is particularly memorable most of the time. There’s something so terribly tedious about it that makes you suffer a disproportionate amount whenever you do a chapter of the reading, though you think that you’re usually quite good about your work. Still, though you’re not exactly the most studious of your classmates, you can’t stand resounding silences in the classroom. So, when your professor asks a question and no one volunteers, you try to at least say something somewhat intelligent. Today is one of those days. Except, as you speak, you realize with dawning dread that your words aren’t making any sense of all, are barely related to the question, and are progressively spiraling into completely different subject matter. Still, you find it hard to stop, eventually coming to a stuttering stop with your answer. Even Professor Lim can’t hold back something of a put-off expression. You sink lower into your seat and, as your professor says something along the lines of your comments being “not quite relevant,” your cheeks burn.

You spare a glance to the side, looking for some sort of pity or reassurance from Yuqi, but you end up looking past her at Mark. You half expect him to smirking at your failure, like a villain in a high school drama, but, instead, his eyes meet yours. He offers you the barest twitch of an encouraging smile before looking away, his face neutral again. You’re almost unsure about how to interpret the look - it’s the closest thing to a positive emotion he’s ever shown you. Confused, you fix your eyes on your open notebook and keep them there, scratching random notes and doodles into the margins for the remainder of the lecture.

When you think about Mark Lee, you feel like you’re going insane. It would honestly be pretty easy for you to make one of those crazy conspiracy theorist maps with the red strings and thumbtacks attempting to connect a bunch of pictures with all the strange, fragmented experiences you’ve had with the boy. At one position, you could put all the information you supposedly knew about him before even meeting him, all of the things Jungwoo told you, all the smiling pictures from before you arrived. Somewhere else, you could put all of the times Mark has brushed you off or outright refused to acknowledge your existence. In a third location, you could put all the things you’ve actively seen or heard him do that align with the person you thought he was. Finally, you could put the most recent developments of him subtly starting to not ignore you together. The whole diagram would be circled with giant question marks all over it and one question written in capital letters: WHY?

You’re trying to do your damn curriculum development homework and all you can think about is Mark Lee and the first smile he ever gave you. And, from the way your heart is beating, pushing heat into your face and ears, making you wistful and longing to see his smile again, you think you know the direction your feelings have headed.

The next few times you head over to Jungwoo’s place, it’s hit or miss as to whether Mark appears to be actively avoiding you. Finally, one day, you’re pressed shoulder to shoulder with Jungwoo, your eyes fixed on the small screen of your phone as you show him a funny video you found. You don’t notice Mark until he opens his bedroom door loudly enough that you look up and you meet his cold gaze. He’s in casual clothes, a hoodie and jeans, with earbuds hanging from his ears, his hair slightly tousled from the wind outside. The eye contact lasts for only a moment before his door acts as a barrier to your vision. You blink hard.

“Just when I thought we were getting somewhere…” You sulk, speaking lowly as to not be overheard by him.

“You and Mark?” Jungwoo asks, not even looking up. The video ends and your friend puts down your phone, folds his hands in front of him, and turns to look at you. “Did you ever figure it out?”

“Did I? How could I figure it out when he won’t even talk to me? Did you?” You lean away from him, crossing your arms. “Should we even be having this conversation over here? He’s just in his room.”

Jungwoo shrugs. “He has his headphones in, he can’t hear anything. To answer your question,” he pauses, leaning in closer to whisper like he’s telling you a secret, “I have no idea.”

“You must have some ideas at least?”

“I have many ideas, many theories, and quite a few formulas. Most of which don’t particularly apply to this situation.” You grumble something under your breath about engineering majors as he continues. “For Mark? He might be letting all the negativity he’s ever felt out on you, honestly. Maybe because you’re the same major?”

You sit up slightly straighter. “We’re the same major?”

“Yeah?” Jungwoo replies, giving you a look. “He’s trying to be music education instead of history education, though.”

“I never knew the specifics,” you mumble, letting your posture fall back into a slouch. In reality, it’s more than just not knowing the specifics - there’s very little you’ve managed to learn about Mark that you haven’t actively had to pry out of your shared friends. You know about some of the foods he likes, some of his hobbies, and a bit of general information. It’s awfully hard to get to know someone when they refuse to acknowledge you.

That notion makes your developing crush feel even stupider.

You attempt to turn the subject back to where it began. “Why me, though? Why not literally anyone else?”

“You’re a pretty cool person and you’re good at a lot of things. Mark’s developing an inferiority complex?” Jungwoo taps his chin as though he’s pretending to be some great thinker.

“I’m not going to lower myself to help some man’s ego,” you huff, your nails digging into your palms as you make tight fists. “Plus, there’s nothing I’m particularly good at that he’s not also good at, if not better.”

“It’s not really about ego, I think…” Jungwoo says, trailing off. “I dunno. He’s not like that with anyone but you.”

“No one but me, huh.” Honestly, you’re kind of getting sick of that expression. This isn’t the kind of exceptional you want to be to him. Not at all. You’re honestly not sure when it stopped being a simple need to be on pleasant terms with Jungwoo’s friends and started to get romantic. Your lips press into a thin line for a moment before you exhale sharply from your nose. “Everything is a big ‘I don’t know’ and I hate it. If it’s not an ‘I don’t know,’ it’s still stuck in the ‘why?’ stage.” You lay your head down and you have to resist the urge to scream into your arms. “I’m going to lose my mind.”

“You really make no sense at all.”

“It really makes no sense that I-” You bite your tongue to stop yourself to stop yourself from admitting out loud to the feelings you’ve just recently realized. Jungwoo just gives you a sly, knowing smile that you don’t like the look of one bit.

Before you know it, finals are around the corner and, with it, one of the last organized events you’ll have with your friends until testing is over. This time, it’s a group dinner where people can come and go as they please, and a few of you have taken it upon yourselves to do all the cooking. Namely, you, Doyoung, Jaehyun, Kun, and, surprisingly, Donghyuck. Suffice to say, the kitchen is not enough space for all of you. Still, you manage to pull it off, completing a hearty Korean-style dinner that slowly disappears from their dishes as all of the others eat. By the end, you’re worn out from the sweltering heat of the stove, the occasional bickering with the other chefs (‘Donghyuck, stop eating all the radish!’), and chatting with nearly every single one of your friends. Names and faces scroll through your head and you’re honestly not sure who you’ve seen and not seen by the end of it. Except for one person.

Mark Lee is, once again, nowhere to be found.

You make sure to smack away hands going for seconds in order to wrap up a moderately sized portion of food for him anyways. When all of the food, save for what you’ve set aside for Mark, is gone, Taeyong offers himself and some of the others up to clean, which you and the rest of the cooking boys eagerly accept. Most of them have headed out by now, but the few remaining begrudgingly agree to the job at Taeyong’s call.

You lean against the wall idly, watching the work being done and listening to the rhythmic sound of the water running and the sponge scraping against metal. Finally, Jungwoo happens upon the wrapped plate you had prepared for your missing guest.

“Who’s this for?” He asks to the room, almost salivating at the sight of the food. Damn, that boy can eat.

“It’s for Mark. You can give it to him when he gets back.” Your words are half informative, half threatening. Jungwoo takes the hint and carefully replaces the foil covering the food.

It takes another minute for him to look back over at you, seeing you looking bleary-eyed, close to swaying onto the floor from fatigue. He steps over, patting you on the head. “Y/N, you can go rest on the couch if you want. You look like you’re about to pass out.”

“I might just do that,” you respond, not clarifying which part of his sentence you’re talking about. At his behest, you shuffle over to the couch. It only takes a moment for your eyes to flutter closed. The music of washing dishes lulls you quickly to sleep.

You’re not sure how long has passed by the time you stir to the sound of the front door closing. You recognize that water is no longer running and that there are only two voices left in the kitchen area. Lying there for a moment, unsure of if you should make your presence known yet, you determine that the voices belong to Jungwoo and Mark.

“Oh, Y/N made sure to grab this for you,” you hear Jungwoo say, followed by the faint crinkling of the foil covering the plate.

“She did?” Mark’s voice is surprisingly soft, warm, everything you’re not used to from him.

The voices drift closer towards you, accompanying the slip of socks against the wood floor. “Don’t act surprised. Also, she’s on the couch sleeping right now. I’ll probably wake her up in a minute so she can go home.”

“Oh.” You’re listening as hard as you can, trying to determine whatever Mark is feeling just by his tone. “Is she okay?”

Your heart beats faster and you want to squirm, ask questions, anything. You remain still.

“Just tired.” A beat of silence. “Why are you looking at her like that?”

“Dude, I just…” Mark has some sort of lightness to his voice that you’ve never heard.  “Nothing.”

“Do you think I can’t tell? Come on, I’ve known you long enough.” Jungwoo would normally be teasing saying something like that, but right now you just hear a kind of weariness that you’re entirely familiar with.

“Not as long you’ve known her.” The sentence comes out bitter, the first negativity you’ve heard from Mark all night, and Jungwoo sighs in response.

“Do what you need to do and then I’ll wake her up.”

They walk farther away. The telltale sound of the microwave opening and shutting after the foil crinkles again, followed by the beeping of the buttons and the hum of the machine, tells you that someone is heating up the food. Under the microwave ambiance, you hear what you think is plastic against plastic. The machine is stopped before it can beep shrilly. The smell of warm, reheated food fills the air briefly. There’s shuffling as Mark presumably walks.

“Night.” Jungwoo echoes Mark’s sentiment and you hear more shuffling towards you. A touch on your shoulder. You keep your eyes closed, trying to control your breathing for a moment longer. Your friend shakes you slightly. “Y/N, wake up.”

You try your best to play up your awakening act, like you hadn’t been listening to the entirety of the last conversation. Rubbing your eyes and blinking, you look up at Jungwoo. “What time is it?”

“Almost midnight. Everyone went home to sleep and study.” You get up slowly, rolling your shoulders once you’ve sat up. “I can walk you back, if you want.”

“That’s okay, it’s not a long walk.” You get to your feet, padding to the kitchen area. There, on the table, is the plastic container you’d brought Mark’s cookies in weeks ago. “Oh, that’s my container. Did Johnny find it?”

Jungwoo reaches up to ruffle his hair, looking between you and the container. “Mark did, actually.” “Huh.” Shrugging, you pick it up and make your way to the door. “Tell him thanks for me.”

“You could tell him yourself?” Jungwoo offers, looking vaguely hopeful.

You smile, but cringe at the same time. “Yeah… you know.”

He shakes his head, seeming disappointed once more. “Fine. Text me when you get back?”

“Will do.”

As you walk home, your container clutched in your arms, you think about how more pieces are being unveiled, but nothing is really making that much more sense at all.

Finals pass as they always do. You study with Yuqi for your curriculum development class. The situation from midterms repeats itself almost exactly at one point, with her calling Mark for help and you staying quiet as he talks, and the test is no harder than any of the others you had previously in the semester. You force yourself to keep your eyes on your exam and to not glance over at Mark except when you’re walking out of the classroom at the end. All you can see of him is the back of his head, his hair slightly disheveled. Idly, you wonder if you’ll get over your baseless crush if you aren’t able to look at him and mull over the problem during class anymore. You think that’s the last you’ll see of him before you run into him at an event next semester.

On the last day of finals, your group chat receives two messages from Jungwoo.

JW: END OF THE SEMESTER PARTY TOMORROW NIGHT TO CELEBRATE FINALS BEING DONE BEFORE EVERYONE LEAVES. ATTENDANCE IS MANDATORY.

JW: I don’t care if you planned a “date” with your “girlfriend,” I expect to see all of you there :))

A minute later, your phone buzzes again with an individual message from the same boy.

JW: Y/N, my lovely best friend, you’re part of the planning committee and you’re going to help me set up. Be there an hour early xoxo

You know there’s no use fighting it so, the next day, you show up to his place as expected. Jungwoo, Lucas, Yuta, and Johnny are all milling about, trying to seem busy but, honestly, there doesn’t look like there’s much to do. Some of the furniture has been moved to the side, there’s a giant mysterious tub that is partly filled with a reddish liquid that Lucas and Yuta are leaning over, and Johnny is affixing colorful lights to a wall. As soon as your shoes are off, Jungwoo is steering you to the common area.

“Y/N, you’re late!”

“I’m like ten minutes early-” You start.

“No, no, no excuses. I have an important job for you!” It takes you a moment to realize that he’s not leading you to the kitchen, but towards someone’s bedroom. “You like crafts, right?”

“I mean, I guess? I-”

“Great!” He pushes open the bedroom door, Mark’s bedroom door, and pushes you not-so-gently inside. Mark is sitting at his desk, bent over something with a look of surprise on his face. He looks cozy, dressed in a simple red t-shirt and gray sweats with circle glasses perched on his nose. “I want to hang about one hundred paper cranes around the apartment to add a little flare to the party. You can’t leave until you’re done, Mark has the paper, bye!”

He shuts the door behind him.

You and Mark stare at each other in bewilderment as you process whatever just happened. You’re in Mark’s bedroom for the first time. You’re also being actively forced to interact with him one on one for the first time. None of your friends had ever forced you to try and work out your issues until now and you’re certain that Jungwoo’s implication was that you’re not allowed to leave until you’ve talked it through. Some part of you knew he would eventually snap and force you to interact, but you always ignored that possibility. Until now.

“Um,” you start, twisting your fingers together in front of you, “he said you have the paper?”

“Yeah…” he looks back at his desk, grabbing some of the myriad of square sheets and holding them out to you. “Here.”

“Thanks.” You carefully make sure to prevent your fingers from brushing against his as you take them from him. Stepping back, you settle cross-legged on an empty spot on his floor. After you sit, you take a moment to look around. His walls have the occasional band poster plastered on them, there’s a hoodie on the floor across the room, and some of his drawers are partly open, illustrating a pretty typical college boy’s room. A couple of books are pushed to the side on his desk as he works on folding the cranes. Remembering that’s what you’re supposed to be doing, you get to work, making careful creases. Your first crane comes to life on yellow paper slightly lopsided. Good enough, you figure.

You’re in the middle of your second crane when Mark’s chair screeches quietly against the floor and he stands up, gathering his paper. To your great surprise, he sits down a few away from you and mirrors your pose. When you meet eyes with him briefly, you look away as fast as you can, returning to your crane before you can even try and read what he’s feeling. The next three cranes pass quickly with your eyes locked firmly on your work. When you dare to look up again, you find that Mark is intently watching your hands. He startles when you see him. Realizing he’s been caught, he speaks of softly. “Do you… know how to do it?”

Even when he’s the one talking quietly, looking embarrassed, you feel so small. You look down at his own paper pile, which has a few crumpled sheets surrounding it. “I can show you.” He nods and you cautiously scoot closer so that you’re side by side. As gently as you can, you explain each fold and he copies your movements. Soon, you have a relatively even green crane and he has a somewhat lopsided pink crane, very similar to your first.

“Thanks,” he says, staring at his creation, “all of the tutorials I googled weren’t making any sense, but I think I got it now.”

“No problem.” You nod, moving back to your spot across from him. Not wanting the experience to end quite yet, you think about what Jungwoo said last weekend. “Thanks for returning my container.”

He instantly knows what you’re talking about. “Thanks for-”

Before he can say any more, he stops and his expression hardens. He proceeds to look back down at his hands, making slow, purposeful folds in the paper in front of him. You frown, but do the same. A few cranes later, you can’t stop it anymore. After months, months, of him treating you like this, you can’t go one more crane without finding the truth. You throw a half-completed crane to the floor and, though the noise isn’t loud, he looks up. “Mark, what did I do?”

He seems entirely too surprised by the question, which sparks a kind of anger that you didn’t even realize you were holding in. “What?”

“What did I do! What made you act like this to me? Did I do something? Do you just hate my face? What did I do wrong?” You squeeze your knees brutally, trying to resist doing something like tearing up the few pieces of origami you had completed.

“Nothing.” His simple, one word answer only serves to make you more upset. Though he appears initially dismissive, he sees that you’re about to start shouting and quickly continues. “You really didn’t do anything!”

“Then, why? Mark, you’re making me lose my mind!” Now, you feel like you’re on the verge of crying out of frustration. So far, you’ve managed to not cry at all about this stupid boy who has largely chosen to ignore your existence, but you can feel the telltale warming of your cheeks and the pout in your lips.

“It’s not something you did! Not really.” He takes a shaky breath, appearing almost as upset as you, though there are no tears in his eyes. “It’s about Jungwoo. Please, don’t cry.”

The initial confusion helps you swallow your building tears. “If you’re upset at him, why do you have to take it out on me? I really wanted to be friends with you, Mark. I really did.”

“I wanted to be different.” Now, he’s quiet, refusing to look at you for the months of shame he’s feeling rise to the surface.

“From Jungwoo?” You’re not quite following still. You just know that, even though he’s subtly broken your heart and led you in circles over and over for the past few months, you want to know why he’s hurting and you want to stop it. Even if he hasn’t been full of kindness to you, he has been to everyone else. And you know almost for a fact that this isn’t something he’s told anyone else.

“From you.”

Pushing aside papers, crumpled partial cranes, complete cranes, you move closer to him. You’re not sure if you’re overstepping your boundaries and you still kind of feel like one wrong move will make you cry, but the yelling has left your system and your instincts say proximity will help you understand. “Will you explain it to me?”

“There was a you-shaped hole in Jungwoo’s heart ever since he had to go to college and stop spending so much time with you.” Mark’s resignation is quiet, soft-spoken, like the boy you’d heard so much about but only now had gotten to truly meet. “Whenever he came back from breaks, he would talk about you so much and about how similar you and I are and it just made me feel… it made me feel… like… I don’t know. Like I’m just replacing you while you’re not here.”

“Mark…” You’re not sure quite what to say that he hasn’t logically figured out for himself already. Maybe it would help to say the obvious anyways? “You’re not a replacement. You’re you and I’m me and he has different places for both of us.”

He lets out a puff of air. “I know that. It’s just the type of feeling that you can’t really get to go away, even when you try really hard to believe the opposite.”

“I get the feeling.” And you do. It’s like the nagging feeling that you’ve had that you did something unforgivable to upset Mark even though you were almost certain you didn’t.

“I was mean to you because at least that would make me different enough to not be replaced, I guess. It worked because you never stooped to my level to be mean back.” Though he hasn’t quite apologized, he sounds genuinely sorry.

“It worked because you couldn’t have been replaced in the first place,” you say back. You look over and he has a small smile on his face.

“That too. Also-” He stops himself, seeming conflicted. “No, it’s a bad time. A really bad time.”

That piques your curiosity. “Huh?” He’s not smiling anymore, instead looking awkwardly to his side, away from you, and drumming his fingers on the bed. “Mark, you might as well say it. Whatever it is.”

“Okay, after a few months, I realized that you weren’t going to replace me and things were fine. But, you know that thing that kids do?” You’re confused and he’s growing red, practically steaming at the ears in embarrassment, which you can see even in the dim light of the room. “So, I kept being mean because then you kept looking at me even though whenever I thought about what I said to you later, I always felt really bad-” “Mark, you’re rambling. What are you talking about?” You ungracefully interrupt him, touching his arm to get his full attention. He seems to grow even redder at your touch and suddenly exclaims his next words.

“You’re really cute!”

Slowly, his words make more sense. You try to piece them together out loud to make sure you’re understanding him correctly. “So… the thing kids do… where they’re mean to the person they like?”

He moves his head up and down in a tiny nod. Now, your face is heating up, too. Even more than it was when you were on the verge of crying. After a moment, he groans and presses his face into his hands. “Damn, I’m such an idiot. I know this is, like, what middle schoolers do, but since the beginning of the semester I’ve just been so confused, except you’ve probably been way, way more confused than me, and I didn’t even think about it, but all of our friends are probably confused, too, and-” As he jabbers, when your thoughts and feelings had been processing slowly previously, you now feel like your whole reality is crumbling. You spent the last while beating down your feelings when he’s become a pile of mush in front of you about the same problem? At this rate, he’s never going to stop rambling either. Not that you particularly want him to. It’s the most he’s directly said to you ever. And it’s adorable. What else would be adorable? You wonder, teasing him a bit before you tell him the truth. For how long he kept you hanging, you deserve to create at least some tension of your own, you figure. Just for a moment.

“- you’re probably thinking about how dumb this is and I don’t know how you’ll ever forgive me-”

You sit up straight and cross your arms over your chest. “Mark.”

He stops talking and looks at you, more panic seeming to rise in his face at the serious expression you wear. “Oh shit, I never let you talk. Y/N-”

“Mark.” He finally stops, staring at you. “I don’t forgive you.” The panic turns into sheer terror. He clearly hadn’t expected you to put it so forwardly. However, before he can say anything truly depressing, you continue. “I don’t forgive you because you haven’t actually apologized yet.”

His eyes are like tiny suns, round and bright and holding all the feeling in the universe. “I- I thought…” He looks to the side, thinking about everything he had said, and realizes that you’re right. “You’re right. Y/N…” He presses his hands together in front of him. “I’m so sorry.”

It’s probably the most succinct and straightforward he’s ever been with you, but you don’t have much time to think about that before he’s leaning forward in a full bow, pressing his forehead to the ground.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m-”

“Mark, stop!” As soon as you realize what he’s doing, you shuffle forward, putting both hands on his shoulders so you can attempt to yank him back upright. “I was joking, please stop!” He remains upraised, once again looking confused. Slowly, you move backwards about two feet to put some breathing room between you. “You don’t need to do that. I like you, too.”

One slow heartbeat passes. Then a second. You’re not sure how long the thick silence hangs between you, but the tension is so heavy that you don’t even hear any outside noise from the other boys who are supposedly getting ready for a party.

“You… what… wait, no, really?” Mark’s baffled face as he stutters back to you paired with the anxiety of the entire situation makes a laugh bubble out of your chest. He seems to be entirely at a loss. He continues to just stare at you wide-eyed, like he’s witnessing some incredible event instead of just ogling you in the dim light of his bedroom.

“Don’t look at me like that…” You can’t help but reflect some of his flustered behavior, eye contact becoming almost painful. He’s never met your eyes with such enormous positivity and cuteness before and it makes you want to run laps around the building or something. “Mark, I’m serious!”

“How could you like me back? When I was so mean to you? For months?” He begins to twist in place, trying to lean over and look at your head from multiple directions. “Did you fall down the stairs on the way over here and hit your head or something?”

“Mark!” You uncross your legs and shuffle closer on your knees, reaching out to still his movement by grasping his shoulders once again. “Please stop.” When you touch him, he freezes, still moon-eyed. After he stops moving, your hands slide down so that you can hold his. His hands are warm and stiff, just like the rest of his body.

He finally breaks eye contact, looking at where your hands are connected. “I just really don’t get it. There’s no way you like me.”

“You almost sound like you’re upset about it.” You tilt your head, smiling at him softly.

“I am!” He’s insistant, his hands holding onto yours firmly now. Though his grip is tighter, he visibly deflates, his shoulders sinking. “It’s so unfair to you. I was such an ass.”

“But you’re not. One ass-like behavior does not an ass make.” You almost confuse yourself saying it, but you continue. “It’s not about the times you were weird to me. It’s about the times you were nice to everyone else. Like when you helped Yuqi with our class. Or when you helped Donghyuck with his calc even though you aren’t even taking it with him. It sounds kind of dumb, but because of that, I knew you weren’t a bad person. Even if you were trying to be one to me sometimes.” Your thumbs run over his idly, making soothing strokes over his skin as you speak. “Still, you weren’t really all that mean to me, per se. More cold, if anything. Then, when you stopped doing so much of that, it got really confusing. I do have a question, though.”

“I’ll try to answer it, I guess.”

“Did Jungwoo really say we were that similar?”

He blinks. “Maybe once or twice? It just really stuck out to me, for some reason.”

“You’re cute.” He blushes furiously at that. Carefully, you untangle one of your hands from his and bring it up to his cheek, cupping his blazing face. “Do you want to try this? The being together thing?”

“I want to, but-” He presses his lips together, making his cheeks puff out slightly as he thinks. “I don’t know. I feel like I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve a chance with you.”

Silence sits between you for a moment. Your hand moves back down so you’re holding both of his again. “I know what you can do to make it up to me.”

His eager eyes on your face prompts you to continue. Slowly, a grin threatens to split your face in half.

“I guess you’ll have to kiss me at least once for every time you were mean to me. Maybe more than once.” Your brilliant smile changes form in the air between you and reappears as the stars in his eyes.

“Practice round? Just to make sure I get it right.” The subtle flirtatiousness of the idea that leaves his mouth absolutely appeals to you and you agree. You move as close as you possibly can, your knees pressed together, your breath on his lips and his on yours, his soft bangs grazing your forehead. The touch of his lips against yours is awkward at first, but transforms into something sweeter with a little time. Once you both pull away, it seems you have the same idea when you both go back in for a few quick pecks afterwards. Finally, when you’re content for the moment, he leans forward quickly to press a kiss to your cheek.

You figure that a return to the work of folding cranes will help calm down your rapid heart rate, but every time you steal a glance at Mark, the butterflies return. You know for a fact that he keeps looking at you, too. By the time the noise level outside of the room increases and music is being blasted through the apartment, you’re nowhere near being done with all one hundred cranes, but both of you are sure your mutual friend doesn’t actually care about that. Together, you emerge from his room. You don’t answer any prodding questions from your friends for most of the time you’re mingling, though you’re pretty sure that a good number of them see him sneaking kisses at least once or twice.

Some of them definitely see when you sneak off to his room again before the clock has even turned to midnight. At the same time, you could be damned if you really care.

[meltwonu]

| 𝔲𝔫𝔱𝔦𝔩 𝔦 𝔪𝔢𝔱 𝔶𝔬𝔲 |     [CHAPTER 4]

pairing; fratboy!wonwoo x reader

this chapter’s notes; fratboy!wonwoo, fingering, littlest bit of dirty talk, praise!kink, soft soft soft FLUFF hours, a bit of a filler chapter before the last chapter!! 😭 I can’t believe it’s almost ‘over’... This chapter has the least amount of smut yall will ever see with fratboy!wonwoo so don’t get used to it ☠️ LMAO 🤣🤣 also... it’s been a garbage week(boring work drama) for me so I’ll answer inbox msgs and stuff on sunday, I need to get away from the internet(and people) for a day dkfjhskh 😭💕 Ya’ll thank you for so much love and support with Caffeine and Until I Met You! It means so much to me and I appreciate every like, reblog and comment I get on it 🥺💕 No I will never be ending my fratboy!wonwoo au so don’t worry about that hehe 💕 For now, enjoy this soft ch 4 and I will see yall on Sunday! I love you, have a great weekend! 💕

[mood for this chapter: more than enough - alina baraz]

chapters; 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - x

“So…”

Wonwoo sighs - re-shelving another Edgar Allen Poe book. “So, what?”

Mingyu tilts his sunglasses down, eyebrows raised at the older male that continues to do his job instead of give him the time of day. “What’s going on with you, hyung? You’ve been… weird.”

“Okay, define weird.”

The younger male pouts as he takes his sunglasses off, pocketing them as he leans up against the bookshelf that Wonwoo is currently still shelving.

It only takes one utterance of your name for Wonwoo to stop in his tracks - fingertips on the spine of another book as he turns to Mingyu. “What about her? Did she say something to you?”

“No, but do you like her? I mean, ‘like’ like her.”

“Is it not… obvious? That I do? Did we not all collectively have that conversation about me giving her a set of keys to our house?”

Mingyu grimaces slightly as he mentally goes through all the times he’d even seen the two of you together and he’s only able to conjure up a few select memories - none of which were anything necessarily romantic. “Well… I wouldn’t say ‘obvious’, I guess. The two of you aren’t exactly the ‘kiss and hold hands in public’ kind of... people. More like the, ‘sneak off to fuck in a public restroom’ kind... Which, uh, isn’t really... romantic.”

This time, Wonwoo crosses his arms and leans up against the opposite bookshelf as he sighs.

It’d been a few days since he’d seen you and you’d been swamped in so much class work that you didn’t even have the time to come by the library or the frat house. And even while Wonwoo stood in between the bookshelves having a conversation with Mingyu, you were finishing an art project with Minghao that was due by the end of the day.

“I know. I told her it’d be kind of a slow crawl for me.” He plucks another book from the cart, staring at the glossy text as he simmers in his thoughts. “Mingyu, am I awkward?”

“Erm, well, I wouldn’t say that necessarily.”

Mingyu steps forward, patting Wonwoo on the shoulder as he smiles.

“You like her and you’re trying even if you’re not used to it. You gotta start somewhere, hyung. Even if you’re a fish out of water. But that’s okay, you can ask me for help if you want!”

“When are you gonna put a ring on Wonwoo-hyung?”

You snort at Minghao’s question - reaching for a clean paintbrush as he stands across from you in the large, empty studio. “First of all, can you not say it like that? I’m not gonna marry him, okay.”

The male rolls his eyes as he steps closer to you; his own hands and clothes covered in a colorful array of paints. “So you’re saying you never imagined hyung in a suit, hair slicked back and his buff arms carrying you off into your honeymoon?”

“W--wh--n--no! No, I haven’t!” You avoid his piercing stare as you focus on your end of the large canvas instead.

No, but I dreamt about it once.

“‘Hao, would you hurry! We’re supposed to be collaborating on this and it looks… like it’s 5 different art styles.”

“Don’t change the subject on me. And anyway, I like what you’re doing to hyung. Breaking him out of his shell, y’know? He’s just shy, that’s all. Needs a little work in the bold department.”

You bite down the urge to laugh because to you, Wonwoo was everything but shy when it came to the bedroom. Although, Minghao was right with everything else. “Yeah, I know. We went for breakfast together after I, um, stayed over a few nights ago and he kinda just sat there zoned out, picking at his waffles. He’s really cute when he wakes up in the morning though. Pouty and whiny.”

Grinning at Minghao, he pretends to gag in response before taking a seat next to you.

“Disgusting. Tell me more.”

Wonwoo makes an effort to check in with you throughout the day before he heads back to his room - asking you if you’d had your meals and if you’d finished your project on time.

You’d answered sporadically as you and Minghao raced to finish.

‘I’ll eat late probably… rly gotta finish or else my ass is failing lol’

‘Just don’t forget, okay? It’s not good for you to skip.’

Wonwoo lays down in his bed; yawning as he sets his phone onto the nightstand next to himself.

His eyelids feel heavy and he’s quick to give in to the tiredness that takes over him once he gets comfortable.

When Wonwoo finally decides to shift during his nap, he finds it difficult and extra warm.

“Mmh…”

His bleary eyes adjust to the, now,  slightly darkened room as he makes out your figure tucked underneath his arm. He calls your name softly - waking you up from the nap that you’d apparently joined him in.

“Mmh… Wonwoo…” You snuggle in deeper, voice still laced with sleep. “You didn’t even budge when I came in…”

He chuckles softly as he readjusts to spoon you from behind instead; his strong arm wrapped around your waist to keep your body flush against his own.

“I’m surprised you came by, sweetheart. I would’ve just stayed awake had I known you were coming over.” His voice is groggy and laced with sleep as you sigh softly in return as you blink away the sleepiness.

“How was your day at the library? Miss me yet?” Wonwoo smiles into your shoulder before he tilts his head up to kiss the shell of your ear.

“Always, sweetheart. Although, Mingyu decided to keep me busy today.”

“Oh? Anything fun?”

He plays with the hem of your shirt, “Well… Fun isn’t the word I’d use to describe what that was. Nosy was more like it.”

This time you can’t help but snort in response. “You too? I think some people were being ‘lil moles today.”

“Wouldn’t doubt it. Did you end up just coming back here with Minghao from the studio?”

“Wasn’t planning on it, to be honest but… S’been a rough day.” Placing your hand over his arm, you squeeze slightly as you pull his arm around you tighter. “Our professor came by while we were working in the studio and said our project wasn’t up to par with what Minghao and I usually submit for projects. She didn’t fail us on the spot but she said we need to redo it for less credit or take the failing grade.”

Wonwoo nuzzles your neck; peppering small kisses on your clothed shoulder. “I take it the two of you are going to redo it?”

“Mm… We spent so long coming up with a concept and now we’re both stressed about coming up with something new. I walked over here with ‘Hao and he locked himself up in his room as soon as we got here. Figured I’d come hang out with you and found you napping… With your glasses on, no less.”

The two of you share a laugh; Wonwoo’s embrace making you feel more at ease.

“Can I help you de-stress a little, sweetheart?”

You stare at the opposite wall, nodding gently as Wonwoo’s hand leaves the hem of your shirt in favour of the waistband of your shorts.

“Just want you to feel good,” he whispers. “You deserve it. You’ve been working so hard, baby.”

He teases you softly; fingertips ghosting across your skin as you shiver. “Ah, Wonwoo…”

“You worked extra hard today too, didn’t you? I’m so proud of you for what you accomplished today.”

Your body heats up at his praise and you can’t deny that his deep, soft voice sends thrums of arousal pouring over your body just as he dips his hand into your lounge shorts. He touches you over your panties - fingertips ghosting against your mound as you moan his name shakily in return.

“I know your new idea is going to be great, baby. I believe in you.”

Soft whines threaten to spill as Wonwoo strokes you over your panties - slowly working you up as you find yourself trying to grind against his hand. “Y-yeah… ‘m p-pretty sure ‘Hao’s already working on it…”

Your voice is barely above a whisper as Wonwoo continues to stroke you gently; making no efforts to rush or add pressure to his feather-light touches.

A disappointed noise falls from your lips when he starts to pull his hand out of your shorts but it quickly turns into a content sigh when he starts teasing your chest instead.

“Mm, so soft…” Muttering against your shoulder, his eyes stare off into the dark room as he massages your body. “And all mine~”

You hum in response, “We should go on a date sometime…”

“You want to? We can go this weekend. After you’ve redone some of your project. I’ll take you somewhere nice for a job well done.”

You giggle softly; images of a wedding day’s Wonwoo dancing in your mind after the conversation you’d had with Minghao earlier. “I’d like that. We should do something for the whole day.”

“Whatever you’d like, baby.”

Wonwoo’s hand flits down your body again - snaking into your shorts and, this time, into your panties as you whine. “Do you wanna cum or go back to sleep, hmm?” 

You ponder it for a second as the drowsiness equates the urge to cum on his fingers. 

“Both? I wanna cum and then sleep a little more... If that’s okay?” 

Wonwoo hums in agreement as his fingertips drag through your folds - collecting the wetness on them before he teases your soaked hole. “Only a little teasing gets you this wet, hmm? So cute.” 

“Ah, f-feels good when you go slow t-too...” 

He stores that away in his head for later; chuckling against your shoulder as he slowly starts to dip his middle finger into your cunt. 

You feel warm and content when he starts a slow pace - thumb on your clit rubbing soft, slow circles while he pumps his finger into you. 

“O-oh, Wonwoo...” 

“You’re always good for me, baby. Always such a good girl.” 

“Ah, Wonwoo...”

“You can cum whenever you want. You deserve it.” 

He adds his index finger - thrusting both fingers into you as you mewl and arch away from his warm chest. Your toes curl and your thighs clamp and trap his hand between your legs as you start to grind down onto his nimble fingers.

“...W--Wonwoo...” 

“That’s right, baby. Call my name, let me hear your pretty voice when your cumming for me.” 

You turn your head - cries muffled into his pillow because despite his slower than usual pace, you find yourself already on the brink of cumming with his fingers knuckle deep inside of you and his thumb on your clit. 

“Mmh... Ah... Feels s-so warm... and g-good...” You mutter, eyes blinking drowsily. “Gonna c-cum...” 

He doesn’t say anything in return as he focuses on you and your pleasure; fingers scissoring and curling right into your g-spot as you clamp down onto them in a vice grip. 

Wonwoo knows when you’re about to cum when he feels your hand coming down on his forearm, holding onto him for dear life when your orgasm still hits you just as hard. 

“Ngh, Wo---Wonwoo!” 

Your walls flutter around his fingers and make it harder for him to thrust them in and out with how tight you get. 

“That’s my good girl. Cum for me, baby~” 

His deep voice makes you whine - nails digging into his arm and body trembling as the pleasure steadily washes over you. 

“Ah, bet your face is so pretty right now too~” 

“Mmh, s-stop...” Your cheeks burn in slight embarrassment from his constant praise but you can’t deny the way it goes straight to your core and only prolongs your orgasm. 

“Don’t be so shy, baby. It’s only you and me here.” 

Wonwoo leans away slightly to kiss the crown of your head - still working you through your orgasm as you sigh contentedly in his arms. 

Various thoughts run through his head in the moment, but the one that sits at the forefront of his mind is definitely how to make sure he kept treating you right. 

Starting with your date that he would spend time meticulously planning.

‘Ah, I should ask Mingyu for some advice.’ 

[inkbyajm]

Sense of Enervation

pairing: C.H. x reader

category: fluff

words: 1.2k+

notes: this was requested by a lovely anon who’s been overworking lately. if you’re reading this, please take at least a teeny bit of time off to take care of yourself and your nerves :( in the meantime, i hope this brings a bit of relief into your life

Wake up, work, eat something, sleep. Wake up, work again, eat a little, work more. Your routine had been pretty much the same for what felt like ions. Christ, you don’t even remember the last time your mind was occupied by anything other than work and responsibilities.

Your schedule had changed recently, demanding twice as much hard work, taking up twice as much time and requiring twice as much energy. Except, where were you supposed to get energy from if you never slept? Well, according to scientists, the length of a normal sleep cycle is only about 1.5 hours. So, technically, you should get away with sleeping for only two hours every night, right? You had read about how some people did have that kind of lifestyle, the amount of time they saved was the most appealing aspect of it.

In the beginning, like with all beginnings, it was quite difficult and demanded a lot of willpower, you were convinced that your body simply wasn’t built that way. But with time, you found it easier to wake up without wanting to lie in bed a little longer, the grogginess barely there. Sure, you helped your body replenish its rapidly burning energy supply with endless cups of coffee, a few cans of energy drinks and a sprinkle of cold showers, but it was a system that worked. You had to keep it up until things settled down.

Unfortunately, this meant you had barely any time for Corpse. Bless his soul for he never complained once or whined about how you never spent time with him. Good thing was, you lived on the same street, which permitted him to drop by your place whenever he wanted to. Had he known of your borderline self-destructing schedule? Not exactly, but you didn’t feel like telling him was necessary, it would only worry him more.

━

It was a cloudy Thursday morning. You had slept a little longer than usual, but you figured there was no reason to get worked up over that, you could get back on track later. Just like on any other day, you got up to start your morning routine, quickly ate some breakfast, and swiftly went on to start on your duties. Oddly enough, you weren’t really feeling all that well that morning. There was a hint of drowsiness and your mind seemed foggier than usual. Assuming it was simply from the extra hour you had managed to sleep, you thought nothing more of it and brushed it aside.

Towards the end of the day, or when the sun had already set and the time had come for normal folks to eat dinner, you felt a bit hungry yourself and tiredly dragged your feet to the kitchen. Your neck and shoulders ached more than ever, not only due to poor posture, but because of stress also. Sighing, you walked into the room only to find your partner there, in front of an open cupboard.

“Jesus, Corpse,” you exhaled, a hand over your heart, “I just about had a heart attack. When did you get here?”

He lightly chuckled with a confused look on his face. “I came in like two minutes ago? I greeted you, too.”

“Oh. Right, sorry. My mind is all over the place today.” With a frown, he walked over to you and pulled you in by the waist.

“Are you alright? You don’t look too well.” he said, gingerly cupping your face, “did you get any sleep last night?”

“I did, actually. I even got more sleep than usual. I’ll be fine, though. I guess it’s just one of those days.” you reassured him with a soft smile and pecked his cheek. He didn’t push any further.

Getting a mug from the cupboard, you placed it on the counter in front of you and stopped. What was it that you were doing? Weren’t you here for something else?

“(Y/N)?” you heard Corpse call out and turned to look at him with raised brows, “you were just kind of...staring at the cup. Are you trying to summon something or...?”

Food. That’s what you wanted. You supposed you’d get coffee too while you were at it. You scanned the room, looking through the shelves of the pantry. “Where did I put the coffee?” Stopping you in your actions, Corpse simply turned you back around and there you saw it, sitting right against the wall behind your cup.

“Are you sure you’re okay? You seem dazed.” he expressed his worry, rubbing your shoulders in a soothing manner.

You let out a long sigh. There was no way of avoiding it now. “I’ve been sleeping like two hours a night because I’m literally swamped with work, and I guess the fatigue has finally slipped through the cracks of the almighty caffeine.” You realised how hypocritical it was of you to be in this situation, given the fact that you always pushed Corpse to take better care of himself. 

Without another word, he took you to the living room and sat down against the arm of the couch. He then guided you to sit between his legs and began gently massaging your shoulders and upper back.

“I, out of all people, should know how fucking shitty it feels to get barely any sleep. And I understand how important your work is, but it won’t kill you to take a short break.” His voice sounded so mellow and soothing, you couldn’t help but loosen up in his embrace.

“I actually had a pretty decent day. I found a bakery that made cinnamon fucking raisin bread, so I had to order some. I wasn’t sure if I was going to stream or not, but then James Charles invited me to play hunger games on some Minecraft server. It was fucking insane. We had to like fight each other to death in this huge map-” 

Corpse continued to talk about how he was chased by three people at some point, how scared he was of constantly dying and ultimately not being able to provide good content, but how he ended up having a good few rounds, even managing to kill a couple of folks all by himself. 

��

Slowly opening your eyes, you took a moment to realise you were back in your bed, your pyjamas still on. It was quite dark in your room, near pitch-black. Had all that simply been a super realistic dream? Looking at the time, your brows furrowed more. It was well past bed-time. Suddenly, the door to your bedroom had opened and in came a curly haired figure.

“Shit, you’re awake.” he spoke as quietly as he could so as to not disturb the peace, “I had to take my medication, but the fucking bottle wouldn’t open. I’m sorry if I was too loud.”

A sleepy smile creeped onto your face. “You didn’t wake me up, bubba, don’t worry.”

He crawled under the covers and snaked his arms around your frame. “How are you feeling?”

“Pretty good, actually. Thank you.” you sighed contentedly, closing your eyes once again as you breathed in his cologne.

“Good, because you’re gonna be stuck here until you’re fully rested. There is no escaping the embrace of death. You try, you die.” You would have laughed at his nonsensical humor, had it not been for the exhaustion that had taken over your mind and body. The last thing you registered before drifting off to a long-awaited slumber was a delicate kiss placed on the top of your head and a very quiet “I love you”.

[cherrynojutsu]

Title: Like Gold

Summary: Sasuke grapples with love and intimacy regarding his developing relationship with Sakura after returning to the village from his journey of redemption. Kind of a character study on Sasuke handling an intimate relationship after dealing with PTSD and survivor’s guilt in solitude for so long. Blank period, canon-compliant, Sasuke-centric, lots of fluff and pining, slowly becomes a smut fest with feelings.

Disclaimer: I did not write Naruto. This is a fan-made piece solely created for entertainment purposes.

Rating: M (eventual nsfw-ness)

AO3 Link - FF.net Link - includes beginning/ending author's notes

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Chapter 4/?: Soothe

Sasuke arrives outside her building shortly before seven in the morning, an ubiquitous aubade sung by birds, polished and practiced for many years, lilting into his ears along the way. The village for the most part is still slowly awakening from its slumber; no merchants in the streets yet, and he only passes a few people here and there as light slowly seeps higher into the sky.

He carefully pushes open the glass door of the exterior portion of her complex, making sure to keep it quiet in case her neighbors are still asleep. As he goes up the stairs, he notices that all of the downstairs tenants’ lights are on, emanating from beneath the trio of entryways. Once he reaches the upper landing, he sees that Sakura’s light is on, too, though her other two neighbors' are not.

The doors of each unit are all painted different colors. Hers is sage green; he hadn’t been able to discern that previously, with the desaturation that night brings.

He's wondering if maybe he should knock to let her know he’s here, but then she emerges a few minutes early, beautiful and bright-eyed and full of life, pale yellow sunshine coating her from the large window with diamond patterning behind him.

She seems pretty awake already; she must be an early riser. She's carrying her tote bag again, and today she wears a dark skirt with a red top, along with a familiar pair of knee-high sandals. She's also wearing a smile, directed upwards at him.

"Good morning, Sasuke-kun," she acknowledges him softly, looking very happy to see him.

"...Morning." He keeps his voice low, because it is still a little hoarse. He tries to memorize her eyes again in the span of seconds before she turns to lock her door behind her.

It's 6:58 by the time they're out the glass door, her leading the way. They take the main road west a few blocks before turning to go north, this time. There are several more buildings that appear residential on her street. One of them has vines creeping up the sides, starting to bud after the warmer spring weather. He notes there is also a bakery on the corner, not open yet, but one that seems like the kind to also sell confections. He wonders if that factored into her apartment selection at all; he remembers she has a sweet tooth.

It is an easy silence they share on the walk there, bird calls lulling in as background noise again. There are more of them now, a more layered song than earlier, with a wider variety of voices filtering in and out.

Sakura leads them to a very small tea shop within five minutes of the hospital; it is quaint and simple, definitely not modern. It is also quite small, with only four or so small tables situated by windows, looking out towards the street. The entire establishment utilizes a spread of cinnamon-colored wood for its surfaces; floors, counters, and the shelving in the back, laden with neatly-labeled teas of several varieties in glass jars. He assumes the larger jars are store stock, with the smaller ones higher up on the shelves being available for purchase for use at home, if one decides they like a particular flavor enough.

He finds he likes the atmosphere. He figured he would. It's not a formal place, but rather one where you retrieve what you've ordered from the counter and can choose whether to stay or go. He supposes that makes sense; it’s closer to the busier part of the village. There appears to be a small area to the left of the counter where one can add cream, sugar, lemon, or honey, though he knows he won't. He vaguely remembers that she used to take lemon and sugar in her tea, and possibly cream, depending on the brew. Honey seems like something Sakura would like, too, now that he’s thinking about it.

He scans the menu briefly upon entering before deciding something hot with caffeine would probably be best. Sencha green tea is usually what he gravitates toward. He also enjoys black tea during cooler weather, and jasmine occasionally, though not often; it had been his mother’s favorite.

Once he orders, he says, "Hers, too," and glances back towards Sakura expectantly. She looks at him with a blush that rivals the color of her hair when she realizes he's offering to pay for hers.

"Oh! Um, lavender matcha. Hot, please."

His lips quirk upwards a little, because that is possibly the most Sakura thing she could have ordered.

It doesn’t take very long until it’s ready, as they’re not busy; they are the only ones there, thus far. He takes a sip while idling by the end of the counter as he watches her add honey and cream into hers, stirring carefully. It is one of the better blends of sencha he’s had, aside from a particular place nestled on the edge of the Land of Mountains, where he’s pretty sure the elderly woman who ran the place harvested the tea straight from her private garden. He had pilgrimaged there a total of five times on his journey, months scattered like the seasons in between.

It was an odd teahouse, more formal than this one and off the beaten path, not near any major landmarks, nor plotted on any map he’d seen before or after. The lady, who had wizened eyes of a crystal clear blue, slightly lighter in hue than Naruto’s, had served the brews in eclectic and sometimes chipped mugs and teacups, from which he had assumed after multiple visits must be a fairly vast collection. The china was different every time, but he had liked the tea itself so much he kept coming back, if he was anywhere near the area. Twice he had been the only customer there, the first two visits occurring during early morning hours, and there was something extremely cathartic about sitting at the table in the far corner, looking out the window as the sun rose higher in the sky until it no longer skimmed the horizon and the mountains in the distance.

The other three visits had occurred during the afternoon, so there had been at least one or two other people present, at those times. He had noticed that third time that other patrons were served out of much different teacups than he was; he had secretly suspected, after that, that the woman tried to match the stoneware from her collection to whatever she saw in her patrons.

There had been a father sitting with his daughter, who had looked to be around six or seven, on his third visit. The father’s teacup had been robust, solid with carved detail that appeared to have been created with something like a miniature chisel, and an earthenware glaze mix of green and russet, strangely looking similar to the color of seaweed. The daughter’s had been a smaller cup, dainty finery of opalescent sky blue, with a similar mother of pearl finish coating the inside. The girl had quickly drained her glass once she realized the inside was pretty, too; she had spent the rest of the time there in awe of its beauty, turning it in the light as her father watched with soft eyes, enjoying his own cup more slowly. Sasuke had thought it must have been an expensive teacup, not necessarily what you’d typically give a child that young, but the girl hadn’t chipped or broken it. Instead, she had been enamored by its beautiful finish, even more enthralled with the inside than she had been with the outside, and had handled it with great care.

He never saw the same cup twice, for him or any other customer there. He had hoped by the third and fourth time that this was a good sign, that it meant progress. Once he figured it out, he wished he’d examined the first two cups, near five months apart, with greater care; he had thought there might have been a lesson there he had missed. His first teacup, from what he remembered, had been rather plain: rounded, no handle, slightly hard to grip, a shiny black glaze with a burnt orange rim. The second time, he’d been served the sencha in another black piece of china, though this one must have been fired differently; there was no glaze at the very bottom of the outer portion of the vessel, bare toasted clay in an oatmeal color. Carved designs on the outer portion of the piece had nearly melted glaze off it, allowing for the viewer to see the true color of the clay body beneath, creating an effect of brushstrokes in the third dimension, rippling out of the darkness. That one had had a chip at the top, but it hadn’t compromised the structural integrity of the piece, and was easily avoided simply by sipping from the undamaged side.

The third cup had taken him off guard in its uniqueness, and is what had caused him to look to the girl and her father. He had analyzed theirs, and then his own cup closely for a long time that day, thinking. Still no handle, but it had been a bit more narrow, as well as taller, easier to grip. The glaze design was fascinating, a thick glossy black base coat overlaid with a strange dissolving mixture of sapphire and indigo. It had reminded him of a night sky in the middle of nowhere, tiny amounts of galaxy blues and violets barely visible to the naked eye in their sheer scope and complexity. The glaze itself also only covered around two thirds of the vessel, at an asymmetrical angle, with the remaining half left unglazed, as if it hadn’t dripped down to be fully covered yet because the artist had liked the way it looked as is.

When he went back for a fourth cup several months later, the lady had given him an entirely too knowing look, and served his tea in a somewhat misshapen mug, this time with a handle. The handle was awkward, too small, and slightly malformed; the mug’s overall shape seemed as though it may have been an artist’s first attempt, shoddily trimmed and uneven in many places. The glaze design itself was mesmerizing, though, something like a gradient this time, shifting from splattering black to sepia to a lighter color, akin to the inside of a water chestnut. It was almost as if the cup had been constructed by a beginner and then drenched in magisterial color by a master. The sencha had tasted just as good from that cup as it had from any of the others, despite the challenge of grasping it with any semblance of comfort.

The last cup had been only a few months ago: well-designed, with a near perfect handle, easy to hold. The foot and interior of the mug was a smoky gray, well-trimmed, but the exterior body of it was a white raku crackle, twisting patterns of scale-like ivory and black outlines, small dots sprinkled in between where the unevenness of the heat must have interfered in the firing process.

When he reached the very bottom of the vessel, having finished his tea, it had been gilded gold, metallic and astonishingly bright, catching the light of the sun coming through the farthest window, where he sat in the corner alone.

He had sat there staring at it for the better portion of an afternoon. It was a peculiar artistic choice.

This sencha is good, too, he thinks as he takes another sip, here with Sakura, also at a table in the farthest corner, looking out another window. Herbaceous, earthy, and light, and in a cup that matches hers. It feels cleansing on his sore throat, corrosion, not too hot but not lukewarm, either; a rather perfect medium between mellow and astringent. It is a nice way to greet the break of day.

“Thank you, Sasuke-kun," she murmurs, after they’ve been seated for a few seconds.

He nods; she’s still flushed as she says it. He can see it better now, in the bright light of the window. He takes another sip, and continues to enjoy looking at her.

“How is yours?” She asks.

“...I like it.” He considers his next words. “You didn’t add lemon.”

Her lips quirk upward, dimple appearing. “It doesn’t go the best with the lavender. They only have this kind on hand for the springtime.” She pauses, then adds, “I still put lemon in pretty much all my tea, otherwise.”

Sasuke inclines his head again, and she takes another sip.

They sit there for a while in a comfortable silence, watching more of the village wake up and people pass by from the window, on their way to work and other responsibilities. There are two small birds across the street, perched on the awning over an apartment building’s entrance. Finches, he deduces by their plumage and size. Perhaps they are looking for a mixture of materials with which to build a nest.

“It’s a good place to just sit and watch, in the morning,” Sakura mentions after a while, still looking out the window contentedly.

“...Is that your favorite thing about it?”

She meets his eyes, then, and smiles. “One of them.”

He looks at her expectantly, so she continues. “The tea itself is good. It’s close to the hospital, and I like... “ Her voice trails off, and she glances over at the station where she added cream and honey, lips still turned upwards. “I like that they don’t overfill the cup; it makes it easier to add what it needs.”

A ghost of a smile overtakes him. Practical, as always.

Sasuke finds himself contemplating what kind of teacup the elderly lady would give Sakura, if he took her there.

XXX

"You're a little on the skinny side for your height, now," Sakura notes as she writes down his information on the form he's given her, stepping off the scale; 163 pounds. "Not unhealthy, necessarily, but you should try to put on some weight."

They are at the hospital, in an exam room this time instead of her office. Her voice has shifted to something more professional, and Sasuke knows he is now with Sakura the clinician, though her affection is still an undercurrent in the way she's looking at him carefully with warm eyes. She’s already measured his height, and has his paperwork from his last physical to compare it to; apparently he’s grown another two inches since then.

He hopes he’s done growing, in that regard. It doesn’t seem likely that she’ll grow any taller; she’s twenty now, and they already have a considerable height difference. He doesn’t know how tall she is, exactly. He must hover over her by at least six or seven inches.

"Okay," He responds, because he trusts her judgment. Being away and mulling on his failures never gave him much of an appetite. Being back in Konoha hasn't much either, so far, but he can try. “How much?”

She looks somewhat surprised that he asked. “160 to 196 pounds is considered a normal range for six feet; I’d start with ten, and then evaluate from there.”

He nods. Her eyes linger on him, as if she’s contemplating saying something more. When she turns to set down her clipboard and grab the cuff typically used to measure blood pressure, he thinks she must have decided against it, whatever it was. He goes to sit in the patient’s chair, familiar with the routine at this point. He's gotten a physical near every year of his life that he’s spent in Konoha.

She sits on the wheeled chair that’s next to the desk, rolling it closer to him. He extends his right arm, and as she carefully adjusts the cuff, she tells him, tone casual, “You’ve got an inch on Naruto, now.”

There is a very stupid and juvenile part of him that takes immense satisfaction in this news, but she doesn’t look like she’s finished speaking yet. He waits for the rest.

She smiles apologetically. “He’s got about fifteen pounds on you, though. There’s some motivation for you.”

He pins her with a pointed stare, unimpressed but also a little amused. Motivation, indeed.

Her expression turns somewhat guilty, now. “Sorry. Couldn’t resist. I did his about a month ago; he came back from a mission with a cracked rib, and it needed to be updated.”

She starts increasing the pressure, and he suddenly becomes aware that she is closer to him than before, by the nature of the operation of the equipment. He had become aware of her physical proximity at roughly this point in the exam the last time, too.

He’s thankful it doesn’t seem to affect his blood pressure. “105 over 70; good,” she concludes, before reaching to remove the cuff from his arm. Her fingertips make brief contact with his skin, this time, and he has to fight an urge to shiver, even though they’re warm.

She picks up her pen to input this information in the appropriate slot, then sets it aside and puts away the cuff. When she turns back to him, she says, “Heart rate is next. Hold out your wrist, please.”

He holds out his right arm again, letting his elbow rest on the surface of the desk this time. Both of her hands come to grip his single one, lightly and carefully feeling for his pulse. He tries to hold very still, and to not think about how soft her hands are. He distracts himself by preoccupying his gaze with the clock on the wall behind her. It feels like a very long thirty seconds, though he knows by watching the hand tick that it’s actually not.

She doesn’t vocalize what the number is, just removes her hands finally and reaches for the pen to fill it in on the paper. He wonders if it was elevated.

“Heart and lungs next.” She reaches for the stethoscope, positioning it in her ears before leaning in to listen to his heart first, over his shirt. He looks to the ceiling.

It doesn’t take very long. “Sounds good. Lungs, next.” She gets up and comes around the chair slightly behind him. He shifts to pull the back portion of his shirt up to his shoulder; he remembers this from the last exam, too.

“It’ll be cold; I’m sorry,” she warns gently, before pressing the instrument to his back. She is nothing but professional as she asks him to take a few deep breaths. Routine, and very careful not to touch his skin with anything but the diaphragm of the stethoscope, cool metal.

It feels… different than the last exam. He had been a little on edge during this part, then, too, even though she was nothing but professional then, as well.

He is just… very aware that she is behind him, and that his shirt is pulled up, and she’s listening to him breathe and can see the skin of his back. And that he's kissed her.

The coolness slips away after a short amount of time. “Lung function sounds good.” He pulls his shirt back into place, feeling a faint sense of relief as he does so. She goes back to document her findings on the paperwork.

She then lays the stethoscope back in its appropriate place. Scanning the page, she asks, “Any issues with your hearing?”

“Not that I’m aware,” Sasuke responds. She dips her head in acknowledgement, filling in that box with what he assumes is non-applicable.

“Sense of smell?”

He recalls raspberries and antiseptic. “No.” She fills another box.

“Sinus or lymph node issues?”

He shakes his head.

“I’m assuming you’ve used the Sharingan and Rinnegan since last time, so I’ll look at your eyes towards the end.”

He nods, and she reaches for a light instrument to use to look at his throat, as well as one of the wooden sticks from a glass jar in the corner. “Throat next,” she says, flicking the light on.

He tries not to furrow his brow. He wasn't looking forward to this part.

He opens his mouth for the wood, reedlike and firm against his tongue, and then she’s shining the light in and frowning.

“Say ah, please.”

He complies, feeling quite undignified, though he knows it’s necessary and just part of her job. She removes the stick after a second, setting the flashlight instrument aside, and he closes his mouth.

"Teeth and gums look good, and your tonsils look fine, but your throat looks a little raw. Have you been sick recently?"

"Yes." It is technically the truth, though not in a viral sense.

She looks thoughtful as she’s making a note on her clipboard. “Within the past week?”

He nods. She must see him from the corner of her eye, because then she asks, while still writing, “Any other symptoms? Cough? Does it feel sore?”

“No.” He pauses, then clarifies. “No cough. A little sore. Not bad.”

Verdant eyes flick up to him for a long moment. He feels somewhat guilty; even if he knows the truth, she might be thinking right now that he’s been irresponsible, that he may have given her an illness via kissing.

She breaks eye contact eventually, and sets the pen down, standing to open the uppermost cupboard door in the exam room. His brow furrows, until she’s pulling down a small box that he sees has cough drops in them.

“We only have mixed berry; they’ll be kind of sweet, but it should help. Take a few for later, and put one in now, please.”

Sasuke blinks, and then takes a handful. He puts all but one in his pocket, and then unwraps the one left in his hand, putting it in his mouth, as she asked.

She arches to put the box back in the cupboard, and he forces himself to look elsewhere.

It does feel good on his throat, soothing. “...Thank you,” he says after a few more seconds, as she makes another note on his form.

“You’re welcome,” she replies. Then, back to clinical Sakura. “Any other issues? Abdominal, neurological?”

“No.”

She flips the page. “Infectious disease screening questions are next. Obviously you’ve traveled outside the village in the past 21 days, but have you been outside of Fire Country in that time?”

He thinks. “Rain, about thirteen days ago. Wind, 19 days ago.”

Sakura inclines her head, and writes in the information. He notices she keeps her eyes trained on the questionnaire now. “Have you, to your knowledge, had close contact with a person with measles, mumps, or chickenpox in that time period?”

“No.” She checks the 'no' box.

“Have you, to your knowledge, had close contact with a person or source in that time period for any of the following: botulism, diphtheria, E. coli, encephalitis, hemorrhagic fever, hepatitis, influenza, listeriosis, malaria, meningitis, pneumonia, rabies, severe acute respiratory syndrome, smallpox, or yellow fever?”

“No.” He watches her check several 'no' boxes.

“Have you, to your knowledge, had close contact with a person in that time period who may have exposed you to any sexually transmitted infections?”

He’s glad she’s looking at the paper still, even if that answer is obvious. “No.” She checks several more 'no' boxes.

“And you didn’t have a fever earlier.” She checks another 'no' box. “And sore throat, but no shortness of breath at any point?”

“No.”

“Vomiting or diarrhea?”

“...Vomiting, yes,” he answers honestly. “No to the second.”

She nods, as if she knew that already from looking at his throat. She probably did. She’s good at what she does.

“Any kind of rash?”

“No.”

That’s the last question on the page, so she turns to the next one.

“Next is bloodwork. We’ll do a cholesterol screening, in regards to heart health, and then we’ll also do a general workup and run it for any infectious diseases. I don’t think we’ll find anything if it’s just the vomiting and resulting sore throat, but better safe than sorry.”

She then starts getting out the necessary supplies with which to get a blood sample. It doesn’t take very long; he holds out his right arm again, and Sakura finds the vein easily. “You’ll feel a pinch.” Within sixty seconds it’s over, and she’s pressing and holding the cotton to the dot of red before taping over it, a small pressure dressing.

“Leave that on for a few hours, please,” she advises, and he nods to indicate that he will. She makes quick work of labeling the blood sample, and sets it aside with the clipboard, he assumes for the end of the appointment.

She scribbles in a few more comments on the sheet, he assumes for whoever is running the tests. “Okay, just eyes and arm left. We’ll do eyes first. Any deterioration in vision that you’ve noticed?”

“No.”

“Good. I’ll shine the light to check your pupils quick before I use chakra to look at them.” She grabs a different light tool, a penlight, and turns it on, before looking at him expectantly.

He blinks, curious what she’s waiting for, and then she asks softly, “Could you move your hair out of the way, please?”

Oh. He complies, and she shines the light in one eye, moving it slightly and monitoring the progress. She then does the same to his Rinnegan.

“Reactivity is good; no signs of defect.” She sets the penlight back where it belongs, then makes a note in his paperwork indicating that. Then she’s shifting her chair a tiny bit closer, so she can reach his eyes with her hands.

“Do you have a preference, which one I start with?” She asks. He shakes his head. “Okay; I’ll check the right eye first.” She reaches out with her left hand, pressing her thumb above his eye over his eyebrow, and her other four fingers lightly to his temple, just next to his eye socket.

Sasuke tries not to dwell on how close she is again as green chakra drizzles into his ocular system; he keeps his vision trained forward, as he knows he’s supposed to as she examines. There is a freckle on her right ear that he remembers focusing on, the last time; he does this time, too.

Around thirty seconds passes, before she informs him, “I’m going to funnel some chakra into the retina and optic nerve here; there’s some damage.”

He had suspected there might be, though his vision has not suffered; mostly there was just a bit of pain, sometimes. He hasn’t overworked it by any means, but he hasn’t completely abstained from using it since he’d last been healed by her, either. “Okay.”

The flow of her chakra works its way deeper, more of it now. This part has always relaxed him; her chakra really is quite calming, careful and gentle, threading its way behind his eye and wrapping around the nerve.

She works for about five minutes before the chakra starts to let up.

“...There. That should be a little better,” she says before lifting her hand from his right. “Look up, down, please.”

He complies.

“Left to right, now.” He does. “Good. Does it feel okay?”

He nods, meeting her eyes again finally. It feels stronger, no pain. He decides to verbalize that, even though he’s already nodded. “It’s better. Thank you.”

She smiles at him. “Good.” Then she’s detailing whatever she’s supposed to detail in the paperwork, before setting the pen down again.

“Left eye now.”

She repeats the process, frowning again. “There’s some damage here, too. I’ll fix it.”

This time, it takes longer; not quite ten minutes, but fairly close. He tries to focus on the wall behind her.

He had asked her once, when she was healing him following the war, if it used a lot of chakra. She had said not necessarily, but it depended on the level of damage. She also told him that it was moreso a delicate process, requiring careful manipulation, so he has tried not to talk during any healing sessions since.

When her hand finally pulls away, he’s gotten so used to the contact that it feels like a loss.

“Look up, down, please,” she requests again. Then left to right.

“Function looks good. How does it feel?”

“Better. Thank you.”

She smiles at him gently, just Sakura again for a second, before turning back to the form to finish the optical section.

Then, she turns the page. “Arm is last. Could you please roll up your sleeve to your shoulder?” He grabs his empty left sleeve with his right arm and starts shifting it upwards, rolling it so that it stays put once it’s to the top.

She touches the end of what’s left of the limb with careful fingers, soft but steady on marred skin and scar tissue. “I’ll look with chakra in a second, but any redness that you’ve noticed?”

“No.” He shifts his gaze forward, because her fingertips really are softer than he remembers.

“Any areas that occasionally feel warmer than is typical?”

He shakes his head.

“Swelling of any kind?”

“No.”

“Have you been stretching it as instructed?”

He meets her eyes, then. “Yes.” He wants her to know he listens to her recommendations.

Soft jade, and she’s smiling again. She moves her hands away momentarily, and grabs the clipboard with the papers, checking several boxes as he has indicated. He looks back forward.

“Any phantom limb pain?”

“Sometimes.”

“Residual limb pain?”

“...Sometimes.”

Her gaze flicks upward. “If you had to rate it on a scale, one being hardly anything and ten being the worst?”

“...Usually two or three.” He pauses, and she waits. “...Sometimes four or five.”

“How often, for the worst of it?”

He thinks. “Maybe twice or three times a month.” It’s a bit more often than that, but not by a lot.

She notes it on the paper; that must be a normal range. “Alright. I’ll check with chakra, now.” Her fingers come back to his stump, touching more firmly now. Green chakra starts to thread its way in.

Sakura frowns, after a second. “Nerve endings are a little inflamed. I’ll fix it.” The flow of her chakra increases, and he feels almost instant relief; he supposes it still hurt, faintly. Maybe he just got used to it. “Has it hurt in the last day or so?”

“...Late last night.”

She nods, as if that makes sense. “It won’t take too long. Maybe five minutes.”

He inclines his head just barely, not wanting to move while she’s working.

“You should let me know if it hurts again,” she suggests quietly, after a moment. “It doesn’t take much to fix.”

“...Okay.”

There is a comfortable silence for a few minutes as she works. He feels the chakra start to dilute a little towards the end of it.

“I’m going to stop my chakra and manually massage the tissue, now. It should help prolong the effect.”

He feels her chakra dissipate. She has done this to him before, throughout the rehabilitation process following the war; it was more important then, she’d said, to develop tolerance to touch and pressure of the residual limb. It had hurt, the first few times, but later in the healing process, he had secretly enjoyed it; it made it hurt much less, and the process itself felt… nice.

He had privately wondered what it would feel like on his back.

It elicits the same response now, too, kneading fingertips gradually increasing pressure to access deeper tissue, helping to work away pain that has lived there for a while.

"You wear your hair differently now," she comments after an incredibly nice period of time, still pressing tenderly in little circles, though the pressure is starting to taper off now, since they’re getting towards the end of five minutes; that was roughly the time she would do back then. Since there’s no chakra anymore, it must require less of her concentration.

He realizes he hasn’t shifted his hair back into place yet, then. He takes a moment, then responds quietly, furtively, "Most people dislike looking at the Rinnegan."

She doesn’t respond right away; just finishes massaging the end of his stump, then removes her hands to pick up her pen.

"Not me," she murmurs softly as she makes her final notations.

His heart flips in his chest, and he feels his face grow warm. He's glad she's focusing on the forms, so she can't see the effect her words have had.

The lozenge has dissolved fully, and his throat isn't as sore.

XXX

Sasuke goes to the Hokage’s office, after, to see if the dobe is there. He has some time to kill before lunch, and he wants to take him up on his offer to spar at some point, given that his eyes are freshly healed. Now that he knows Sakura’s schedule for the next few days, he can fill the rest of his time with whatever else. He’ll see her tomorrow at four, at the hospital, and then at Ichiraku’s on Saturday, and then for a bit after, too; they still need to confirm an actual time for that with Naruto and Kakashi. He assumes Sunday and Monday must be her days off. If they’re not, she works too much. He’s going to ask her tomorrow, he thinks.

Oddly, he finds only Kakashi in his office.

“Ah, Sasuke. Good morning,” he greets as he walks through the doors.

“...Morning.”

The copy ninja sizes him up with a single eye for a long moment, as if considering what to ask him. Sasuke braces himself.

"You got your physical done."

Sakura had said after the bloodwork was complete, she’d drop off the paperwork for him. "...I did."

"It went well, I assume."

"...It did."

"Wonderful," he says quietly, sounding pensive.

There is a very long pause.

“And the date, with Sakura this morning, before that? That went well, also?”

Sasuke deliberates. There is no teasing lilt to his old sensei's voice this time, just genuine curiosity, so he answers honestly, even though his neck warms and he doesn’t quite appreciate being spied on. “...It did.”

Kakashi gives him one of the widest and most genuine smiles he has ever seen him wear, beneath the mask.

“Wonderful,” the copy ninja says again, this time teeming clearly with pride and meaning.

“...Yeah.” Sasuke agrees, looking anywhere but at him.

Kakashi shuffles a few papers around his desk, and starts talking again, as if Sasuke has not just admitted to something he’s sure their sensei had suspicions about for the better portion of eight years. “Well, Naruto’s not here; I’m assuming that’s who you were looking for. Hinata’s leaving for a mission later today, around one, so I gave him the day off. I kind of assumed he’d use the opportunity to seek you out for a spar in the afternoon, after she leaves. He was going on about it yesterday, along with a Team Seven dinner on Saturday night; sounds like that will be at six.”

Sasuke just blinks, gears turning still; the scroll from yesterday is still on the desk, so he's not sure why he'd grant Naruto another day off so easily.

Kakashi further clarifies, smile shifting into something more sly. “I wouldn’t go over there before a little after one, if I were you.”

His first thought is oh, and he feels rather stupid. His next thought is gross. His old sensei is grinning, as if his reaction amuses him; he must have made some kind of face that belayed his internal thought process.

“Ah, love requited and besotten newlyweds. What a time." Sasuke's neck burns again, because he realizes after a second that the ‘love requited' portion of that is referring to Sakura and himself. Kakashi's moving on, though. "Anyway, now that I’ve given you too much information…” His voice trails off, and he looks at the intricate scroll tucked away at the table beside his desk, where Naruto usually sits. “If you’re not busy and want something to do until lunch, you could take a look at this scroll for me, since Naruto won’t be getting to it today.” He appears to be thinking, then adds. “For all his progress, he can still be less than perceptive, in certain instances. Your assistance could be invaluable, since I’m occupied with other tasks at the moment.”

Sasuke ponders for a bit; he has already read a good portion of the way through his books, and it’ll be a few hours before he needs to eat. It's not lost on him that this involves a level of trust in him on Kakashi's part, as whatever is in the scroll is likely not public knowledge.

He decides it can’t hurt, though he hopes he doesn’t get asked any more questions about Sakura. He makes his way to take Naruto’s seat, opening up the scroll.

He stares at it long and hard, rolling it out on the table to examine it more closely. Kakashi wordlessly grabs the stapler on his desk and sets it on the top end of the parchment, to hold it in place as he further unravels it. It appears to be a cipher, and quite a complicated one.

“...You think Naruto’s going to be able to crack this?” Sasuke questions incredulously, glancing towards his old sensei with his brows furrowed in doubt. His eyes catch as he does so on the framed photograph sitting on his desk; from this angle, the side instead of the front, he can now see that it’s their original Team Seven photo. He hasn't seen it in a long time.

Kakashi chuckles, not looking up from his paperwork. “Not at all, which is why I was helping him with it yesterday. It’s good practice for him, though, and at the very least, it does keep him busy when I don't have anything else for him to do.”

XXX

Sasuke ambles back to his apartment around noon. He made some progress on the cipher, enough that Kakashi said Naruto might actually be able to take it from there. It feels good to be of use.

It also feels good to have something to give the idiot shit over, when he goes to visit him later.

He empties the cough drops from his pocket into one of the cups he bought yesterday, and pops another one into his mouth before he starts getting out ingredients to cook. It feels good on his throat, menthol pleasantly numbing despite the slightly sweet taste. He pours a hefty amount of rice into a pot to start boiling, and then begins slicing carrots and scallions and mushrooms for takikomi gohan. It takes a while to slice with one arm, as holding the vegetables in place with one hand is a challenge, but he manages by summoning a clone. Once he’s done, he slips them in a pan with some salt and dashi stock. He also adds frozen peas before covering it with the lid to simmer.

Once that’s going, he washes his hand, then folds the comforter he had washed and left out to dry this morning, ultimately storing it in the closet. He stirs the vegetable mixture occasionally, after, reading more of his book while he waits for the rice to finish. The one about kenjutsu is more interesting than he thought it would be. He might finish it by the time he sees Sakura tomorrow.

He really hopes he can walk her home again; he hadn’t gotten a chance to kiss her today. She might not want him to, if she thinks he's sick, but somehow he suspects she likely understood it wasn't actual illness. She's good at what she does, and smart.

It’s a simple but savory lunch, a larger portion than he’s accustomed to. He eats all of it, albeit slowly, as he reads.

Uncannily, an abrupt and earsplitting knocking erupts on his door as he puts the last bite in his mouth to chew.

“TEME! Open up!” More incessant knocking. “I’m fucking bored, and Kakashi-sensei gave me the day off! Let’s spar!”

Sasuke rolls his eyes and closes his book before standing to rinse his dish, setting it in the sink to wash later, along with the pot and pan already rinsed and stacked there.

“Alright, dobe. You don’t need to bust down my door.”

He grabs another cough drop and removes the tape and cotton from his arm before he goes. It’s a little tender, but the blood has clotted by now.

[writing-in-april]

9 o’clock

Spencer Reid x Gender Neutral Barista Reader

Summary: Reader is an owner of a small coffee shop that Spencer is a late night regular to. Reader finally learns Spencer’s name and why he’s so obsessed with sugar in his coffee.

A/N: Sorry for my little unprompted hiatus I was having some family problems! Here’s a little fic with two painfully shy people! I had this idea half written for a while so I was really excited to finally finish it! I also funnily have like 3 other fics with Spencer about coffee as WIPs rn lol

Warnings: Non this is a super fluffy meet cute!

Masterlist Wordcount: 1.1k

The quiet customer that had been coming in at 9 o’clock on the dot made my mind swirl with constant possibilities on who he was. He only ever spoke to me to tell his order then maybe a quiet thank you if I was lucky. The only reason I had a deep urge to start a conversation with him was that every time I repeated my loosely scripted prompts to attain his order he always looked as if he wanted to say more. Plus, his appearance left an air of mystery as to who he was, awakening curiosity in my usually shy soul. And, the fact that he would come in exactly at 9 o’clock everyday only to disappear for days at a time. So really, there were a lot of reasons why I wanted to get to know the stranger.

Maybe he was just as shy as I was. Despite dealing with people every day and having a myriad of conversations with people my heart raced, my face blushed, and my hands got clammy every time a customer decided to veer off topic from coffee or books into something else. I guess coffee and books were my safe space, I could talk about them for hours non stop.

The mysterious stranger however, made me nervous about just simply asking if I could take his order, despite it being almost exactly the same every time. A large black coffee with no room.

The first time he came in I thought he was one of the types to love his coffee completely black with no additives. That was until right after I gave him his brew he went over to where the sugar was kept out and nearly dumped all of it into the large cup.

This time when he came in I had forgotten to set out the extra sugar container I had taken to setting out right before 9 pm since he had become a punctual regular.

His dejected face from seeing the empty sugar container made me sad, his little smiles I saw always made my day. He was probably assuming I wouldn’t refill it this close to closing time. Luckily, I was able to immediately remedy the situation as I had filled it up but had only forgotten to set it out. A fresh glass cylinder shaker full to the brim just for him sat behind the counter waiting especially for him ready to cure his frown.

A little smirk hid behind the espresso machine as I put a lid and sleeve on his fresh cup of dark roast. I placed the steaming cup of joe on the counter along with the fresh shaker. My smile threatened to break into a broad grin at the sight of his own expression lighting up at the sight of the white little crystals. The familiar comforting silence was blissful but, I found myself wanting to break it as I saw him tip the shaker over and fill his cup with a steady stream of sweetness.

“Can I ask you a question?” He gave out a little squeak and almost spilled over the coffee that he was drowning in sugar obviously not expecting me to say anything. I quietly cursed myself for breaking the delicate balance of silent conversation I had enjoyed throughout the weeks.

“Y-yeah, sure.” He stuttered out with a curious gaze. Now it was my turn to be caught off guard, a handsome stranger talking to me and sounding slightly interested in conversation? Unheard of. I almost forgot what my question was in the first place, finally my own stuttered response came out after he blinked a few times in question at you.

“H-how do you stand that much sugar in your coffee? I mean I like a lot of sugar but, I usually pair it with cream and I don’t see you do that-” Oh god, I was rambling now and along with the stuttering I probably looked like a skittish fool to him. Face flushing further I looked down to try and avoid the eyes of the only person in your cafe silently wishing a customer would walk in to free you from your embarrassment. But, who gets coffee at 9pm right?

“ Well- I really need caffeine for when I work since I work a lot of hours and it really helps but I really don’t like the taste of coffee so hence the sugar. Creamer just dilutes the amount of caffeine I would end up intaking. And- I could drink tea instead but that doesn’t wake me up as good compared to the coffee.” I just blinked up at him with mild surprise, I was not expecting someone to ramble even more than I did. Courage to speak again bubbled up within me so I stuttered out a quiet remark to his little ramble.

“Ah- Ssso that’s why you’re usually my only customer here after 7.” There was an awkward pause, almost like he suddenly forgot how to speak. Instead of waiting for him to fill the permeating silence in the shop I figured I might as well ask for his name. It’s not like it couldn’t get any more awkward then it already was and I was dying to put a name to the face I had been looking at the same time every night. “What’s your name?”

“S-spencer. Spencer Reid.”

“Nice to meet you… M-my name’s Y/N.”

Unfortunately our meeting was cut short when his phone rang calling him back to whatever busy job he had that kept him up all hours of the night. He quickly and quietly departed with a promise to come in the next time he was around at 9.

I took a sip of my own coffee that was similarly overly sweet with a smile on my face. I couldn’t wait to see the handsome stranger I know had a name for. Spencer… It fit him well and I couldn’t wait for his next visit at 9 o’clock.

The smile never left my face as I cleaned up for closing time, never before had I felt so giddy to be deep cleaning the espresso machine. As I finished up behind the bar I swept around to clean up the hand off counter when I noticed a still clean napkin sitting carefully at the edge right where Spencer had been standing.

The little squeal I let out at the sight of a phone number written on the pristine white napkin echoed off the walls of the shop.

I wouldn’t even have to wait for 9 o’clock tomorrow.

[consumeconstantly]

Those Who Are Kind

1| 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 (you are here) | next

Summary: Siblings are the last thing on Marinette’s mind as she begins her frantic search for Tikki. Really, she can’t even consider them siblings, not yet. But they’re along for the ride, whether she wants them to be or not.

Duke doesn’t know what to make of the current situation.

He’s always known that the Waynes are crazy, insane, even, but he loves them all the same, in the begrudging, cautious way he cannot shake. (This approach has served him well over the years, allowing him to avoid multiple schemes that Tim or Jason typically start up to rile up Damian. From there, everything is guaranteed to snowball. The only time things get really bad is when Cass gets involved.) To him, it’s always been a bit uncanny how similar all the brothers looked, despite the fact that none of them shared blood. All of them had the same sharp jaw, piercing blue eyes, chiselled cheekbones and defined bodies. Only Tim and Damian differed slightly, with Tim having a dancer’s figure instead of that of a body builder or demolitions expert, and Damian having green eyes instead of blue. It’s also disconcerting that everybody the Waynes are more intimately involved with have some sort of alter ego. He often joked with other members of the Justice League that heroism ran in Bruce’s blood.

With the new addition of Marinette to their family, he has to say that he’s been proven right.

A girl who had absolutely nothing to do with the Waynes in any capacity other than the fact that she and Bruce share blood becoming a hero. The leader of a team. Fighting supervillains at the age of thirteen.

He’s very, very glad that he was not adopted by or shared blood with Bruce. He doesn’t think he could have handled being a superhero at age thirteen. He can barely handle being Signal now some days, and he’s an adult. The amount of responsibility on Marinette’s shoulders is difficult to understand. To be the sole wielder of magic that can revert an entire city back to its original state. To bring people back from the dead. 

Dick is strangely quiet. A car is driving them from a pit stop near a zeta tube to Marinette’s hospital. 

Hands down, Dick is the most sane male of the Wayne family, not including Alfred. But there are times when Duke sees the weight that he carries. All the times that he refuses to talk about the burdens that he bears. Moving forward with a smile when he’s in pain. When he gets in a mood like this, he’s hard to read. But given the circumstances, it’s fairly clear exactly what’s bothering him. 

“He’s known about her this entire time,” Dick says, tinted windows allowing Duke a glance at his expression, carefully devoid of any telling emotions. “Nineteen years. He kept her a secret.”

“It’s Bruce.” The man is known for keeping secrets. 

“Yeah, but Marinette is family. She should have been, at least. And now…”

Now she’s all alone when she should be surrounded by people that love her, praising her for her victory, for how she shouldered so much responsibility at such a young age. But by bringing her to a hospital in America, she’s been cut off from her team, and any support system she should have had is gone. 

“You and her,” Duke says, looking for a way to comfort him. “You’ll get along. You’re similar, after all.” After they brought Gabriel and Lila to the a top security prison and sent Emilie to a hospital that couldn’t figure out what was wrong with her, they got two files from Tim. One detailing Ladybug and all of her exploits. The second, detailing Marinette’s life. 

Duke has watched the videos. Has watched how Ladybug leads by example, comes up with the plan and begins the execution. How she shoulders more battles than she should. 

He’s seen Marinette pull people together with a smile on her face, even while she’s running on empty after a strenuous akuma attack. 

Dick and Marinette are alike. 

“We’re too much alike,” Dick says. “I suspected for a long time that Bruce had another kid that he wasn’t telling us about, but I thought that if he was keeping her away from us, then maybe she’d have a shot at leading a good life. A normal life. Not the one she got. Sabine’s— Bruce’s biological daughter shouldn’t be somebody like me. She deserves better.”

Duke is acutely aware that Dick’s parents were also murdered, but whatever relation he had with Sabine is something he’s never been willing to talk about. There are pictures in his apartment of a petite Asian woman with a soft smile standing next to him, but whenever asked about her, Dick never gives a straight answer. 

“Nobody has the ability to change the past.” Duke claps a hand on his friend’s shoulder. He sags imperceptibly under the weight. 

Well— actually, it’s not out of the realm of possibilities, given the fact that magic, aliens, and metahumans all coexisted, supplemented by the fact that multiple members of Marinette’s team do have the ability to travel back in time, but that’s another matter entirely. There’s not a lot of information on the Miraculous, and all of their knowledge is coming from Wonder Woman, Aquaman, and Zatara, and even the three of them don’t know everything. 

“But you have the chance to do good by her. Be a good older brother, like I know you are.”

A thin smile appears on Dick’s face. “She’s going to need more than just one good influence on her life. And Damian is better, but you saw how he looked at her when Bruce brought her through the Zeta tubes. Tim’s not going to react well either, and Jason is a wild card. She’s not going to get the support she needs if she stays with us.”

Duke crosses his arms, knees brushing up against the back of the car seat. “The only person whose actions you’re responsible for are your own. Don’t worry about them. If they don’t like her, they’ll just avoid her.”

That’s certainly not true— all of the members of the Wayne family are notorious for going hard after all of the things they don’t like. But... it’s comforting to hear. Sometimes temporary and known lies are much nicer than harsh realities.

#

She’s gone.

All of her belongings are missing, the IV needle is hanging from the stand, the window open, and Marinette is missing from her bed.

At least she left a note?

Be back soon — Marinette

“Great,” Duke mutters under his breath. “Another incredibly vague, cryptic Wayne.”

Dick’s face turns to ash. “Her legs. Her head. She can’t go out so soon. Hold on, maybe Barbara can pull up some footage.”

“On the bright side, there’s no blood,” Duke says. 

“That’s not a bright side.”

“It is,” Duke argues. “She fell in the worst places possible, right on top of that broken glass casket. If she’s not bleeding that clearly means she didn’t pull her stitches on her mad escape out.”

When Ladybug fell, they’re not exactly sure what happened, because the screen showed Ladybug collapsing almost gracefully. When they arrived on the scene, she flickered between Ladybug and Marinette as her earrings beeped. Her legs were slashed from falling on the glass with a seemingly unnatural force— simply falling would not have garnered cuts that large— and her head was twisted at an odd angle, debris bloodied beneath her.

Somehow, the Miraculous Cure seemed to be working backwards. Not from the epicenter out, but rather from the edge of the damage, in. It worked slowly, every mile taking minutes instead of mere seconds. It hadn’t happened before in any of the battles.

It was useful in apprehending Hawkmoth and Pavona, who were still knocked out. But Marinette, even after the Miraculous Cure washed over her, didn’t get healed. Her injuries didn’t revert. There was still a gash on her stomach from Hawkmoth’s cane, still muscles exposed on the back of her legs and blood on her neck. When she was first brought in, the doctors feared that she may be permanently incapacitated. 

Good at keeping to her word at least. She came swinging through the window with worry on her face and grief in her eyes. 

“I need to go back to Paris,” she says. 

Dick will undoubtedly say no. He’s a very protective person, and Marinette is the center of his current efforts. 

But she doesn’t look injured. He eyes her stance. She’s standing with no effort, walks with no limp. No hospital dress, no blood on her neck, no bruises in all of the places he was expecting them to be. Marinette does not look like she just faced a world ending threat less than twenty four hours ago. She certainly doesn’t look like she’s permanently lost the use of her legs. There’s the familiar Wayne Brand Stubbornness in her eyes— no way she’s not Bruce’s kid— that tells him that she’s going to get to Paris one way or another, and that they’re either lucky they were even notified in the first place or that she wants to use a resource that they have that she does not have access to. It’s fairly obvious what that resource is, considering that Paris is nine hours away by any normal plane and it sounds like she wants to get there in minutes, and not hours. Duke also knows that if they don’t take what she’s offering now, she’ll use an alternative method that definitely won’t be as nice or clear cut. 

He jumps in before Dick can say anything. “We’ll take you as long as we go with you every step of the way.”

Oh, he’s going to get in so much trouble for doing this. Dick is looking at him with his Disapproving Dad glare, and he can imagine Bruce going into brooding silence when he hears that Duke allowed this to happen. 

Marinette’s lips pinch together, but she nods. “Where’s the nearest zeta tube?”

#

Barbara gets Dick’s text and sighs in frustration.

She’s already got her hands full with watching Tim, who’s spiralling trying to find information about the Miraculous, muttering under his breath in the way he does when he gets a particularly hard case to crack. He’s gone through six cups of coffee in the last hour, and he kicked off his research with a combination of 5 Hour Energy, Monster, three packets of sugar, and 10 caffeine shots. Soon, she’ll have to start limiting his caffeine intake, but right now it’s clear that any attempt to get him to stop his research now will fail spectacularly. At least she’s not in charge of Damian and Jason. Wherever they are, they’re definitely on the move and not happy.

She never thought she'd be able to say she’s happy about being paralyzed from the waist down, but she certainly doesn’t want to be chasing after one of the two hellions. Cass definitely has her hands full and whoever’s watching Jason— wait, is anybody even watching Jason? Typically Roy gets stuck with Jason-sitting duty, but he’s been out for a while. 

Barbara groans. Jason is probably on his own, wreaking havoc.

Great.

She’ll deal with that later, even though she has no doubt she’ll regret that decision, but if Marinette is gone from her room, Dick needs the footage, and somebody needs to find where she is. The nurse put in her latest report that her legs were almost healed and that she didn’t show any signs of a concussion, but Marinette was in bad shape when she got admitted to the hospital. Even though Barbara doubts that there was any misdiagnosis, given that Bruce sprung for a VIP room in one of the pricier hospitals, in a world where magic and aliens are present, who knows what’s true or not.

“Tibet!” Tim jumps up from his hunched over position for the first time in hours. “I’m going to Tibet, the closest zeta tubes are three hours by car away, but I can get somebody to loan Wayne Industries a helicopter while I’m over there.”

“Sit down, Tim.” Barbara takes her glasses off and pinches the bridge of her nose. Why can’t Bruce rein in his children? Why is she the one stuck babysitting? “Marinette left her hospital room.”

That certainly gets Tim to put the brakes on his movements towards the zeta tube in the bat cave. 

“What?”

“I said, she left her hospital room. Just sit down while I send the information over. It’s not going to do you any good to rush into things anyways.”

A quick review of the surrounding CCTV shows that Marinette didn’t travel far, just around the hospital. She’s looking for something, calling out for it, too. Barbara grabs that file and slows it down so she can read her lips. “Dickie? Do she and Dick know each other already?”

A quick text back to Dick reveals that Marinette has already returned to the room and—

Oh, hell. 

“Well,” Barbara pushes her laptop away from her, letting Tim watch the files she’s pulled up. “It looks like we’re taking a family trip to Paris.”

#

Somehow, Marinette almost manages to lose all four of them within the first four minutes of roaming around Paris.

Luckily, their family has an almost absurd amount of luck between all of them (not all of it good) and the person Barbara was half sure she could only find in prison, beating up Hawkmoth and Pavona, runs into Marinette on the streets and herds her back to them.

“Lose something?” Jason asks, arm slung around Marinette’s shoulder, the smaller, younger girl looking rather upset at having her plans thrown off.

“I told them that they could follow me,” Marinette argues without much real bite. It’s not my fault if they can’t keep up, is the clear meaning of her statement.

Again, Barbara is very impressed that the barely nineteen year old somehow managed to shake off vigilantes with decades of experience with ease. But it is, at least, partially due to her disability. Every time she goes out in her wheelchair, her heart aches a little, especially as the civilians she passes eye her with pity. Barbara doesn’t want pity. Doesn’t need pity. She shouldn’t feel anything when people look at her like she can’t keep up, because she can keep up.

Most of the time, anyways.

It doesn’t matter how she uses her tech skills to modify her wheelchair and deck it out with all the equipment she could ever need, or that she can easily get up to speeds rivalling sports cars for short periods of time before the power runs out. When she’s stuck in her wheelchair, she loses the maneuverability she had when she wasn’t paralyzed.

She couldn’t follow Marinette through the alleyways because she was stuck. Barbara was the one who noticed her escape first. If only she were more capable, she could have—

But it’s okay now. Jason ran into her. Marinette is back with them. 

“I need to search for something, and none of you can help.” She’s not intentionally being rude when she says it, and if anything, sounds apologetic. Barbara sees the similarities between Marinette and Bruce. It makes a lot of sense that the two of them are father and daughter, when the two of them are so insistent on keeping major issues to themselves. Marinette twists herself out from underneath Jason’s arm, clutching her purse. Her head doesn’t move, but her eyes are wild. 

“We can help,” soothes Duke, ever the voice of reason. “You know who we are.”

“And I’m guessing you’ve all either deduced who I am or have been told my identity,” counters Marinette. “Which means you should know why I can’t have you helping me.”

Barbara and Duke exchange pointed glances. 

“That’s not really clear to us, actually,” says Barbara. Marinette isn’t moving, but the way her shoulders tense makes her believe that the younger girl is ready to run at the drop of a hat. 

A small group of people from the parade on the streets tumbles into the alleyway they’re resting in. They smell like cheap booze and sweat. 

“What are all of you doing in this alley?” one says, after he finished vomiting up his last (very colorful) meal. “You should be out there partying with the rest of us! Celebrating Ladybug and her team.”

“Fuck Hawkmoth and Pavona,” says another solemnly, with neon face paint and pigtails with glitter string intertwined. “Their defeat should be celebrated by even the darkest souls.”

Jason, easily amused by their antics, looks very willing to join them. “Yeah Marinette, we should be celebrating Ladybug not—”

As one, everybody looks at the place where Marinette was, just moments ago. The alley is decidedly empty of a small asian girl with blue eyes and pigtails.

“Fuck,” Jason curses.

“Fuck is right,” Duke agrees, placing a hand over his temple. 

#

Marinette manages to disappear for three hours.

Three full hours.

“She’s good,” Tim says, typing into the holographic computer embedded into his sleeve. 

Paris’ CCTVs are painfully easy to hack into, though he suspects that the lack of attention to them may have to do with the fact that everybody in the city is celebrating. Policemen, politicians, artists, students, scientists—  people from all walks of life are in the streets today, screaming and shouting and being free for the first time in years.

He spies more than just a few dozen people bawling their eyes out within a few minutes. But that’s not surprising, considering how long Parisians have had to suppress their emotions for. 

Dick and Barbara are still in the midst of profiling Marinette, trying to determine the most likely places where she’d stop by, either as Ladybug or herself. All of Ladybug’s usual haunts are decidedly devoid of the young heroine, though Tim does manage to catch a good amount of footage of the other young heroes like Carapace and Rena Rouge, who are most definitely in a relationship based on their makeout session on top of the eiffel tower (one of the first places Tim checked), Viperion, who seems to be the only one from Ladybug’s team to be seeking out the crowd which seems rather atypical considering that the hero never frequented interviews or was spotted on news coverage all that frequently,  and Chat Noir and Queen Bee who Jason insisted were in a relationship as well, though the rest of them believed they were only embracing each other out of comfort— Chat Noir looks like he’s been crying for hours, and Queen Bee looks like she’s barely holding it together.

Ryuko has not shown up on camera once today. Neither has Ladybug.

The second place Tim checks is the bakery. She is not there either, though another girl is. It doesn’t seem like the girl has any ill intent, but Duke is more than happy to pull up past files to see if she’s been there before, if she has any reason to be there, and who exactly she is. 

Just as Barbara and Dick are debating the chances that Marinette would be at Le Grande Paris, she walks past one of the cameras focused on Tom & Sabine’s Boulangerie. Tim has the system rigged up so that any facial matches for Marinette automatically alerts the room. He hadn’t been able to replicate that with Ladybug’s face for some bizarre reason which is why he, Barbara, Dick, and Jason are manually combing through the areas where Dick and Barbar think she may be (magic is why, but Tim has always believed that technology can be used against and with most forms of magic) so it’s lucky that she enters as Marinette. 

“Kagami Tsurugi,” Duke says triumphantly. “She visited often when Tom and Sabine were still alive. Potential candidate to represent France or Japan for Sabre in the next Olympics. Definitely friends with Marinette.”

“Thank God,” sighs Dick. “Now let’s get over there.”

It’s truly, truly unfortunate that they set up shop quite a distance away from the bakery.

They take too long to arrive.

#

Perhaps it was a mistake, telling Kagami first.

No, not just perhaps. It was a mistake. A bad one.

But Kagami was pushing so hard, and Marinette was so tired and so alone without Tikki at her side, without the knowledge that her parents would be waiting for her. Kagami pushed and pushed and pushed about why the house felt so empty, why there was dust on the floor, why the bakery was closed for so long, and where were Tom and Sabine? Why weren’t they there for the team yesterday, when the battle was won, when they knew how important it was to be there for Adrien who had just lost all three of his parental figures? 

The moment the words fall from Marinette's lips, she knows she shouldn’t have revealed it at that moment, because Kagami draws in on herself, lips turning downwards, hands curling into fists. 

Kagami has come a long way from the girl she was in lycèe. The thrill of victory is still something she enjoys, but not something she needs to feel secure in her place in the world. She has trouble expressing her emotions, but when it comes down to it, she communicates everything necessary to understand why. 

With the news of Tom and Sabine’s death, she withdraws into herself, shifts back into that thirteen year old Marinette first met. Logic  and rationale thrown to the wind in favor of cold anger. 

It’s no secret that Ryuko, Ladybug, and Viperion are the main strategists of their team. Viperion, out of his duty of using Second Chance and his ability to keep a level head in the face of constant death. Ladybug out of necessity as her position as team leader and the power of Lucky Charm. Theoretically, the two of them should have been enough. But over the years, Kagami became Marinette's favored confidante; though Ladybug trusts all of her team to keep a tight hold on any information she gives them, Kagami is one of the few who is able to pick apart a given situation and transform the monsters they face into manageable pieces. 

Today, it is Kagami who has broken to pieces. Very angry, razor sharp shards that seek to hurt.

“You lie to the media, tell them a pretty tale of how they died due to a break in. Why do you avoid pinning their deaths on Lila as you should? To absolve a quality woman from guilt?”

Marinette can’t look Kagami in the eyes.

Her parents deserved a peaceful death. To pass on in old age, hand in hand. Not looking on as a family member died, in fear of what would happen next for their daughter. 

“The police know. The judges know,” Marinette protests weakly, but without much eight behind her words.

Kagami just scoffs. “Tom and Sabine were kind people. To not tell the media what truly happened— that’s preventing Lila from getting the full force of what’s coming to her. What happens if she gets out of prison one day? Without any real deaths to her name, she could just flee to another country to escape it all. And when another person loses their life because of her…” 

She doesn’t need to finish her sentence. If somebody else gets injured in any way, shape or form at the hands of Lila Rossi, it’s Marinette’s fault. Marinette gets what Kagami is trying to say. She thinks the same thing, after all.

“My parents would not want their death publicized in that manner.” It’s the truth, but it’s said so weakly that the words come off as little more than a weak defense, and Kagami takes the words and twists their truth.

“You know little of your parents, considering that you’re their daughter.” Kagami stands stock still, not a single extra muscle moving. “Perhaps if you spent more time with them as Marinette instead of unsuccessfully gallivanting around as Ladybug, you’d have realized that Tom and Sabine admire truth above all else, even if it is painful.”

Kagami does not ask a single question about where Marinette was last night, or how Marinette felt over the loss of her parents or when she saw all those she held dear lying still on the ground after Hawkmoth and Pavona’s final attacks. She just purses her lips and sweeps out the door.

And then she’s gone, and Marinette is alone once more. 

#

The bakery is bone-achingly quiet.

Every step Marinette takes creates such a disturbance in the peace that moving hurts. 

But she can’t stay here. She can’t stay here. She does not deserve to stay here. Kagami is right. Marinette was a bad daughter. She could have prevented their death, could have given them justice sooner, could have— 

And Marinette can’t breathe. She tries to, she tries so hard to, but she chokes.

She kneels down on the floor— Kagami is right again, the place is dusty, because Marinette couldn’t bring herself to use the living room and kitchen without her parents, could barely bring herself to sleep in her bedroom because she knew that her parents were not sleeping soundly in the bed below hers— and scrabbles at her throat, vision coming in and out.

Her legs burn. She knows that during the final battle, her legs were cut towards the end of it, and they should be healed, she should be okay now, she’s better than this, she’s— 

Somebody gathers her in their arms. They smell slightly of Lotus flowers, just like Maman, and cradle her ever so gently.

Marinette’s eyes open— black hair, greyish eyes filled with understanding and love and— 

She can breathe again.

She falls asleep.

#

“Cass?” Dick’s eyes widen at her unexpected appearance at Marinette’s home.

“I thought you were on Damian guard duty,” Barbara says, fixating on the red around Marinette’s eyes and the barely dried tear tracks on her face.

“Where’s that Kagami girl?” Jason scuffs his shoes on the hardware floor, silently marking the footprints on the floor and getting a general idea of what occurred before they were able to get here based on Marinette’s current state and the other girl’s absence. “I want to have some words with her.”

Cass inclines her head sharply, eye sparking with anger. Jason’s fists rise unconsciously— Cass rarely gets angry, and whenever she gets angry at a specific person, that means they’ve done something very, very wrong— ready to hunt down Kagami. Marinette sniffles and shifts in Cass’ one armed embrace, to which Cass places a finger over her lip and shakes her head, a universal sign to be quiet.

 Jason scowls but settles down.

They’re quiet as they wait for Marinette to wake.

@biodad-bruce-month

Maribat tag list(to be added onto this pls send me an ask/dm): @our-precipreciousss @my-dear-friend-anxiety

Who Are You (and what will you become) tag list (to be added here just comment): @anjuschiffer @theunquiet-dead @certainmuffinbagelcalzone @cresentmo0n @allulily @myazael @zalladane @rebecarojas07 @keepingupwiththemalfoys  @frieddonutsweets @all-mights-asscheeks @thornalchemist23 @trippingovermyfeet @jiso-lee @redscarlet95 @ira-sairain @screechingflapbiscuitpeach @ramos123 @cutechip @theunquiet-dead @sleep-deprived-aroace @enternalempires @lilkymilky @woe-is-me0 @officiallydarkgeek @miyla-lokidottir @queencommonsense @demonicbusiness @iamablinkmarvelarmy 

@emark7 (i will have the edited version of these on ao3 eventually but i think the link to ch 1 on this one works)

where i ended this doesn’t feel very good but ehhhhhhhhhh my writing process is summary then word vomit that barely correlates which means nothing makes sense unless i edit but looking back at my work makes me cringe so at a crossroads yayyy

also can you guys tell which prompts ive written these for because i’m curious

[diplexchimera]

Hey people considering college-

I have some tips for you. Now, take into consideration that I am technically a college drop-out (didn't have enough money for a second semester).

- my college required Freshman to be in a campus dorm. We got to select whether we preferred someone quiet, someone loud, or someone in between. In my experience, someone loud = an extrovert who will have many people visit them, someone quiet = a person who prefers to keep their room more private, and someone in between = a person who wants their roommate to be okay with a noisy room & people over, but also wants to be able to say they need quiet time (or they aren't sure what they want, but want neither a silent room or a busy room).

- if you have to eat from the cafeteria, that's okay. They tend to have a wider selection anyway but! I would suggest memorizing the breakfast/lunch/dinner availability hours. Some schools are very strict, and will lock the doors which = a skipped meal for you.

-I would also suggest getting the app 'MyPlate Calorie Tracker'. College meals will most likely be different than what you've eaten at home and school. The MyPlate app is pretty simple, and can help you make sure you're getting the right amount of food into yourself, as opposed to too much or too little. If I remember correctly, it also keeps track of how much protein and stuff your food is supplying you.

- sugars, fats, calories, and carbs are not bad for you. Your body requires them. Your brain literally will not function if you cut out any one of those items. Remember, you don't need to avoid being fat, you need work today being healthy. Your body will sort itself out (over time dude, give it time) if you supply it with the necessary nutrients and such.

- dude, vitamins. They can be expensive, but if you have insurance, ask your doctor how much of every vitamin you should be having. They can tell you, give you a list, and they can ask your insurance if vitamins are covered. If you can't get to a doctor, try to do research. Here is one from Harvard that I think is good, but you should always cross check things. Getting all the vitamins and minerals you need is exceedingly important. They help you go to sleep, stay asleep, and wake up, help your brain and body to function and adjust, help keep you feeling healthy and happy. If you feel tired and depressed, it can be really difficult to accomplish tasks and enjoy/ appreciate being alive.

- I would not suggest starting your year by completing assignments before the start date of said assignments. For one, doing assignments as they come helps you get a feel for a natural schedule. Another reason is because it helps to be in the moment, instead of too far ahead to be able to keep track of what's going on and when. Wait until you have a hang of how and where to research, and a firm idea of how much you can hold onto mentally, so you don't fail tests. You'll also likely feel guilty later on when you begin to struggle to stay ahead as assignments get longer and more difficult.

- yo if you can get a used textbook that comes as a three ring binder instead of a hard or soft back, do it. It's cheaper, and so much easier to handle and copy. Heck, you can even take the pages out of the section you're using and put them in a folder -- boom, no more 40lb back pack. Also makes more room in any bag you use for the essentials, which I'll list next.

- here are some backpack essentials:

• earbuds, Bluetooth if possible. It's okay to have more than one type of listening device. "I prefer headphones!" You say. You can't hide over-the-ear headphones if you end up in a classroom which doesn't allow something like that. Sometimes you're just having a sucky day, sometimes you need extra stimulation to concentrate, sometimes you want to spend your time listening to a podcast that explains the current subject better than your teacher does. Sometimes you want to watch a movie casually. Earbuds also take up MUCH less space.

• an extra charging cable for every portable device you use. Roll them up, and secure each one individually with cable ties or bread bag twist ties. I say extra, as in, keep your original cords in your dorm room and Don't Take Them out. Get a secondary cable and charger for each device, and let them live in your backpack.

• 3 or 4 different colors of pen. Multiple colors, for whatever reason you want-- easily scanned notes, for different subjects, etc. These can serve a variety of purposes, and you never know when you need them.

• 3 regular pencils, and a good hand sharpener or silent mechanical sharpener. 3 in case the other two get broken lead or happen to suck. Regular pencils can be finicky.

• 2 mechanical pencils. 2 in case one of them fails, runs out of lead, or the lead breaks up.

• decoy pens and pencils! Get as cheap or expensive as you want. At some point, someone is likely to ask for one, and you don't want someone else using your favorites. You also may not get them back, or they get broken. I would suggest a couple of each, as it may happen in more than one class. You don't have to have decoys, but that way, at least you don't have to choose between either feeling guilty for not loaning out the items you like, or being uncomfortable that you did have to loan one. If you loan the decoys out, and don't get any back, and someone asks you for a utensil later that day, you have both a convenient reason you don't have an extra you're willing to share, and you already put the minimum effort towards being prepared.

• Water! You're going to get so dang dehydrated! You're going to have full days, much of the time, from trekking across campus, to class time, to meal times, to study time, to hang out time -- you need to have water with you, as opposed to having to track it down, and possibly have to pay for a bottle of water. Hydration is a main component in bodily functionality and brain processes. I would suggest a minimum of a 30-ish ounce container of any sort. A plastic water bottle you refill, a thermos, a sippy cup, a hydro flask, a camp flask, whatever works for you.

• I would say snacks. If you're eating meals throughout the day, I guess they aren't "technically" essential, but can confidently say, they are useful. Snacks can be an energy boost, a brain function boost, a hunger soother, a friend-maker, or just plain stimulation. Cut up some apple slices, maybe grab some peanut butter, or a portion of nuts, or a tangerine, crackers, pretzels, chips, the choice is yours. It helps if you can get ahold of some of those cheap reusable silicone ziplock baggies. You can wash them to be used again, and you don't have to deal with carrying plastic trash around with you.

• a pair of socks. I know that sounds weird, but it doesn't take up much space, and weird stuff happens. They get wet, or it's hot and your feet get sweaty and yucky, or food get spilled on your feet. Stuff happens.

• b12 tablets. They work with your system in a healthy way, as opposed to caffeine, and does the same trick. Just follow the directions on the bottle, and may I suggest, start with half the recommended dose. It affects different people more or less. My husband takes the recommended two, while I only need a half. We both have adhd, and are closely similar in body weight. If you need a wake up boost, don't slam your system with caffeine.

• baby wipes. You can get a small pack, and they can help clean up almost anything. Someone spill sticky tea? Got it. Fell and scraped a knee, and it has dirt all over it? Baby wipes and a little water. Need to blow your nose, and there are no tissues, or just feel like you need to rinse your face off in class? You're covered.

• chapstick is a very small item, but Lordy Lord if those classrooms aren't parched of all moisture in the air. You gone get cracked, chapped lips.

That's kinda it for now on backpack essentials. There is definitely more you could have, so supplement whatever helps you. You could add a hairbrush or comb, a hat and rain jacket for cold weather times, sunscreen during the hot times, hair ties and bobby pins, etc. It's all for you pal.

- keep in touch with your professors. Make yourself known to them. An occasional casual compliment is often helpful, and a good way to connect (you explained stuff really well today/your teaching style is helpful/I appreciated you taking time to answer my questions). They are people after all.

- if you have stuff going on, let your professors know. If your pet is sick at home and you're worried about them, give your professors a heads-up that you may seem less attentive that week, but that it isn't disinterest. If you figure out you have depression, and you're struggling to complete assignments/sleep/wake-up, tell them. Let them know you don't expect special treatment, you just wanted them to know that it isn't due to immaturity or lack of interest.

- always do studying and homework first. If you're able to accomplish these things while with friends, that's great, but if you can tell you're struggling, prioritize schoolwork. You'll have time for fun stuff later, usually later that evening.

- it's okay to drop a class. In fact, if you severely dislike a class, don't understand the coursework, or you realize you've taken on too much at once, it's better for your overall wellness and your grades if you drop it. If you have a professor suggest you drop a class in mean way, don't feel like you have to prove them wrong. This is your experience, and they can stuff it for being a rude brat. You don't need to prove yourself to them, and you cannot control their thoughts or actions.

- try to take classes that happen twice a week, which start later in the day than 8 am, at least for your first semester. There is a lot going on in college. A lot of changes to acclimate to. Take it a little easier at first, to give yourself time to work out what all is where, and how everything works.

Well, that's the end of 'dip's (college) tips' for now.

[cucumbers-and-olives]

Soda Cans

Summary: oh my god i wish i could put something here, but legit just read it please

Category: slight angst, kinda slow burn-ish

Fandom: JATP

Paring: Luke x non-binary!reader

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings/Includes: mentions of conversion camps, hospitalization

A/N: did i write this in two days? yes and i am very proud of it

this is for @dream-a-little-bigger-x's What 90's Dreams are made Of week! I've had so much fun playing around with the boys in the 90's, so thank you!

edit: @ijustreallylovethem sent me a really good ask about how to pronounce Mx., you can find the ask here

Please don’t repost my work without my permission, in part or whole. My work can also be found on AO3 under the same username. Thank you!

“Uggh, are you fucking kidding me!” Luke said, hitting the vending machine a few times to try and get his soda.

The hospital waiting room was pretty empty, except for the members of Sunset Curve, the receptionist, and a nurse that entered the room. The silence was deafening until someone hit the vending machine with their shoe.

The can came clattering down, and they reached down to grab it.

“Here you go,” Luke recognized this person as the receptionist. “You gotta hit it on the lower left side, or else it won’t come out.” Luke took the can from their hand.

“Actually,” They put some coins in and pressed some buttons. “Now that I think about it, the soda can are the only ones that have any issues coming down.” They grabbed a candy bar from the machine.

They sat back down behind the desk and Luke returned to his friends.

“Why didn’t you ask her? About Alex, I bet she can get us in!” Bobby said.

“Yeah,” Reggie agreed. “She obviously likes you.”

“Okay, okay.”

Luke got up and walked over to the desk. “Excuse me, Miss…”

They looked up, “It’s actually Mx., I’m non-binary.” They gave a soft smile. “I’m Y/N, how can I help you and your friends?”

Luke looked behind him and saw that the other boys had followed him up to the desk. “I’m Luke. Uh, we were wondering if you could get us in to see our friend? His name is Alexander Mercer.”

They typed away at their computer, and when they saw his file, their face dropped.

“What- what is it?” Reggie asked nervously.

“I can’t let you all up to see him, his parents have put him on an involuntary psych hold. No visitors.” They looked up at the boys. “I’m sorry.” Y/N looked around, to make sure no one was around as they spoke. “If you come back tomorrow at 2 pm, I can get a phone to him. That’s all I can do, I’m sorry.”

“Thank you,” Bobby said. “Let’s go get some sleep guys.”

~

Y/N knocked on the door in front of them. The pale halls of the psych ward were even bleaker than the rest of the hospital. They tried to avoid the floor when they could. But the look in those boys’ eyes had resonated inside them.

“Come in,” A boy’s voice said, and Y/N entered the room.

“Hi, are you Alexander?” They asked, standing awkwardly in the doorway.

The scrawny blonde boy in the bed sat up, his eyes full of fear. “Are you here to take me away?”

���No, no, no,” They assured, closing the door behind them after checking the hall to make sure no one was there. “Uh, your friends set me? One of them was named Luke, and there were two others?” They moved around the room, grabbing a phone out of a hidden cabinet.

“Yeah, Reggie and Bobby, they were here?” He sat up. “What’s with the phone?”

Y/N sighed and pulled a chair up. “Okay, Alexander-”

“Alex.”

“Alex, in about a half-hour, this phone is going to ring. If anyone comes in before then and sees it, you need to say that Ashley Jones left it out. Ashley’s a bitch idiot, so anyone will believe you on this floor. Don’t say anything unless you hear me on the end, okay? Does that all make sense Alex?” He nodded, and Y/N stood.

They remembered his file and turned around as they reached the door. “People don’t understand us, but I’m sure you know that. My psych hold lasted about a month, and then my parents abandoned me cause the camps cost too much, and no one likes a child that isn’t a girl or a boy. You’ll make it out.”

“Thank you.”

~

The room was full, and as the boys came into the waiting room, they didn’t know what to do. Fortunately, Y/N was sitting behind the desk, this time, with a line in front of them.

“Let’s get in line, and then Y/N can tell us what to do,” Bobby said, leading the group.

The line got shorter and shorter, people signing in and some being led out by nurses.

“Hi, please sign in and someone will come get you to see your loved one,” Y/N said, a rehearsed speech they had said many times.

“Yeah, do you know how to get a can out of the vending machine? It’s stuck.”Luke said. Panic flashed by in their eyes as they saw the boys.

“Yeah,” They wrote a note quickly. “I’ll come help in a sec.”

Luke read the note. Sign in. I’ll meet you by the vending machine with more instructions.

He nodded, and quickly signed in for all of the boys and they led them to the vending machine.

Y/N glanced over at their supervisor. “I’m just gonna go help them really quickly-”

“Y/L/N. That’s not why I’m here.” He said sternly. “The kid ‘fessed up. This is your last shift.” He left, and the door behind the desk shut.

Fuck.

~

“Here,” Y/N said softly, kicking the vending machine and freeing the can. They gave Bobby a note along with the soda. “Sorry guys.”

Bobby opened the note as they walked back to the desk. Luke saw them nervously fiddling with a pencil as people logged in and out of the visitor sign-in sheet.

“Luke,” Bobby said, passing him the note.

I wish I had done something that had worked. Someone told my supervisor and well- I got fired. Sorry guys, I wish I could have helped more. Also, Alex is getting moved tomorrow. I’m not sure where, that’s all that I know.

Y/N Y/L/N

idontevenknow@hotmail.com

XXX-XXX-XXXX

The paper was clearly stationary, and Luke looked over to them, eyes meeting for a moment.

I’m sorry, Y/N’s eyes said.

Me too, He said.

“Let’s go. If we can’t see him here, we can at least as his parents,” Reggie said, still hopeful.

~

“So that’s it? We can’t see him, and so we give up?” Luke asked, but even his seemingly hopeful question sounded sad.

After Alex’s parents had very rudely shut the door (literally and figuratively) in the boys’ faces when they asked to see him, they had ended up at the soda shop. The store sold any kind of sweet, candy, or ice cream that you could think of. But, in the back of the store, there was a huge fridge area.

In the summer, the boys would come and stick their faces in the fridge to cool down. In the wither, they would shiver as they got sodas with extra caffeine to help them power through and finish songs.

Bells ran throughout the city, ringing out 11 times, showing that it was 11 pm.

“I guess,” Reggie said, grabbing a pack of gummy bears off the shelf.

The boys silently moved to the front of the shop with their items, and as the cashier run them up, the bell in the front door and someone entered. The boys didn’t pay them much attention until they spoke.

“Hey, Uncle J, I got fired… Sorry, I didn’t see that you had customers, I’ll come back later,” Y/N tripped over their words as they turned to rush out of the shop.

“Y/N?” The boys all said, and Y/N paused, turning around and awkwardly shooting the tree some finger guns.

“Heyyy, guys.”

~

Months later, the boys had parted ways with Y/N. But every so often, the person behind the counter at the soda shop was them.

“Hey, Soda!” Luke hollered to them as he entered.

They lifted their head and smirked, “Rockstar, what can I get you?”

“Oh just,” He leaned on the counter. “A date?”

~

lol wish I was that smooth

Send me and ask to be added/removed from my tag list(s)!

Or fill out this form that also gives you a sneak peak at my upcoming fics cause any character that I have in a draft is on there.

JATP: @n0wornever @calamitykaty @screwunsaidemily @crybabyddl @badwolf00593 @dream-a-little-bigger-x

Luke: @thesweetestsinner

Everything: @funsizearsonist

[not-so-mundane-after-all]

loved your previous fic with dick & gar for the "hand-holding" prompt. if you're still taking prompts, then please do #12 - "pushing a strand of hair behind their ear" with dick and gar

Fandom: DC Titans

Title: Good Men and Women NOT Doing Nothing

Pairings/Relationships: Dick Grayson & Gar Logan, Dick Grayson & Rachel Roth

Summary: There's something different about Gar when he walks into the kitchen one morning and the reason behind it is deeper than Dick initially thought.

Touching | 12. pushing a strand of hair behind their ear, Dick & Gar - for @wanderingroundwonderland

Also tagging my besties @undertheknightwing and @wonderbatwayne 😘😘😘 and now I'm going to sleep 😂

____________________________________________

Dick liked getting up along with the sun, especially on a day like this when warm rays of sunshine filtered through the wide windows, coloring the inside of the Tower with a soft golden glow. It filled his body with much needed energy for the day and brightened his mind like not many other things could.

He was just flipping another pancake over when his attention was distracted by a long, loud yawn.

"Good morning." Rachel mumbled at him as she entered the kitchen, all messy hair and cute pajamas, heading straight for the coffee pot he had prepared for her beforehand.

"Good morning, sunshine!" He replied cheerfully, placing the pancake on the plate beside him. He reached for a can of whipped cream and squeezed a little on top of it, then decorated the meal with fresh strawberries - the way Rachel liked best. "How'd you sleep?" rolled off his tongue with ease as he offered her a portion while she sat down on the stool across from him, holding her favorite mug full of caffeine drink in her hand.

Rachel, rubbing her eyes to get rid of the rest of sleepiness, gave him a lazy smile and pulled the stack of pancakes towards her. "Fine." she shrugged and eagerly got to eating. She closed her eyes for a moment, savoring the taste, which caused a wave of warmth swarming Dick's chest and made him smile to himself, pleased with both his growing cooking skills and her reaction. "But do you really have to kick us out of bed so early? I need my beauty sleep, Kory says it's very important."

"Of course she does." Dick muttered under his breath, trying not to pay attention to the fact that his heart twitched as if it was electrocuted at the mention of Kory. "Early morning means you have more time during the day."

"So what if we have more time when we can't even move after early training." a new voice joined their conversation, making Dick and Rachel simultaneously turn their heads in the direction it was coming from.

And Dick fell speechless, frozen with a pancake on a spatula in one hand and a plate in the other.

Gar walked in, stretching with his arms raised behind his head, fingers tangled together tightly. It wouldn't be anything unusual, that was a part of his morning routine, but what threw Dick off guard was that Gar looked… different.

"Good morning to you, too." Dick told him with a grin plastered to his face to mask his confusion when the boy dropped down next to Rachel, eyeing her pancakes longingly. The girl snickered and elbowed him in the arm, seemingly not surprised nor bothered by the sudden change.

Gar must have felt Dick's eyes boring into him because he stilled suddenly and turned to the older man.

"What?"

"Nothing, just…" Dick paused for a moment, not exactly sure what to say. "Uh, what's with the new haircut?" he finally blurted after handing the boy his own plate of pancakes.

Gar's eyes grew large like he just turned into a night owl - or more like one eye, the one Dick could see, because the other one was covered by a curtain of his green hair, brushed down on the side of his forehead. He blinked twice and just kept staring back until Rachel shoved her elbow in his side, harder this time.

"Ow! Uh, yeah… that." the boy stuttered, rubbing the hurting spot while shooting Rachel an annoyed glare. "I, uh… I decided to change things up a bit, experiment… yeah…" his words trailed off into an awkward silence and Gar shoved a big piece of pancake into his mouth to avoid talking. As he reached for a strawberry from a bowl on the counter, he didn't meet Dick's eyes.

He's embarrassed, Dick figured as he watched the boy putting all his focus on eating his breakfast to avoid going more into the topic. Rachel kept observing him as well, her stare warm and sympathetic, though Dick couldn't help but notice a hint of worry behind her eyes.

"Looks good to me." Dick commented finally, earnest and true. The change was unexpected, yes, but if Gar felt like wanting to change something about himself then he had every right to do it. And it really didn't look bad. His words got the boy to lift his eyes back up and he sent him a sheepish grin.

"What's up, people?" Jason announced his presence with an unnecessarily loud shout, making Rachel flinch in response.

"Damn it, Jason. It's 7 am, keep it down, would you?" she grumbled at him when he slid into a free seat on her other side.

He threw a glance at her coffee mug, then almost obnoxiously pushed it closer to her with his index finger "Looks like someone is in desperate need of more caffeine."

Dick couldn't resist a chuckle when she rolled her eyes so hard she must have seen the back of her skull.

"Shut up." she huffed as Jason stole a strawberry from her plate and threw it into his mouth, but then his eyes set on Gar.

"Cool haircut, bro." he said, his lips stretching into a smirk. "But that emo punk fringe was cool back in like 2009, y'know?"

Gar sent a death glare his way. "Very funny, Jason."

"Hey, it looks dope!" The other boy raised his hands in defence, but then leaned in closer again, eyes squinting mischievously. "It makes you look… mysterious. Like you got something to… hide."

This time it was Jason's side that became a target of Rachel's elbow and that plus the way he said it made Dick do a double take. There was an undertone to Jason's voice, an insinuation of a deeper meaning. Gar froze for a moment, unsure how to react. Eventually he opted to end the conversation by throwing Jason an awkward smile and got up from his seat, taking the empty plate with him and rounded the kitchen island to put it in the sink.

"You know, Dick," he started, inching closer to his side. "I checked out online this fighting style you mentioned during our last training, the uh… Okichitaw, yeah. And I'd really like to learn it. Some basics at least."

Dick put the last portion of pancakes - his own - on the plate and turned to the boy with a smile, feeling excitement rising slowly in his chest. He knew what Gar was really trying to do right now - change the course of the conversation, turn it away from him and his hair. Dick couldn't blame him for that. But Gar also wasn't lying, he really was eager to learn and Dick appreciated the fact that he even did a bit of his own research.

"Sure, buddy. We can start right away." he replied instantly and Gar beamed at him, buzzing with happiness. His head twitched in an attempt to get the hair out of his eye. It was clear getting accustomed to that new hairstyle is gonna take longer than the boy expected. Dick chuckled at his annoyed frown when the hair fell back on his face. "Now go get ready, we'll start in an hour."

He reached out to playfully ruffle the boy's hair but when he did, Gar unexpectedly flinched. He froze, his body taut as a string, jaw clenched to bite back a groan of pain. The kitchen suddenly became very quiet, no clattering of cutlery, not even breathing. Dick's hand stilled on the boy's head and he slowly took it away, looking at Gar who again was trying to avoid his eyes. Dick looked back at the other two teens, who sat still as statues in their seats, both nervous and waiting - Rachel was biting her lower lip nervously while Jason's eyes jumped between Dick and Gar, smirk tugging at his lips.

At first he hesitated, but eventually Dick reached out again, slowly and carefully this time and pushed the strand of hair out of the boy's face, tucking what he could behind his ear. The green curtain revealed a nasty long cut travelling in line with his hairline, held together by two small dressing plasters. It already stopped bleeding but it looked deep and was inflamed, the area around it red and swollen.

"Holy shit, Gar! When did this happen?" The man's voice rang out with worry as he stepped closer to take a better look. He brushed his fingers over the wound, his touch feather-light but Gar still twitched a little, face twisting in a grimace. He didn't answer, just looked to the side - right at Rachel - pleading for help with his eyes. Dick followed his gaze.

The girl sighed as she put her fork down and shook her head.

"I told you he was gonna notice." she told her friend. What was even more strange was that Jason actually agreed with her, nodding eagerly.

Confusion is not strong enough of a word to describe what was going on inside Dick's mind right now. How the hell did this happen? Was that during yesterday's training? No, he would notice. After? They had a free evening and he let the kids go out to have some fun in the city. A surge of fierce protectiveness washed over him as his eyes went back to Gar who looked so miserable Dick's heart almost broke on the spot. He let his hand slide under the boy's chin and he gently lifted his face up so their eyes could meet.

"What happened, Gar?" he asked, his voice calm and soft, but not without the tense undertone of someone who is ready to throw some punches with the reason behind that wound. "Who did this to you?"

Gar gulped down, eyes wide in fear and mouth dry, and looked at Rachel again - just a glance, but she noticed anyway.

"Tell him." she encouraged him softly. Gar nodded once and took a deep breath, bracing himself.

"Um, yesterday when… when we were at the mall, me and Rach passed by these guys in SFSU jerseys. Six of them, I think." he started, stumbling through the words. His fingers fumbled nervously with the hem of his t-shirt but he bravely held Dick's gaze as he spoke. "They started catcalling Rachel, saying some gross stuff I am not willing to ever repeat and… and I had to step in."

At first all Dick could hear was static after what he just heard. Then the sense of Gar's words slowly started coming to him and he staggered back.

"What?"

Now it wasn't just protectiveness, it was pure fire raging through Dick's veins. Rachel… getting catcalled? That was unacceptable. Unfathomable. It wasn't just crossing the line, it was breaking it like a dry twig and setting it on fire and whoever did that was really fucking lucky Dick wasn't there to hear it. He let go of Gar's chin and set his hand on his shoulder instead, trying to keep himself from shaking. His other hand already formed into a fist, fingers curled so tightly his knuckles turned white. He instantly looked at Rachel, searching for any signs of something being wrong, a series of questions already forming on his tongue, but she beat him to it and quickly shook her head.

"I'm okay, I swear. Nothing happened."

"You sure?" he insisted, his gut gnawing at him to learn more because maybe they are not telling him everything. "They didn't do anything? You're not hurt? Because I swear to God, if-"

"Dick, I'm okay." was her only reply, soft, quiet and calming.

"She wanted me to ignore them but they were very pushy." Gar continued, his gaze darting between her and Dick. "They surrounded us, one of them got too close to her and got… grabby, so to speak so I punched him."

Grabby? As in… no, that was too much. His fists were now itching to meet that person's face. To rip their insides out and wrap them around their neck. No one dares to lay a damn finger on her. No one.

"Fucking assholes." Jason muttered under his breath, shaking his head. He sent Rachel a sympathetic look and she smiled back at him, thanking silently.

"I would have been fine, I know how to handle myself." she insisted to Gar as she got up from her seat and walked up to him to lay a hand on his shoulder. He instantly turned to her.

"I know, but what was I supposed to do? Just stand there and do nothing? We're Titans now, remember? Men and women not doing nothing."

Dick honestly wanted to hug Gar in that moment, his chest filling with an insane amount of pride. He stood up for her, protected her, even if he got his ass kicked in the end. They can work on that and after what Dick just learned he will make damn sure that they will, but the intention was what mattered the most right now.

He squeezed Gar's shoulder gently and when the boy turned back to him, Dick leaned in to look him in the eyes.

"That was very brave of you, thank you. I'm proud of you, buddy." he said, noticing how Gar's eyes glazed over with tears after hearing the words. The boy chuckled softly, nodding in response. "But how did you get this?" He asked, pointing at his forehead.

"Well, that asshole punched back." Gar stated bluntly, his hand reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. "He knocked me down pretty hard, I hit my head on the edge of a fountain, y'know that giant one in the main hall. I saw stars, for a moment I couldn't move-"

"You scared the hell out of me." Rachel whispered, sliding her arm around his shoulders.

"Sorry." Gar replied, bumping his head with hers. And immediately regretted it, flinching at the pain it caused to his forehead. "Anyway, after that they left us alone, walked away laughing. And before you ask-" he pointed his finger at Dick, seeing that the man was already gearing up to ask questions. "No, I don't know their names and no, you can't go find them and beat the shit out of them. I know you want to."

Dick snickered and shook his forehead.

"Is it that obvious?"

"Dude, you're basically vibrating with fury right now." Jason told him, crossing his arms over his chest. "Ooof, I wouldn't want to be on the other end of that wrath."

Dick decided to ignore his younger brother's remark, but couldn't deny the truth behind it - the fury he felt right now, if unleashed, could be deadly. It pulled a delicate string, knocked on a door he locked when he brought these three kids to San Francisco. It reminded him of the rage and violence of his Robin days. Dick wanted to put it away for good but to be honest it would really come in handy right now.

"I'm sorry," Gar suddenly whispered, which brought Dick back to the present - and caught completely off guard. The boy bowed his head down, letting the hair fall back on his forehead and cover the cut.

"For what?" Dick asked softly, moving his hand to the nape of Gar's neck.

"I should have done more. I would have but the Tiger started showing and… I couldn't risk it so I had to back down."

At first Dick just stared at him, same as Rachel, completely taken aback. Then he opened his arms and smiled at the two teenagers.

"Come here, you two."

He pulled them into his arms, pressing them tightly to his chest. Gar froze at first, surprised but then tucked his face into his shoulder and breathed deeply. Rachel nestled into his other side, he could feel her smiling against his neck when her arms circled his middle. He put his hands in their hair, cradling their heads and pulling them closer as he spoke.

"Gar, you have nothing to apologize for, okay?" he insisted, turning his face to the boy. "You did the right thing. I'm proud of you and you have no idea how happy I am that you were with her back then." When Gar nodded, Dick turned to Rachel and she lifted her head to look at him. "And you. I'm glad you're okay. To be honest, I was scared something like this would happen someday but thankfully Gar was with you. But if it ever happens again, you go straight to me, got it? You shout, you call, whatever means necessary. I'll be there in a heartbeat."

Rachel gave him a single nod, a soft smile turning her lips upwards.

"Yes, sir."

"Good." Dick sighed, finally feeling his anger subsiding and disappearing completely. He pulled back, brushing his palms over the kids' cheeks. He turned to Gar, who again was fiddling with his bangs and reached out to tuck it behind the boy's ear, laughing. "Alright, now let's get you properly patched up, huh? I'm sorry, but whoever did this-" he pointed at the plasters that were barely holding onto the skin. "-did a terrible job."

Jason scoffed, rolling his eyes.

"Ouch, harsh."

[shower-thoughts-last-responder]

I'm going to talk about sleep hygiene for a minute here, I've made a new post bc the other one was getting a bit long and I've the shower fam that I know struggle with sleep; if I've missed anyone please @ them because this is one of those things that no one tells you about but is actually a really important life skill.

So what is sleep hygiene? Sleep hygiene is the term for all the little habits that can help you get have a good sleep. It mostly revolves around forming a pattern that will get your brain to think "okay, time to switch off". One of the first things you need to do is try to stop doing anything in your bedroom that isn't sleeping. Now I know if you live in shared accommodation/with your parents that's pretty much impossible but you can do is avoid watching TV, using tablets/phones/laptops, etc. in bed. What you're trying to do here is whenever you get into bed is get your brain to think "ah, time to switch off.

In a similar vain, it helps to build up a routine for bed. For example, brush your teeth, comb your hair, go to the toilet and change into your pyjamas is a good basic routine. I also include taking my meds, a hot drink and meditation (although I appreciate that a lot of people struggle with that and that's fine). It's just a matter of finding what works for you and again it's about getting your brain to understand that it needs to turn off now. It's also a good way of ensuring that you're taking your meds.

So you've got your routine but there's some other stuff to remember. Try to go to bed at the same time every night and to leave enough time to get enough sleep. Teens need about 8 - 10 hours in 24 and adults need about 6 - 9 but it varies from person to person. You can figure how much you need by getting as much sleep as you need (so no alarms, again easier said than done) for a week and timing how much you sleep.

On top of this you want to avoid using screens for about an hour before bed as the bright light makes your brain think it's day time. Similar, you want your room to be dark and quiet so you don't get disturbed during the night. If, like me, you do all your sleeping during the day then a set of blackout blinds and any kind of white noise generator is a life saver. I like rain noise but again, whatever works for you. You want to try and get your bedroom temperature to your own ideal and if you have/suspect you have ADHD then lowering the temperature can help. Daily exercise can also help but not in the run up to bed (it raises your heart rate and increase adrenaline).

You also want to try to avoid caffeine after 6 hours before bed; tea's not too bad, especially if you've built up a tolerance for it, but coffee and and energy drinks are a big no no. Heavy drinking will disrupt sleep (yes it it can help fall asleep but as it wears off it disrupts your sleep) and so does smoking. You also want to avoid large/heavy meals before as digestion and if you lie awake for 30 minutes it's best just to get up for a while and try again in a bit. Lying awake for hours makes it much harder to fall asleep.

Finally I'm just going to talk quickly about circadian rhythms but I'm not going into huge detail because it there's a lot information about it that's not really relevant to this topic. In essence it's a 24 hour cycle that dictates when your body wants to go to sleep and when it wants to be active. It is effected by light levels +which is why you need your bedroom to be dark when you're trying to sleep) and varies from person to person. That's why some people find early mornings extremely difficult and others can stay up late. As long as you're getting enough sleep, it's not so important where it falls but if you have to be up early it's worth doing some research into changing your rythem.

It's also worth remembering that if your disturbed sleep goes on for a long time it could be clinical insomnia and a sign that something else is going on. There's nothing wrong with speaking to a doctor if you're in a position to.

It's important to remember that these are habits that take time to form and take time to start working. Please don't beat yourself up if you mess it up at first or you don't see an immediate improvement; self-care is a skill and it takes time, practice and a lot of patience to develop. Take it from someone who's been there; it's something that I've been working on for nearly 5 years now and I've still got progress to make but I swear it's worth it in the end.

Feel free to tag anyone you think would benefit from seeing this and to ask questions if you have them (either on this post or dm/ask is fine.

@i-am-an-idiot @just-petty-thoughts @just-royal-thoughts @justdapperthoughts @just-haywire-thoughts @justfrogthoughts @sophisticated-gremlin-hunter @just-tripod-dog-thoughts @just-broken-thoughts @just-vanishing-thoughts @just-bubbly-responses @just-curtain-responses @dependent-thoughts @get-out-oftheshower-thoughts @just-bathbomb-thoughts @just-hatmaker-thoughts @just-restart-thoughts @fuck-showers-in-general

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

Another One?!, Part 5

First > Previous > Next

It turns out that people with access to military-grade equipment are not the type of people you want to dislike you.

Really, the only reason she was still alive was because being Ladybug made her marginally more lucky than the average person.

From people in holding randomly getting out from time to time and somehow managing to get their hands on a weapon, to getting shot by ‘malfunctioning’ firearms, to constant bomb threats, to the one time someone actually tried to drop an anvil on her head, things were just not looking good for Marinette.

And, it turns out, being a boss is just a hard thing in general. When they weren’t attempting to kill her, they were coming to her with questions. She spent most of her day in the office, scanning through manual after manual. She got basically zero breaks, because even when she had a sign on her door saying she was eating lunch they still came in to ask her things.

And then, at the end of the day, she’d get home… things weren’t great there, either.

Barbara had moved in after a year of dating Dick (Marinette had been stunned to learn that their relationship was actually real but that had quickly been dropped when she realized that Barbara was actually a responsible adult that could take care of herself). She had banned caffeine in the house when she’d seen Marinette and Tim’s coffee habits and, unfortunately, everyone else had been perfectly happy to enforce this for her.

This meant that she only had about four hours when she got home to patrol before her exhaustion caught up with her and she’d be forced to go home and collapse on the couch.

On top of that, tensions in the house were high. It turns out that one of the biggest problems with avoiding your problems for years is that emotions get pent up inside and it gets harder and harder to ignore. No one had completely snapped yet, but even the densest person in the world would have been able to recognize that it was coming.

It didn’t help that she no longer had time for baking, which was her normal way of relieving stress…

And let’s just say they were lucky none of them were going on patrols together, those kinds of high-stress situations do not help.

~

Adrien needed sleep.

He worked ten hours a day, which isn’t that much longer than average but was still emotionally taxing considering his job was teaching.

Then, he’d go on patrol for a few hours. He liked patrol, beating up random people is great for stress, but it was physically exhausting.

Then, he’d come home.

And he’d have two kids and an adult to keep alive.

(Barbara had the night shift, which meant that Adrien was alone for this. He swore it was on purpose.)

He’d go to his room and find Dick swinging around on the indoor gym they’d had installed (they were getting tired of him breaking light fixtures and had given in and put little hand and footholds on the ceiling for him to climb around on).

And then Dick would fall asleep, often hanging from the ceiling still, and Adrien would pick him up and take him to his room and tuck him in.

He’d rush back to his room, desperate to get there for just a second of sleep, only to find that, no matter how quick he was, Jason would already be on the bed. You would think that Adrien would be able to sleep. After all, Jason would be reading a book... that’s supposed to be a quiet thing…

Well, you see, the problem is that Jason reads books like people watch soap operas. He’d curse out characters and call them stupid, tell Adrien contextless jokes, and occasionally close his book to vent about what was going on.

And, eventually Jason would sleep. Adrien wouldn’t move him because a) it would wake him up and b) on the very small chance it didn’t wake him, Jason sometimes half-joked that when he woke up alone he feared that they’d left him behind…

So, yeah, Jason got to stay in the room.

Adrien would blink and then he’d find Tim in the door with his computer.

Tim, it seemed, would actually wait to see if Adrien was okay with it if he came in. He always stood in the door, hugging his laptop to his chest, and wouldn’t dare come inside until Adrien said he could.

Of course Adrien would sigh and nod his head yes, making a joke about how his kids were sleeping in shifts to annoy him, and move over on the bed a bit to let Tim on.

And then Tim would do homework or play games on his computer.

Adrien hated the sound of clicky keyboards. He’d had no clue he was alone in this until one day he complained about it and everyone in the room had stared at him like he was crazy.

But, yeah, the keyboard made him want to die. He just wanted to sleep...

And then Barbara would poke her head in after a long night’s work to tell Adrien that it was time for him to get ready for work.

Sprinkle in one or two probably life-threatening accidents and you’d have a typical night for him.

Now, you might be thinking, why doesn’t he just fall asleep on the couch?

Beyond the fact that the kids would just… follow him there, Adrien was also a rich kid growing up. He couldn’t sleep on couches. They’re uncomfortable.

No, now his only saving grace was the fact that Barbara didn’t have a way to monitor the coffee machine at his work.

… Oh kwami, he had become what he’d hated.

~

She dropped onto the bed -- she’d had enough energy to make it all the way there for once -- and glared at the mostly empty bulletin board on Antony Agoura. The man was smart, unfortunately, opting to keep his identity a secret as much as possible. He used a fake name. He wore gloves no matter what. He used solely cash…

And it wasn’t like she was going to be able to lure him out again. That had been an intimidation tactic, a way of saying ‘leave it alone or you’ll see exactly what I can do’.

And, as much as she hated to admit it even to herself, she was a little bit scared of him. For the first time since Zucco, the person she was facing knew who she was as a civilian, and she hated that she’d lost that advantage. Even if her family was better trained in self-defense than most, they weren’t invulnerable and they couldn’t be careful every second of the day.

Part of her was tempted to pack up and go on the run like they had done with Zucco… but the situations were different. With Zucco they knew they would eventually be able to catch him but with Agoura...

She closed her eyes, unable to look at it any longer.

Fuck. She was really screwed this time, huh?

She felt someone sink into the bed next to her and reached out for them. She didn’t really care who it was as she buried her face in their shoulder.

Sleep…

Less than a minute later, her phone buzzed to tell her that it was time to start cooking everyone’s meals for the day and she mumbled a curse before peeling herself away from the person. She squinted a little bit in the dark to see who it was. Tim.

She yawned and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “Want to cook with me?”

“I’d burn the house down.”

“Probably. Want to stand nearby and make sure I don’t fall asleep while cooking so nothing burns?”

He shrugged a little bit. “Don’t see why not.”

They both crawled out of bed and she used him for support as they made their way down to the kitchen.

~

Adrien had been on patrol when she’d appeared.

And ‘appeared’ was definitely the way to describe it. He’d been relaxing on a rooftop, giving himself a few second break to just breathe in silence for once… and then he’d felt a hand shaking his shoulder.

He fought the urge to jump or lash out, his head whipping around to look at the person who was shaking him.

It was… a girl?

Actually, she looked about Jason’s age, so maybe a woman?

It didn’t matter. She looked terrified. Her eyes were so wide it looked almost exaggerated, her lips drawn into a deep frown.

The more he took in about her appearance the more concerned he was. Her stance was wide, which likely meant she fought often. Her clothes were ratty and torn. The little parts of her skin that weren’t caked in dirt were split with cuts that were either infected or about to be infected.

He rested a hand over hers as gently as he could and looked at her. “How are you up here? Actually, that doesn’t matter. What’s wrong? Are you okay? Are you hurt? Is your family hurt?”

She waved her free hand around frantically. Wordlessly.

He raised his eyebrows.

“Do you not speak English? Or are you mute? Deaf?”

He realized all these questions weren’t going to get answers and he sighed. Crap, what could he do?

He mulled it over for a second before snapping his fingers. He held up a finger for one minute, then held up his hands and made a tiny ‘stay’ motion with them just in case, and then ran to the nearest convenience store.

He didn’t care enough to detransform. It got him through the line quickly, at least.

He found a pen and a pad of paper and returned to the rooftop…

She wasn’t there anymore.

He sighed, a mix of frustration and concern coursing through him. He closed his eyes and shook his head. He should get back to patrol. Maybe he’d find her and/or whatever situation she was trying to get his attention for…

He opened his eyes and actually did jump this time. She was right in front of him. What? He hadn’t heard her…

He shook off his growing unease and handed her the notepad and pen.

She frowned, her face a little more than confused. Had she never seen a pen and paper before? Surely that couldn’t be right…

Still, he gently took the paper and pen back and wrote a tiny question mark.

He handed it over again and she looked at the mark like she’d never seen it before. Maybe her language didn’t have question marks…?

Then she started doodling.

Well, his plan had been for her to write whatever it was down and he would see if his phone would translate it, but he guessed this would work, too.

The first drawing explained some of the girl’s problems with communication. It was a little doodle where the mouth and ears had been X-ed out. She couldn’t speak or hear… or, at least, that’s what he’d figured.

He searched his memory for his old sign language lessons. Unfortunately, though, sign language is something that has to be practiced. All he could do is fingerspell “U O-K?”

She didn’t seem to understand.

Fair enough. He was pretty sure he was using LSF, anyways, and he didn’t exactly know for sure how close that was to ASL… or whatever other language she could have known. He couldn’t really tell much about where she was from, her skin was covered in dirt, okay?

She started doodling the rest of her life story and he nearly punched something. Probably would have if he hadn’t been scared he’d startle her or scare her off.

Whoever her dad was, he was committed to killing him if he wasn’t dead already.

He smiled at her and tried to think of a solution. He couldn’t take her to the police. Even with Marinette in charge, there was only so much she could do to keep the kid safe. An orphanage wouldn’t accept her because he doubted she was a legal US citizen.

He sighed. Marinette was going to kill him…

He reached out a hand to her to tell her to follow and blinked in surprise when she actually took it. Wow. He trusted her.

He tried not to feel proud as he led her home. He probably should have been scared that she was a spy or lying, but he found himself trusting her…

Weird, but he had bigger problems.

He detransformed a little bit outside the house and slowly walked to the door. He pushed it open and cringed when it creaked. Please don’t be home…

Marinette shifted under her blanket and opened an eye to look at him.

He quickly pushed the girl behind himself and smiled at his wife. “Wow, it’s you. You’re home. Wow.”

“Yeah, amazing, right?” She rubbed her eyes and gave him a tired smile. “How was patrols?”

“Great. Uneventful. Definitely good.”

Her smile dropped into a frown. “You’re acting weird.”

“What? Me? Acting weird?”

“Yeah… are you coming inside?”

“Uh… no. Actually, I think I’ll go back on patrols.”

She clicked her tongue. “You’re hiding something. I’m too tired for this, Adrien. Fess up.”

He cringed a little bit and slowly led the new adoptee inside.

The girl clutched Adrien’s shirt sleeve anxiously. He did not think this was a good thing.

Marinette stared at the girl in front of her for a while before a way too wide smile crossed her face. “Adrien…” She began slowly, before shaking her head. Her smile widened, somehow. She looked up, her voice sickly sweet: “Hey! Sweeties! Come down here.”

The reaction was instantaneous. There was a mad scrambling noise and they appeared in the doorway, expressions frazzled.

“Whatever happened, it was Dick!” Said Tim before anyone could speak.

Dick gasped. “No! It wasn’t!”

Marinette gave a pleasant laugh. “You’re not in trouble. Boys, could you help her get cleaned up for me, please?”

“Why is there another kid? Why does he have another one?” Said Jason incredulously.

When neither parent answered, they started ushering the girl away.

She grabbed Adrien’s arm when he tried to disappear through the door with them. “Not. You. Transform, we’re going out.”

He tried not to look too scared as they both transformed. She kept a way too tight grip on Adrien as they made their way through the town, as if she thought he was going to suddenly run away.

Fair enough. He was absolutely considering it.

But he didn’t. That would only make things worse.

They stopped at a relatively abandoned part of town and she turned to him, letting go to cross her arms over her chest.

“Explain.”

~

Did she feel bad for the kid that Adrien had adopted? Sure. No one deserves that kind of life…

But that didn’t calm her down in the slightest.

She was trying to relax herself. Her lips pressed into a thin line as she heard him out to keep herself from yelling or interrupting, her nails dug into the skin of her palms to keep her grounded…

Adrien finished with a sigh and a “I don’t regret it, she was in trouble and it’s our job to protect civilians.”

She didn’t know why those words made her anger worsen. There was some sense in them, and yet she had to strain to keep her voice level when she spoke: “Just once, could you actually just own up to a mistake you make?”

“I’ll own up to a mistake when I actually think it’s a mistake!”

“Whatever.” She thrummed her foot on the floor. “We can’t keep adopting random kids, Chat, there’s only so much we can do!”

“They need our help!”

“Bullshit! You need them more than they need you! Newsflash! Helping a bunch of kids isn’t going to make your own childhood any better!”

Adrien flinched and she felt a twinge of guilt finally poke through the anger, but before she could apologize he was jabbing his finger in her chest.

“At least my terrible coping mechanism helps people! You want to pull trauma into this? What about the fact that we still can’t say Lila’s name? What about the fact that you refuse to make friends with people our age because you fear them leaving you?”

She winced and her face reddened. “Okay, but does that inconvenience you? No! At least mine is only self-destructive! Yours is going to drag the entire family down with you! We’ve already fucked up these kids for sure, but you just keep making it worse and worse by spreading our limited time thinner!”

“Shut up! What do you know? You hardly ever talk to them anyways! You’re always at work or asleep!”

“Really? And whose fault is that? If you’d just stuck to the actual plan B instead of going out and attacking all the cops in the GCPD there wouldn’t have been as much attention on what had happened!”

He rolled his eyes. “I’VE ALREADY TOLD YOU THAT I HAD TO DO THAT! IT WAS TO KEEP EVERYONE AWAY FROM THE SECURITY ROOM TO KEEP PEGASUS SAFE!”

“PLEASE! NO ONE WAS GOING TOWARDS THE SECURITY ROOM! YOU’RE JUST AN IMPULSIVE DICK!”

“ARE YOU REALLY CALLING ME IMPULSIVE?!”

“YOU ADOPT KIDS LIKE THEY’RE POKEMON! OF COURSE I’M GOING TO CALL YOU IMPULSIVE!”

“YOU’RE THE ONE WHO ALWAYS GETS IN RANDOM FIGHTS BECAUSE YOU’RE NEVER CAREFUL!”

She groaned and fought to make herself relax enough to speak without yelling. They were in a relatively abandoned part of Gotham but that didn’t mean that there was no one around. The last thing they needed on top of everything going on was to have their fight end up in the papers.

Adrien was clearly doing the same, because he was quiet for a long time before he spoke in little more than a whisper:

“Do you not want to be a part of the family anymore?”

She opened her mouth to say ‘of course I want to be a part of the family’, but no sound came out. She wasn’t sure why she was even hesitating. She cared about them, obviously. She wouldn’t be working so hard if she didn’t…

But it was definitely a lot.

She could only handle so much at once. Beyond the powers she was just a human, and supporting that many other people is hard. Especially considering she essentially had two jobs to keep up with, as well…

The longer she went without answering the more tears spilled over his mask. Still, he was waiting for her answer. He was waiting for some kind of verbal confirmation that she couldn’t do it anymore.

She reached up and gently cupped his cheeks, wiping his tears away with her thumb.

“Chat, I…” She swallowed thickly. “I don’t know how much more we can do.”

He hesitantly brought his hands up to rest over hers. “I know. I just… I can’t just leave them. They always look so sad.”

She’d fallen in love with Adrien for his kindness and now it was the thing that was threatening to tear their marriage apart.

But he’d fallen for her because of her problem solving skills. And she was determined to not let this be the one problem she failed to solve.

The problem wasn’t exactly that he was getting more kids. Marinette loved kids.

The problem was that they didn’t know if they could raise kids without messing them up too badly.

Part of it was that everyone in the family had had one or more big events that had traumatized them, and it looked like it was finally time that they started getting past it.

Could they even get past it at this point? It had been over two decades since Marinette and Adrien had originally gotten their traumas, what if it was too late? What would happen if they somehow did get over it? It had been a part of them for such a long time, what would they be without it?

And then there was the kids. Could they even get them to go?

It was worth a shot, at least...

And the other change they needed to make was to make more time for their kids.

Neither of them were going to give up their day jobs (Adrien wouldn’t and Marinette, unfortunately, couldn’t just yet). That meant that they either needed to get caffeine in the house or give up vigilantism…

Well, cross of the giving up vigilantism thing automatically. On top of just not being able to give up on the city they were in when there was still so much to fix, they knew it would only be temporary. They’d already tried to give up vigilantism. They simply couldn’t bring themselves to.

So that left trying to get caffeine past Barbara. The kids (outside of Tim) were very much against caffeine and they worked very hard to make sure neither Marinette or Tim ever managed to get their hands on it. From purposefully making sure Marinette and Tim couldn’t go anywhere without one of them to monitoring the break room camera at her work to make sure she didn’t drink any, the kids were determined to make sure Marinette couldn’t get her hands on anything.

But Adrien could. No one would suspect him.

She bit her lip. This wasn’t going to go over well. Getting Adrien to therapy AND make him get caffeine? Man, this was going to suck.

“Chaton… I might have an idea… but you’re going to have to hear me out…”

~

He and Marinette were arguing again, though this was far more light-hearted.

“We are not opening another portal. We’re already lucky enough that this dimension hasn’t collapsed on us, we aren’t testing it.”

He rolled his eyes and stopped scratching runes into the wall to glare at her. “Would you rather we let a girl-woman-female-you-know-what-I-mean room with a guy?”

“What about we give her Jason’s room and let Jason sleep with us? He comes into our room to sleep either way.”

“Jason still uses his room to store things.”

“This is a bad idea, Chaton…”

He grinned. “Mhmm.”

“This is what I meant when you said you’re stupidly impulsive.”

“Would you rather do it?”

“Sure.”

He rolled his eyes. “And that’s what I meant when I said you don’t care about your own health. It’ll be fine.”

She clicked her tongue and motioned for him to go on.

He finished scratching the last rune and sighed when he saw some weird tentacle monster slowly unfurling itself on the other side. He got to his feet quickly and raised his staff to fight it, only to cringe when he heard Dick and Jason scream downstairs.

“I’ll deal with that, do you have this taken care of?”

She winced. “Sure. Where exactly is the portal, to be sure?”

He pointed it out and then ran downstairs.

Jason was currently not having a good time, it seemed. The bottom half of his body had been swallowed by a hole in the floor and he was struggling to get a hold on the slick floors.

Dick was also there, screaming incoherently from one of the ceiling lights.

Adrien ran over and grabbed one of Jason’s arms and started slowly pulling him out of the portal. After a bit Dick snapped out of it and scrambled to help.

The three were panting by the time they managed to get him all the way out.

“What the heck what the heck what the heck what the heck --,” Dick mumbled, holding his heart.

Jason, though just as shaken, seemed to be getting over it quickly. “How do we fix that?”

“Don’t remember, ask your mom,” mumbled Adrien as he crawled over to the portal on the floor and peered down.

It was a tiny group of people crowded around a computer.

Wait, what the heck were they wearing? Were they cosplaying as vigilantes? They definitely had the tacky outfits down if they were but Adrien didn’t know who they could be. Well, it had been a long time since they’d visited the Justice League, maybe he just didn’t know them…

He cleared his throat awkwardly and flashed them a blinding smile.

“Um… sorry about this, we’ll fix it as quickly as possible.”

“Was that… was that Dick Grayson?” Said the tallest of them.

Was he dressed as a bat? Why was he dressed as a bat? Dressing up like animals wasn’t technically their thing but on the other hand it was absolutely their thing. Adrien was almost offended.

Wait, he’d said something. He tried not to go pale when his brain finally processed it. This wasn’t exactly how he’d wanted the world to find out their identities…

“What kind of name is Dick Grayson? Ha! Lame!”

Dick sent him an affronted look from where he was on the floor. Adrien gave him an apologetic smile and a shrug.

Jason came back down with a baking pan. “Mom said to drop something through, so…”

“What’s that?”

“Brownies.”

“You’re dropping our brownies down there? Are you trying to kill them?” Asked Dick.

Adrien blinked once then sighed. “It could have worked for once. Be nice.”

Jason scoffed. “It didn’t. She forgot sugar. That’s why we’ll give it to them.”

“Sorry about this!” Said Adrien as Jason dropped the pan through the portal.

As promised, it closed now that something had been sacrificed.

The three looked at each other for a few seconds before Dick looked away and said, “So… pretend this never happened?”

“Yep.”

~

She cursed as she fell back on the couch, never mind the fact that Adrien was already laying there. Her husband made a quiet ‘oof’ sound as she dropped on top of him. She was hopped up on caffeine and ready to bond with her kids but the problem was that the kids, in fact, had lives.

The little time that Marinette and Adrien didn’t have work was taken up by patrols, by Jason’s homework, by Tim’s extracurriculars, by Dick’s job...

“There’s still not enough time.”

“We might have to stop being vigilantes for a bit…” He said, though he sounded reluctant. “Or rotate off by day…”

She didn’t like the idea either, but it didn’t seem like they had much choice in this if they wanted to be better for their kids. They’d already had to cut back on vigilantism because of their jobs and need for sleep, could they really cut it out of their lives entirely? Just like that?

No, there had to be something they could do. The city was still the most crime ridden city in the world. They couldn’t give up on it.

But then what to do…?

She watched Tim stumble in with a dislocated shoulder and squeaked, pushing herself off of her husband and rushing over.

“Shit! What happened?”

“I… might have messed up a boomerang-horseshoe-thingy catch and it might have hit me in the shoulder.”

She clicked her tongue. “Right. I’m going to reset it on three. One, two --.”

Tim gave a grunt of pain as she pushed his shoulder back into place.

“You should have told someone, how long were you fighting with a dislocated shoulder?”

“A little while…”

She shook her head and glanced at Adrien to give him the ‘kids, right?’ look, only to find him lost in thought.

He snapped out of it and flashed her a grin.

“I think I have an idea. How do you feel about going back on patrols with partners?”

~

He stretched across his family’s lap as they waited.

Adrien, Marinette, Dick, Jason, and Tim all sat in a therapist’s office for family counseling. They would have invited Cass but the whole ‘not speaking’ thing made therapy difficult. They actually had invited Barbara, only to get shut down because apparently she didn’t want to ‘deal with all that mess’.

So, it was just them.

Well, I say ‘just’ like five people isn’t a lot of people to have in a single therapy session. The poor therapist looked like she was going to have a heart attack when she saw all of them waiting for her.

Good thing they'd chosen the shortest session...

“Um… Agreste?”

“Yep!” Said Dick, far too brightly for a therapy session but whatever.

“Cool… right this way!”

His family glanced at each other before shrugging and pushing Adrien off of their laps in unison. He pouted up at them from his new place on the floor, but no one seemed all that guilty about it.

Marinette did reach out and pull him to his feet by the back of his shirt, though, so there was at least that.

They filed into the therapist’s room and took a seat on yet another couch.

Dr. Quinzel smiled at all of them. “Okay, does anyone have anything they’d like to start us off with?”

The family eyed each other warily. They were here as civilians, so they had to make sure not to slip up and talk too in depth about most things…

“Jason keeps calling me ‘Replacement’!” Said Tim, finally.

Marinette and Adrien frowned at Jason, who was attempting to sink into his hoodie.

“Well, we definitely didn’t know about that…” said Marinette.

“Of course you didn’t!” Said Jason. “You’re hardly ever around!”

Tim sighed. “They’re just busy.”

Adrien flinched. That was way too close to the excuse he used to make for his own father for his liking. Were they really that bad? Sure, he and Marinette were definitely not around as much as they’d like to be, but they were making an effort… did that really matter, though?

“No, Jay is right. We’ll try and do more. We’ve talked about how we’re going to free up time for you guys recently, actually. We’re hoping to include you more in our...” He glanced at Dr. Quinzel. “... hobby. Do more things with you in general, really.”

Marinette nodded her agreement.

She glanced at the boy’s faces and then clicked her tongue. “Anyone have problems they want to share?”

“No, our family is perfect how it is!” Said Dick brightly, his gaze fixed on the window.

Adrien followed his gaze to make sure nothing bad was going down on the streets and then sighed. “Dick, there has to be something. You’ve been just as tense as the rest of us recently.”

“Nope! Everything’s great!”

Everyone else exchanged skeptical looks but they couldn’t really feel comfortable pushing --.

Dr. Quinzel frowned a little bit. “Okay. We’ll come back to you when everyone else has had their say, then. Hopefully you’ll be more comfortable then.”

Dick gave a charming smile. Dr. Quinzel didn’t seem all that perturbed as she turned to look at Marinette.

His wife pursed her lips tightly as everyone else’s eyes went to her and she smoothed out the front of her dress. “We’ve already talked about this one-on-one, but… I think Adrien could maybe think a bit more before doing things. Or, at least, he should tell me when he makes major decisions like adopting kids.”

Dick’s smile dropped instantly. “Are you really complaining about not being told things? You guys tell me nothing! I have to figure everything out myself!”

Everyone startled a little at the sudden change of heart and gave each other wary glances before finding their way back to Dick.

The man in question had pushed himself to his feet (Adrien whined a little bit about losing the person to lean against) and started pacing. “You even ask Barbara things before me! It’s like you think I’m stupid!”

“Sweetie --.”

“Dont!” Dick sighed and came to a stop. He shoved his hands into his pockets. “It’s fine, it’s just… don’t you trust me?”

Marinette and Adrien looked at each other before nodding.

“Of course we do,” he said gently. “We’ll talk more about this at home, okay? When we’re not in the present company?” He looked at Tim and Jason, but he meant Dr. Quinzel. That was a hard subject to tiptoe around.

Dick took a seat on the armrest, likely so he could get up again without disturbing anyone.

Dr. Quinzel nodded. She looked at Adrien, and he fought the urge to try and hide behind Jason. She looked way too smart for his liking, it felt like she knew just by looking at him exactly what was wrong with him...

“I…” He struggled to find the words in French, let alone in English. “... think I try and get a lot of people in the house so I never have to be alone for long. I used to be alone all the time. I can’t do that again.”

Dr. Quinzel nodded thoughtfully. “It seems that all of you feel excluded or lonely in some way. Thankfully, that means all of you are the solution to each other’s problems. But, also, I suggest branching out some. Family is good, but so are friends. Everyone understand?”

They all gave each other wary looks, but they smiled all the same.

“Great, we can have a session again in a month or two to check your progress. That’ll be $7000 --.”

~

Marinette met her husband’s eyes and they exchanged nervous looks before walking into their room. As expected, Jason was already there. He was ready for bed, it seemed, with his pajamas on and his book out.

They took seats on either side of him and each took a hand.

“Jay…” Began Adrien. “We don’t love you any less because you’re not the newest kid anymore.”

“I know…”

Marinette bit her lip and pressed a tiny kiss to his forehead. “We’re not lying. And you don’t have to, either, just tell us why you think that.”

Jason looked at both of them warily before sinking into his shirt. It didn’t work as much as it did when he was wearing a hoodie or turtleneck, but it still worked surprisingly well.

She looked at Adrien nervously and he took the lead again:

“The reason we tend to focus on the newest the most is because they usually have the freshest problems. When we first got you we focused on you more than Dick because you were still struggling with old habits you picked up while homeless, and he was mostly over what had happened with his original parents.”

Marinette nodded. “And when Tim came in we focused on him because he was dealing with realizing his parents weren’t great and adjusting to a family who loved him. Now we have Cass, who…  will definitely need some extra care…”

Jason sniffled a little and nodded his understanding. “I know you have to, I just… it feels like you don’t want me as much anymore...”

“No way!” Marinette said, squeezing his hand tighter. “We love you, sweetie, you’re just as much our kid as any of the others.”

Adrien smiled. “Exactly. You’re stuck with us, whether you want to be or not.”

Jason gave a wobbly laugh before slowly drawing them in for a hug.

“I love you, too, guys.”

They hugged him back.

“... and I’ll go easier on Tim.”

“Thank kwami, I didn’t want to ruin the moment by bringing it up, but… yeah, be nicer to Tim, please,” said Adrien half jokingly.

Marinette grinned. “Maybe give him a nicer nickname, at least?”

“How about Timbers?”

“Uh…”

“Timberly?”

She clicked her tongue. “How about just Timmy? Or Tim?”

“No, no, I think I’m on to something.”

~

Adrien stared in disbelief.

“You… you did what?”

Dick fiddled with a Rubix cube. Adrien wasn’t sure if that was just to help stay concentrated on the conversation or so he could more easily avoid eye contact.

“I joined the mob two years ago because I wanted to be more in the loop…”

Adrien and Marinette exchanged exhausted looks.

“Don’t be mad! I’ve been rising in the ranks for years now, eventually I’ll be close enough to Agoura to help you guys!”

Marinette sighed lightly and shook her head. “Sweetie, we aren’t mad.”

Adrien raised his eyebrows. “Yes we are.”

“You’re right. We’re mad. But we’re going to let this one slide.”

“No, we aren’t.”

“I can’t read minds!” She said, then she shook her head again. “Look, we just want you to be safe.”

Adrien nodded. “The reason we don’t tell you much isn’t because we don’t trust you, it’s because we don’t like involving you guys in dangerous things when we can avoid it.”

“But Barbara --!”

“We asked her about her opinion on one thing. She actually gave the same answer as you, and we turned her down, too. We’re sorry that you felt like we didn’t trust you, though, that wasn’t ever our intent.”

“And, besides,” added Marinette. “You have a tendency to snoop. We always figured you’d learn everything on your own.”

They took a seat on either side of Dick on the couch and wrapped him in a hug.

Dick beamed as he hugged back.

“... you’re still in trouble, though. That was stupid and dangerous and neither you nor your siblings can never do that again,” said Adrien.

Dick started whining.

~

Marinette bit her lip anxiously as she looked at her phone. All it would take was one click to call, but…

Adrien sighed beside her and reached over. He took the phone and pressed to call, then tossed it back at her.

She panicked, juggling the phone in her hands as it dialled. Nononononononono don’t pick up don’t pick up --

“Hello?” Said Nygma.

Fuck!

She looked at her husband anxiously.

“This or the Justice League,” mouthed Adrien.

She squeaked and brought the phone to her ear. “Nygma! Hi!”

“... Hello?”

“Hey! I’m a bit bored, so… I was just wondering if, um, you want to do something as…” she wheezed. “... as um… as…”

“I don’t really have anything prepared right now, I’m still waiting on that shipment of penguins...” The Riddler seemed confused, which was a first.

Was she a little concerned about whatever Riddler was doing with penguins? Sure. Then again, this is Riddler she was talking about. What was he going to do? Steal one of her ninja kids and then tell her exactly where they were? Whatever.

“No no! Like um…”

“Friends?”

“Yes! That!”

Adrien rested his head in his hands with a deep sigh. She flipped him off despite knowing he couldn't see it.

“I guess my schedule is free until the penguins come in... Sure! Want to go try an escape room?”

“No, I do an escape room every time I see you. I’m making you a new outfit.”

Adrien and Riddler both groaned.

She smiled.

~

He hesitated, messing with the strap of the bag over his shoulder.

“The city might need me --.”

“The city will be fine for a week,” said Marinette.

“The kids might need me --,” he tried, only to get silenced by a kiss.

She pulled back a little bit later. “It’s one week. Besides, we’re all doing what Dr. Quinzel said, and you’ve stalled long enough.”

He sighed. “For good reason! It’s a week alone! I’m going to go insane.”

“Chaton, we’re murderers. I think we crossed over that line a while ago.”

He cracked a grin, weak as it was, and pressed another kiss to her lips. “Are you sure --?”

“Yes! Oh my kwami! Now go!” She gave him a playful shove.

He raised his eyebrows and crossed his arms over his chest. “It almost feels like you’re trying to get rid of me.”

“And it almost feels like you’re stalling.”

She waved down a taxi for him and he couldn’t help but cringe as they took the bags from him. It made it feel much more real…

“I love you, Chaton, I’ll see you in a week.”

“I love you, too, M’lady.”

He waved at the kids long after they had disappeared over the horizon and he sighed as he sunk back in his seat. He knew it was for the best, he needed to learn how to function as a person on his own, but…

It was only a week. Only a week.

Besides…

He looked down at the coordinates of the last known location of David Cain (it was amazing what Tim, Barbrara, and Marinette could do when angry enough).

He wasn’t going to be bored, at least.

~

She turned away from the cake she’d been decorating and nearly screamed when her eyes landed on Cass. She hadn’t even noticed her walk in.

Marinette forced herself to relax.

She glanced over the tiny girl in front of her and bit her lip. She was wearing a mix of different shades of black which…

She suppressed a shudder. The outfit was okay, if she was being honest, but it definitely needed a splash of color.

“Right, that’s it, we’re finding you some new clothes.”

Cass looked at her blankly.

Right. She didn’t speak language. Marinette pursed her lips as she tried to think of some sort of movement that would convey what was going on, then settled for reaching out a hand for Cass.

She couldn’t help the smile that broke across her face when the girl took her hand. She trusted her! Score!

She hesitated for a minute before yelling: “SWEETIE! I mean… JASON! COME ON WE’RE GOING SHOPPING YOUR CLOTHES ARE GETTING SMALL FOR YOU!”

There was a few seconds’ pause before Jason poked his head in. He glanced at the two of them and frowned, sinking a little bit into his hoodie. “You noticed?”

“I… don’t even know how to respond to that. I’m a designer, of course I noticed. If you want to keep going for the grunge look that’s fine but you need to up your size.”

Jason nodded.

She rested her arm around his shoulders (something that was very hard for her to do now that he was both taller and wider than she was) and pulled the two kids out to the mall.

Jason was getting used to buying things for himself. He still resisted a little bit when people spent money on him or asked what he wanted, but he was making progress.

She pressed a kiss to his cheek and handed him a credit card. “Buy what you want. Remember the PIN?”

“Mhmm…” said Jason. He sent a wave over his shoulder as he made his way over to the men’s section.

She hummed lightly as she walked through the girl’s section to look for things for Cass. The girl was short and skinny for her age -- she was determined not to think about it for too long -- and she could easily fit in kid’s clothes…

But no kid of Marinette’s would have a shirt with the words ‘Girl Power!’ or ‘I love tacos!’ on it.

She helped pick out different shades of black shirts and jeans for the girl, mulling over the different colors she should give her. Yellow and red matched her skin tone but she doubted the kid wanted anything bright…

Marinette settled for giving Cass a blue scarf and some gold accessories.

She smiled and offered them to Cass, only to pale when the girl burst into tears. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck --

Cass hugged Marinette around the middle and buried her face in her chest and Marinette was just very confused.

Jason came back with two bags of new clothes and he blinked a few times as he took in the new situation.

“What the fuck happened?”

“I don’t know!” She hissed back, waving her hands vaguely. “She’s crying and I can’t even ask what’s wrong!”

“We need to teach her a language,” mumbled Jason.

“No shit, Sherlock!”

“Fuck off, Watson!”

She was getting judgemental looks from fellow shoppers now. Great. Amazing, even. She rested an arm around Cass and then used the other hand to flip them off. How dare they judge how she parented her kid she just met.

She waited until Cass was done to pull away and lean down to check her face. Even if she couldn’t really speak, her expression should be a good gauge of what was wrong --.

Cass gently took the items from Marinette and flashed her a blinding smile.

Damn it. Now Marinette was going to cry. This kid was so cute.

She leaned over and gently pressed a kiss to Cass’s forehead.

HER kid was so cute, she reminded herself as she led her along to .

She helped her wrap the scarf around her neck. Was it kind of hot out? Yes. Was Cass super cute with her mouth hidden behind the fabric? Also yes.

She glanced at Jason, who was also smiling a little bit despite not having all the attention.

His smile dropped at her next words, though:

“I know you still have my card. Hand it over.”

“Fuck.”

~

It turns out ASL is hard.

It also turns out that teaching ASL, while you’re still learning it yourself, to a person who doesn’t even comprehend language is even harder.

Weird how that works out.

They started with simpler things. Everyday objects, basic emotions, the first letters of their names so she could say who she was talking about. It was a slow process, especially because they often would take two days per lesson because of everyone’s conflicting schedules.

But it was a process.

And he thought the family was doing pretty well, too. It probably helped that Cass was, at least so far, the nicest person in the house and none of them wanted her to be sad or lonely.

Look at that. They were working on making her not feel excluded. Progress! Dr. Quinzel would be proud.

~

Marinette paused her walk to the kitchen when she saw blonde hair. Adrien had blond hair, but he was still out on patrols with Dick so…

She turned and looked at the person on the couch with Tim. “Please, kwami, tell me he didn’t get another one when we just started making progress.”

Tim barely even looked up from his computer. “No, just my friend, Steph. She’s here because she thinks I’m sad my parents died.”

“Oh, oka --.” Marinette took a step back. “Hold up, what?”

“Yeah, they were killed by this guy in Haiti. I was sad about it for a while but then I was like ‘wait a minute! I can just kill him back!’ Anyways, it’s all good now.”

Steph didn’t seem all that perturbed about the murder thing, so she brushed past worrying about their identities or, y’know, her kid getting prosecuted...

Marinette pulled out her phone. “Yeah, Dr. Quinzel? I’m going to need to schedule another appointment…”

Tim frowned. “I’m fine, Mari.”

“Oh! Yeah! This isn’t for you… but, Steph, he doesn’t have anything going on Friday night, right?”

“I’ll make sure he’s free.”

She nodded. “Thanks, sweetie. Want anything to eat?”

“Guys! I’m fine! I got my revenge! I feel great!”

“Of course, you do, Timmy. And… waffles?”

She continued her walk to the kitchen to finish up scheduling and make Steph waffles.

~

Listen, at this point Cass having a miraculous was a given.

He might as well make sure it was a good one that would come in useful. And, it kind of matched her fighting style of predicting people’s moves to have one that allowed her to go five minutes into the past. She’d be even better at predicting people’s movements if she’d seen them before!

Besides, she liked the color blue. Perfect fit.

Marinette had agreed to train her, but Adrien was the one to take her out on patrols with him.

It was good to have people with different fight styles together, it made solving problems easier. Adrien paired with Dick and Cass, Marinette tended to pair with Jason, and Tim would tag in on either side since he had no real consistent fight style (he liked to change based on his opponent).

Besides, with group patrols they got to spend more time with their kids! They were nothing if not efficient people.

He and Cass sat on the rooftop across from the building Agoura had asked to meet Dick in. There was a low chance it was going to get violent, there should be no way that he’d know anything was off (Marinette and Dick had been publicly fighting for the past year to make it seem like they were on opposite sides), but it was better safe than sorry.

He watched Dick wave to Agoura and head off. Adrien and Cass watched carefully for any sign that they were suspicious, that they were going to do something underhanded, but Agoura just turned and started heading off into the night.

When his oldest son came up to sit with them, he had a thought. He glanced at Cass and made a swiping motion on his wrist.

She nodded her understanding.

They waited for Dick to transform before following Agoura and his goons. Five people were with him, but that wasn’t actually that bad by Agoura standards, so...

“Y’know, if he gets suspicious of me because of this, I’m never going to forgive you,” said Dick.

He shrugged absently, then broke into a wide grin when Agoura turned down an alley. “Living hotel to hotel wasn’t that bad back in the day.”

“Hm. I disagree, but…” The three of them exchanged grins as Cass activated her power. “Let’s do this.”

Dick brought his flute to his lips and played a high-pitched note that made Agoura and his goons stop in their tracks. Duplicates of each vigilante slowly spread out over the rooftops, as well as a replica of Dick.

The vigilantes and their fakes dropped down to surround the group and Cass suddenly reached out and jerked Adrien’s hand. He almost complained but then a bullet soared past where his head had just been and he went pale.

He squeezed her hand once as thanks and then pulled away so he could activate his Cataclysm.

Doubles went after the goons while Cass went to work disarming people. It was kind of creepy how she disappeared into the shadows without any help from Dick, but no one said anything because it was useful. She would pop out of shadows and break arms and legs to put goons out of commission.

Dick was giving himself an alibi. The fake lawyer ran into the action, only to get taken out by a fake Cass.

Agoura was making a run for it. Too bad, really, that he couldn’t exactly see anything that was going on. The world in front of Agoura was a mess of dumpsters and trash bags that he was struggling to run around. Adrien, who knew for a fact that everything was either fake or light enough to brush away with his staff, followed after him at a calm pace.

He grabbed Agoura by the back of his tailored suit and smiled at him.

“Agoura! Buddy! Where are you going? I just want to chat!”

“Nice one!” Yelled Dick from somewhere in the chaos.

“Thanks, Robin!”

He tipped his head to the side and regarded the man in his grip. It was clear he didn’t really know that much self-defense, but he must have some kind of weapon hidden on him…

Cass seemingly materialized out of the wall nearby and threw herself at Agoura, a blur of blue and black, and the man was nearly knocked out of Adrien’s grip by the force. Then she pulled away with a gun and a few knives.

Adrien raised his eyebrows a little bit before sending her a smile. Yeah. It was definitely a good thing that he’d given her that specific miraculous...

He turned his attention back on the mobster, who was beginning to look a little pale.

“Don’t worry about it, I’m not here to kill you. You deserve way worse,” he said brightly.

He pressed his hand to the man’s wrist. He closed his eyes and forced himself to concentrate on just dissolving the wrist. It was kind of hard to do with the mobster screaming his head off. Kwami, you’d think he’d be quiet so Adrien wouldn’t dissolve him into nothing but apparently not…

The hand popped off and he let go instantly. He looked down and winced at the black webbing its way under the glove.

He glanced at the mobster nearby, who was still screaming, and rolled his eyes. He punched him as hard as he could and smiled when he fell to the ground in a heap by the hand. Good, now that that was dealt with...

He scrunched up his nose a little bit as he slowly peeled the glove off of the hand and then his face split into a wide smile. Thank kwami, he hadn’t ruined the prints.

He turned to his kids and found them waiting for him amidst a pile of bodies. He didn’t know if the henchmen were alive or not, but when he saw the tiny scrape on Cass’s cheek he decided he didn’t care.

He waved the hand at them.

“We got him!”

~

Listen, Marinette had considered staying commissioner…

For approximately two seconds.

The vigilantes had made their point in getting Agoura arrested (they gave him about four days before he ‘mysteriously committed suicide’ in jail thanks to either underpaid henchmen or old victims). They were done. It had been way too hard to even think about doing it consistently. No, murder was definitely the way to go.

She glanced over at Nygma. “Thanks for helping me pack up.”

“Well, I figured it would be nice to visit again.”

She nodded slowly and looked around her old office. Tomorrow there would be someone else in that chair, someone likely far more corrupt…

“Got a knife on you?”

“Obviously, but why?”

She shrugged and took it from his outstretched hand. She knelt down by the chair and sawed on one of the legs until she had taken off a tiny piece of it. She pushed on the chair and giggled a little when it wobbled. Yes. Perfect. That would be so annoying.

She tossed the piece of chair leg in the air and then caught it, sending Nygma a wink. “The budget here is terrible, it’ll take at least a few months to get a new chair.”

Nygma rolled his eyes and took his knife back from her. “Hm. And they say I’m the evil one.”

They each grabbed a box. His was full of personal items, hers was full of files on every person currently in the GCPD and every mobster and goon she could think of the name of.

“You owe me one escape room.”

She groaned as they slipped out into the halls. “Why? Wasn’t it enough to spit on the floor?”

“Nope! Spitting on the floor was payment for me showing up, you’re making me do manual labor so I get one hour of escape rooms with you.”

“Don’t you know every solution already?”

“A new one opened up across town!”

She clicked her tongue irritably but shrugged. “Fine. But only because I owe you, not because we’re friends.”

He rolled his eyes and then looked down at the box he was carrying. “Wow, it sure would suck if all these pictures of your kids just… fell.”

Her eyes widened. “You ARE the evil one!”

He raised his eyebrows.

“And… you’re also my friend.” She made a retching noise. “Kwami, I’m going to die.”

“What?! No! Only one of my traps is allowed to kill you!”

“Too late! I’m dying. I’ll never recover…”

“Nooooo…!”

~

He raised an eyebrow at the girl on his couch. He was pretty sure she was Tim’s friend but… she was definitely around a lot…

Whatever, he might as well at this point.

“Hey, how many parents you got?”

Steph didn’t even glance up. “Zero, thanks to you.”

He went still. Wait, was she saying this in the ‘my parent(s) was evil and you killed them’ way or the ‘they were civilians and they got caught in the crossfire and I blame you’ way?

“Um… did you like them?”

“No, he was a dick.”

He allowed himself to breathe. Cool. Great. That would have made everything difficult…

“Want to be adopted?”

Steph laughed a little and shrugged. “Do I get to be a vigilante, too?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Then... yeah, whatever.”

~~~

Taglist

@i-am-ironic @nathleigh @mialuvscats @golden-promises @sassakitty @deathwishy @toodaloo-kangaroo @ladythugs @moonlightstar64 @dahjokester @jjmjjktth

[bonniebelleklyde]

The Small Hours

Note: This fic takes place within what I believe we’re now calling the Mistletoe Universe. Chronologically, it takes place after A Storm to Weather and before Mistletoe. I would highly recommend reading both first to have a full context for this! Thanks to the lovely anon who sent in the prompt for this-- Logan returning the favor from A Storm to Weather and comforting Janus regarding an irrational fear.

Word Count: 2651

Pairing: Loceit (romantic)

Warnings: The warning is a spoiler! Check the tags if concerned.

Summary: In the small hours of the morning, Logan finds Janus in a rather unusual position.

When Logan rose before the sun—not an entirely uncommon occurrence—and made his way to the kitchen to brew a very strong pot of coffee, he was not particularly alarmed at the sight of a figure, obscured by the darkness of the room, sitting atop the refrigerator. He simply nodded in its direction.

“Good morning, Virgil,” he said before stifling a yawn. “It’s a bit early for you, yes?”

There was nothing but silence in response. That was...odd. Concerned that something was troubling Virgil beyond his normal levels of anxiety, Logan flipped the light switch and jumped a bit when the light revealed that it was not Virgil at all sitting on top of the refrigerator, but Janus.

“Oh! I’m sorry, I—what are you doing up there?”

Logan was hardly an expert in these things, but something was definitely off about Janus, even absent the fact that Logan had never seen anyone other than Virgil choose this particular seating arrangement. Janus was fidgeting with his gloves, a habit that Logan had come to realize as indicative of nervousness in the deceitful side. He was also noticeably avoiding eye contact and worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. Unsure how to proceed, Logan followed Janus’s lead and averted his eyes, waiting for some sort of response. When he received none, he furrowed his brows in confusion. Janus was not exactly known for holding his tongue.

“Is something wrong?” he tried again, endeavoring to communicate through his tone that he was not prying for curiosity’s sake, but rather attempting to offer whatever assistance might be required. Logan doubted he was successful in this endeavor—he was rarely successful in conveying any tone to speak of, his words always seeming to come out dry and hollow.

“No, no, don’t mind me. Nothing’s wrong,” Janus said in a voice so quiet that Logan suspected it would have been drowned out by the sound of the coffee maker had the logical side turned it on.

Logan cocked his head to one side, turning over Janus’s words in his mind for a moment before gently shrugging his shoulders.

“You know, one would think—given who you are—that you would be better at that.”

It was Janus’s turn to furrow his brows.

“Better at what?”

“Lying.”

Janus blinked hard, his mouth falling open in an expression that Logan couldn’t be sure indicated offense or shock.

“I am literal deceit.”

Logan nodded, a small smirk crossing his face. “My point exactly— literal deceit should be more…adept at deception, no?”

Janus scratched at the back of his neck and did not speak for several long moments. Logan cursed himself inwardly— he hadn’t meant to offend, but he almost certainly had. He had essentially just told Janus (to his face, no less) that the other was bad at his job.

“I’m sorry,” he said after it became clear Janus was not planning on providing any sort of response. “I did not mean to imply that you are always—”

Janus cut Logan off by gently holding up his gloved hand, a tentative smile on his face.

“I know,” he said simply. “And you’re right. It was a lie. But I don’t…”

It was Logan’s turn to interrupt.  “Janus. I don’t intend to pry.”

Logan was reminded of the night when Janus had first become privy to the logical side’s irrational fear of thunder. He certainly hadn’t pried—had not mocked Logan or passed judgment in any way. He had not forced Logan to talk about his fear—a fact that Logan was exceedingly grateful for. No, Janus had simply…stayed. He’d borne out the storm beside him, with a steadying arm around Logan’s shoulders, for no other discernible reason than the simple fact that Logan had been afraid. Janus…Janus had been lovely. And he’d gone on to be equally lovely during the handful of thunderstorms that had occurred since that night. Almost immediately after the first crash of thunder sounded from each storm, Janus would materialize wherever Logan happened to be at the time. He wouldn’t say a word about the storm itself or about Logan’s silly fear. He’d beckon for Logan to sit beside them, and together they’d make their way through one novel or another, taking turns reading aloud to each other until either the storm had passed or they had drifted into sleep. Though his fear of thunder had never subsided, Logan became strangely fond of thunderstorms. Increasingly, he’d found himself wanting to…well. It didn’t matter what he wanted.

What did matter was that, through every embarrassing moment of it all, Janus was lovely. And while lovely was not a word Logan would ever attribute to himself, the very least he could do was—in the face of Janus’s obvious discomfort—afford the other his privacy.

There was a subtle change in Janus’s expression at Logan’s words. It seemed…softer, somehow. Logan quickly averted his eyes once again when he caught himself starting to stare. The last thing he wanted to do was make Janus any more uncomfortable than he apparently already was. He wondered briefly if Janus, too, was reminded of the storms. He became suddenly aware of how long the silence between them had stretched on for, and he coughed to dispel the strange tension hanging in the air. Remembering his motivation for entering the kitchen in the first place, Logan crossed the room to the coffee maker.

“Coffee?” he offered before chuckling softly when Janus wrinkled his nose. “Not a fellow caffeine enthusiast, then?”

“Oh, I drink plenty of tea,” Janus responded, his tone finally sounding a bit lighter now. “But I’ll never understand how you can drink that stuff—coffee is disgusting.”

Logan snorted in amusement as he began spooning out coffee grounds from his hidden stockpile. “Are you sure? You might find that you like mine— I keep the quality grounds well hidden from the others. You’ll find that the taste of coffee can vary quite widely depending on the type and origin of beans used to prepare it.”

“Is that so?” Janus returned, one eyebrow raised in skepticism. “Very well, I’ll try it if you like, but I make no promises regarding my reaction.”

Logan hummed in amusement, grinning as he got the brew started. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Janus nervously scanning the kitchen floor. Was there some sort of rodent about? Logan wondered idly but did not ask. Instead, he summoned a book—The Mystery of Edwin Drood—from its place on his nightstand, brandishing it for Janus to see before taking a seat at the kitchen table.

“I believe we left off on Chapter Three?” Logan asked quietly, turning to the appropriate page and looking to Janus’s face to determine whether this was the right course of action.

Janus’s shoulders visibly relaxed, and his grin widened just a bit. He shifted his position so that his back rested against the wall behind the refrigerator and closed his eyes.

“Yes, that sounds about right.”

Logan sported his own small grin as he lay the book out on the table in front of him.

“Excellent. Though I still don’t understand why you chose a book that is only half finished,” he remarked, his tone only slightly teasing.

Janus’s grin faltered at that, his eyes snapping open, and Logan worried that he may have inadvertently insulted the deceitful side once again. But Janus spoke before Logan could make his hurried apologies, his tone not offended but hesitant, perhaps even a bit nervous.

“I had thought…er, well…I thought that perhaps it might be interesting to trade theories about how it might have ended once we’ve finished. If you’d like to, that is.”

Logan was taken aback for a moment at the knowledge that Janus had selected this title because he was interested in discussing theories with him. That was…unusual. Logan was far more accustomed to his own academic musings being tolerated at best. The idea that someone valued them enough to actively seek them out…well, that was…that was quite pleasant. Logan felt something he couldn’t name—a warmth of some sort—bubble up in his chest, and he beamed up at Janus, not having the slightest clue why the other seemed so very nervous to reveal this incredible information to him.

“I think I would enjoy that immensely,” he said genuinely. “There are few things I find more satisfying than parsing out a good mystery, as you well know.”

Janus must have read Logan’s sincerity in his face, because the deceitful side’s apprehension melted away to be replaced by a brilliant smile to match Logan’s own. The corners of Logan’s lips were still tipped up as he watched Janus’s eyes fall closed again and as Logan began to read from the book.

Before long, he was interrupted by a buzzing sound signaling that the pot of coffee had finished brewing. Logan paused his reading and strode over to the cupboard to retrieve two mugs. When he’d poured both drinks, he looked to Janus with questioning eyes.

“Will you be joining me at the table, or should I hand this to you up there?”

He asked the question gently, kindly in a way that he hoped invited Janus to reveal whether there was some way that Logan could help him with his current predicament without pushing too forcefully. Janus averted his eyes and chewed at his lip.

“I…don’t normally make a habit of sitting up here,” he said slowly after several moments.

“No, you don’t,” Logan confirmed simply with a nod, leaning against the counter as he waited for the other to continue.

“It’s ridiculous,” Janus said through gritted teeth, clearly frustrated. “I don’t…I am being ridiculous.”

Janus’s face was bright red, and he seemed as if he was endeavoring to look anywhere but Logan’s face, and Logan turned his own gaze downward in an effort to minimize the other’s discomfort.

“More ridiculous than shaking like a leaf during every thunderstorm?” Logan asked softly, a small self-deprecating smile on his face.

At that, Janus’s eyes snapped up immediately to meet Logan’s.

“You are not ridiculous,” and something about the amount of sheer conviction in Janus’s voice stole every bit of Logan’s breath from him. “You are…”

Janus trailed off, either unable to come up with a word for what Logan was or unwilling to voice whatever word he may have had in mind.

“Well. Regardless,” the deceitful side continued, glancing away from Logan’s face once again. “I am being ridiculous. It really is so trivial, I…I should just come down…”

When Janus made no move to come down off of the refrigerator despite his words, Logan thought for a moment before offering, “Might there be anything I could do that would make coming down at all easier for you?”

It was clear from the hesitant look on Janus’s face that there was. In that moment, Logan wished he could be someone else—Roman or Patton perhaps, who were so much better at assuaging fears and dealing in emotions than Logan was. Janus deserved someone who was more practiced at this—who knew how to help Janus in the extraordinary way that Janus had helped Logan. Still, it was far too early for anyone else to be awake, so he supposed he would have to do.

“For what it is worth,” he said quietly, not having the slightest idea of what to say other than the simple truth, “I could never think you are ridiculous. You could tell me that you are up there to hide from the coffee pot, and I would think no less of you. You could tell me anything at all. I would never reveal the information to anyone else, and I would certainly never judge you.”

The words were inadequate, he was sure of it, but they were all Logan had. He watched with concern as Janus’s brow furrowed and his face contorted into an expression that Logan was not able to read. At the very least, Logan knew that Janus could be certain he was not lying. At long last, the deceitful side met his eyes once more with that same, unreadable expression.

“I’m afraid of spiders,” Janus finally confessed, his tone strained. “Virgil’s stupid pet must have escaped, because I woke up with the damned thing on my pillow, and it followed me into the kitchen.”

“Oh!” Logan responded, somewhat relieved that the situation was one that he could help with after all—and likely very easily at that. “I’ve actually assisted in retrieving it for Virgil several times. It should be no trouble doing so again. Do you have any idea where it might be now?”

Janus was hiding his face behind his hands now.

“I think it crawled under the oven, the last I saw.”

Roughly ten minutes later and with the practiced use of paper and string, Logan had successfully located the spider under the stove and seen it returned to its cage in Virgil’s room. Janus choked out a strained but sincere thank you, his face now an alarming shade of red.

“Thank me by coming down here and trying my coffee. I’ll make a convert out of you yet,” Logan teased, hoping the change in subject would lessen Janus’s embarrassment.

Logan lifted his hand in an offer to help Janus down from the refrigerator. Janus stared at the hand stretched out to him for just a moment before taking it and climbing down onto the counter and then finally to the floor. Logan found himself wishing—however irrationally—that Janus would forget to let go of his hand when his feet were once again on the ground, that Logan could remove Janus’s glove and interlace their fingers together, that they could—

Logan shook his head as if to physically shake that particular line of thought from his mind. He wondered briefly what it meant that he was thinking about such things with increasing frequency and resolved to consult Roman or Patton about the matter later. For now, he focused on keeping away the frown that threatened to form when Janus inevitably did let go of his hand.

“Alright,” Janus said with a small sigh as he took a seat at the table and looked toward Logan expectantly. “let’s get this over with.”

Logan smirked and handed a mug to Janus before taking the seat across from him. He nearly snorted his own coffee through his nose at the look of pure disgust on Janus’s face the moment the liquid had reached his tongue.

“I take it you’re not convinced?” he asked, not entirely successful in his effort to ward off a bout of laughter.

“This is revolting,” Janus said, glaring at his mug as though it had insulted him. “This is worse than what the others drink. I don’t know how you can stand it.”

Logan snickered and downed his own coffee in three gulps, more to prove a point than anything.

“Mark my words, I’ll sway you one day,” he promised, though not entirely serious.

“Can’t imagine how,” Janus said with a roll of his eyes before stretching out his hand. “Here, give me the book; I’ll pick up where you left off.”

Logan couldn’t help but grin as he handed the volume over. They had never before engaged in this strange practice of reading aloud to one another outside the context of a distraction from fear. Janus caught the grin and shot one back as he flipped to the correct page.

“May as well keep going. I’m eager to hear your thoughts on the identity of the murderer.”

There was that peculiar warmth in Logan’s chest again. This time, he simply allowed himself to bask in it. He would find clarity and answers regarding these strange and pleasant feelings Janus seemed to provoke in him later. For now, it was more than enough that they were there.

[charincharge]

Cruel Summer, Part 23

cruel summer masterlist

AN: Sorry if there are mistakes in this. It’s 7k words long (as opposed to my usual 2-3k). We’re maybe kinda getting somewhere? Anyway. I have enjoyed hearing your responses so much, especially as we come up on the end of this thing. Have I mentioned how much I adore you all? All angst to be blamed on Miss Taylor Alison Swift, and not me in the slightest, okay? xo.

Aelin is so completely exhausted. All she wants to do is sleep but it seems her body’s forgotten how. It’s as if every time her eyes are about to close, her brain startles her awake, making her heart race with adrenaline, anxiety spiking and coursing through her body. This must be some sort of sick punishment, she thinks. Around 5 am, she gives up trying to get any rest and gets out of bed. She may as well have a productive morning if she can’t get any sleep. She throws on her sneakers and plays an exercise video on her television, her feet stepping in time with the hip-hop cardio she used to do every morning at home. The familiar moves relax her, raising her heartbeat so she can’t feel the difference between her endorphins and her prickles of anxiety. Aelin is surprised to realize it feels… good. She smiles when realizes she’s found the magic cure for her restless mind today. Exercise. She doesn’t plan on stopping moving until her body gives out. By the time her parents wake, Aelin has finished two exercise videos, gone for a swim, and walked Fleetfoot. She makes a hearty breakfast of fried eggs, bacon and fruit salad. And is skipping toward the coffee machine for her third cup of coffee when Aedion, Lysandra, Evie and Gavin stride in for the day.

Aelin pauses, realizing her extended family’s appearance means she’ll have to go to the park shortly. The park where Rowan is. Her mind flashes back to their farewell embrace, less than twelve hours ago. She wonders what it’ll be like to see him again. Will he avoid her? Will he say hello? Will he pretend like nothing ever happened between them?

Nope. Aelin isn’t ready to think about that. Instead, she hops from foot to foot around the kitchen, skipping through patches of light like a cat, looking for the best sunshine to curl up under. However, Aelin has no intention of sitting and napping any time soon. She skips all the way to the coffee maker, refills her giant mug and hops back, careful not to let the hot liquid slosh over the side. She must look ridiculous, a constant flurry of movement, but she can’t stop. If she stops, she’ll have time to think. And she can’t do that.

Aelin knows her family thinks she’s gone crazy — she doesn’t care.

“Visual noise,” Aedion complains from behind his coffee mug, waving at Aelin’s ridiculously moving body, but Aelin ignores him, continuing to dance around the kitchen, humming to herself as she sips.

“Did you not get enough sleep, sweetie?” Evalin asks her son, and Aedion laughs.

“I have two kids under the age of ten.” He pauses with a wry smile as a well-timed squeal peels through the kitchen as Gavin chases Fleetfoot out to the back patio. “I never sleep.”

“If that’s true, then why does Lysandra never complain about it?” Aelin asks, and her brother casually flicks her off.

“Because Lys sleeps like the dead.”

Lysandra appears in the doorway, fresh faced, her pink lips curling into a grin as she laughs at her tired husband. “It’s not my fault that a pin dropping would wake you up.”

She pushes his blonde hair back affectionately and kisses his forehead. Aedion looks up at his wife with such love in his eyes, it nearly knocks Aelin out. She takes a large gulp of her coffee, and looks down at the ground where her feet move in tiny circles, tracing the tiles beneath her toes. Up, up, and around. She lets her eyes follow the pattern of her foot, practicing tendus as if she’s back in elementary school ballet.

“Do you want to stay here and rest while we take the kids to the park?” Lysandra asks, and Aedion shakes his head and brushes his lips against Lysandra’s hand. Aelin brings her leg off the ground, tapping it lightly to her knee, before placing it down again. She focuses on the position of her turn out and pointing her toes, just like her old dance teacher used to tell her.

“No, I’ll be fine. Just. Coffee, please?” he begs, and Lysandra rolls her eyes at him, but continues smiling. “If Aelin didn’t drink it all. Seriously, how much caffeine have you had? You’re vibrating the entire room. Sit down, it’s exhausting just looking at you.”

Aelin sticks her tongue out at her brother and watches as Lysandra pours Aedion his coffee with two packets of sugar in the raw and a splash of vanilla creamer. Aelin briefly thinks about how Rowan also needs to put a million things into his coffee to drink it – in fact, last week she filled a glass halfway with coffee and filled the rest with milk, and he still said it was too strong for him. She remembers the way his eyes gleamed when she told him he needed to toughen up, and he smiled and just said he liked things that tasted sweet and then kissed her.

Aelin stops herself. She shouldn’t be thinking about that. She and Rowan are over. Finished. He made that perfectly clear. Aelin slams her mug against the counter a little too hard. It clunks loudly against the marble, silencing the room as she finally stills.  

“So, should we get going or what?” Aelin asks, her foot swinging back and forth distractedly. If her movements are any indictaton, she’s not nearly ready, but she needs to pull off the band-aid eventually.

“Are you okay?” Aedion asks, raising an eyebrow at her odd behavior. But Aelin simply smiles and reassures him with the mantra she’s been saying over and over for the last twelve hours.

“I’m fine.”

The walk to the park seems longer than ever, for some reason. Aelin’s heart thuds loudly, beating in time with each step, filling her with unease as she grows closer to the park. When t finally comes into view, Aelin starts to feel nauseous. It’s probably her third cup of coffee that pushed her over the edge into jittery illness, but she suddenly wants to go back home and tell her mom she’s sick. She’s not ready for this.

But before she knows it, they’re at the entrance. She won’t be a coward, she decides, stepping through.

Aelin keeps her eyes wide open, searching for a flash of silver hair, her stomach roiling with knots as her family heads to their first ride. It gets worse with every corner she turns, holding her breath in anticipation of seeing those dark green eyes and wondering what emotion they’ll hold. Her constant anxiety works its way through her body, exhausting her quickly, and soon Aelin needs a snack break, desperate for a sugar boost.

As soon as she’s ordered her ice cream, Aelin is interrupted by a widely smiling Elide. Aelin smiles back at her beaming friend, knowing that she had a much better weekend than Aelin did and not wanting to bring her down. She heard all about it on the ride back home last night. And she assumes Elide and Lorcan went for a repeat as soon as they were off the bus.

“Hey!” Elide wraps her arms around Aelin’s waist, coming in for a giant hug.

“Hey yourself,” Aelin laughs. “You’re in a good mood again,” she quips, and Elide shoves her arm.

“Shut up. Let me be happy,” Elide grins.

“Judging just the size of Lorcan’s hands, I’m sure you’re very happy.” Aelin winks at her friend, whose cheeks flush and her brown eyes sparkle with glee, confirming Aelin’s suspicions.

“You’re the worst.”

“No, I’m the best,” Aelin says with a chuckle, and it feels good to smile, even if it’s not quite genuine.

“Speaking of, how’s your other half feeling?” Elide asks.

“Dorian?” Aelin replies. “I haven’t heard from him yet today.”

“No, you idiot.” Elide looks at her with narrowed eyes. “Rowan. Lorcan said he called in sick this morning.”

Aelin freezes, the nauseous feeling spilling into her stomach again. “He did?”

Aelin’s pause gets Elide’s attention, an Aelin tries to force a mask of calm on. She’s not entirely sure it works. Elide quirks her head to the side, trying to figure out what’s going on, looking like a confused animal.

“You didn’t know?” Elide asks slowly, and Aelin shakes her head as the snack attendant hands her an ice cream bar, but she’s not feeling hungry anymore. “I assumed you would have been there decked out with soup and juice or whatever.”

Aelin gnaws at the skin on her lip and shrugs. “Rowan and I actually…” She breathes deeply and plasters on a small smile for her friend. “We didn’t have as good a weekend as you. We actually, um, ended things.”

Elide gasps, horrified, and opens her arms to hug Aelin as she apologizes. “Oh my god, Aelin, I’m so sorry, I didn’t—" But Aelin stops her quickly.

“It’s fine,” she says with a shrug. “I’m fine.” Aelin sighs, her heart beating loudly in her chest as she repeats her practiced words, the ones she stayed up all night rehearsing and repeating over and over in her head until it became her truth. “We both knew it was just a summer thing, and now summer is over, you know?”

“Yeah…” Elide says sadly.

“Seriously, Ellie. You don’t need to give me that sad face. I’m fine,” Aelin repeats again.

“Okay.” She knows Elide is appeasing her, but she appreciates it. She doesn’t want to keep having this conversation. “Well, if you feel like coming out tonight and getting wasted, a bunch of us are hitting the Mason Jar after work,” Elide says. “You’re welcome to come.”

Aelin smiles, grateful at her friend for dropping it. “I think Dorian and I are supposed to hang later, but we could probably come after? I’ll let you know.”

Elide accepts Aelin’s half-committed response with a small nod, gives her another hug and heads off to her next shift.

Aelin takes one lick of her ice cream, hoping it’ll settle her stomach, but it does the opposite. It tastes like chalk in her dry mouth and she struggles to swallow it. She makes it back to her family, getting ready to go on the log flume. She gives the ice cream to her mother instead, who accepts it with a happy smile, completely unaware of her daughter’s upset. Aelin starts to dance in place again, needing something, anything to do.

Aelin thought she’d be relieved to know that Rowan isn’t in the park, but it’s brought her anything but comfort. Instead, she feels antsy that he’s in his apartment and not at the park. She said she’d see him in the park, and the first day, he goes and stays home? Aelin has a distinct feeling he’s not sick and wants to call him out.

Aelin pulls out her phone, ready to text Rowan and ask how he’s feeling, call his bluff. But she knows she can’t. Who is she to judge him for staying home and avoiding her? Rowan asked for space, and her checking in with him on day one is the absolute opposite of that. She’s furious with herself for even contemplating it. Why is she such a selfish bitch? She can’t even give him a single day off from her? Her chest tugs uncomfortably with the realization that he’ll have the rest of his life off from her. Aelin points and flexes her foot and reminds herself that she’s fine. She stands on her toes and plies, again and again, as she repeats the thought to herself.

She shoves her phone back into her pocket and doesn’t take it out again until the day is over.

When she pulls it back out, she’s not surprised to see she has no notifications. She’s been with her entire family the whole day. Who else would be texting her?

Instead of going back down that spiral, she texts Dorian, asking him if he’s still up to hanging out tonight.

He texts her back immediately. What do you want to do? Movie night?

Aelin pauses. The idea of sitting and watching a movie for hours sounds like torture. She needs a way to get out of her head. She impulsively texts him if they can go for a run instead. Dorian’s response is immediate.

A RUN?! We don’t run.

We do now. Dorian doesn’t reply, and Aelin starts feeling her heart pound again with nerves.

Please? Aelin texts again. She’s not above begging. She can’t help but feel ansty as she waits for his reply.

Fine. But I get to pick where we get dinner after.

Aelin smiles and walks home quickly. Dorian is already waiting on their back patio, running shoes in hand when she arrives. And she can’t help but smile.

“You’re the bestest best friend in the whole world,” she says, hugging him tightly, and Dorian shrugs her off, but she sees his pink ears as she showers him with praise.

“Where to?” he asks, shoving his feet into his shoes, and Aelin doesn’t wait for him to be ready to take off through the house, startling her parents who are opening a bottle of wine and settling in for dinner.

“Try and keep up, Dor!” she shouts, winding her way to the front door and taking off down the long driveway.

Unsurprisingly, Dorian catches up quickly. Despite him complaining about running, Dorian is actually fairly athletic. He played lacrosse all of high school and into college, and running comes second nature to him. He keeps stride beside Aelin, who breathes loudly as she finds her pace.

Aelin isn’t much of a runner herself – she danced and swam as her sports, but she can’t deny there’s something meditative about the even-paced tread of running. Her body falls into a solid rhythm, and she listens to the soft thud of her feet on the hot asphalt to center her as they take off into the neighborhood, the sun starting to set behind them.

“So…” Dorian starts, and Aelin turns her head lightly towards him to see what he wants to talk about. He doesn’t continue, so she assumes he’s trying to prompt her into some conversation, but he’s going to have to work harder than that.

“Ace,” he continues, breathing her nickname out like heavy sigh. “Talk to me.”

“About what?” Aelin asks, pumping her arms harder so she can talk and run simultaneously.

“You don’t need to pretend,” Dorian says carefully, his lips pursed. “I know.”

“Know what?” Aelin asks, turning her focus back to the steady thump, thump, thump of her footfall on the street.  

She’s not looking at him, but she knows Dorian is staring at her like she’s the biggest idiot in the world.

Aelin swallows loudly as she croaks out, “How?” And she watches the tension pull at Dorian’s neck and shoulders as he contemplates his next words.

“A little gay birdie told me.”

Aelin stumbles, losing her footing for a brief second, before ploughing forward. “Manon?” she pants, and Dorian nods.

“We’re actually, uh, friends now?” Dorian tells her nervously as he runs beside her. “I’ve been hanging out with her a lot since she’s started dating Nimi. They’re moving in together.”

“I didn’t know…” Aelin says quietly. Sweat beads run down her forehead and into her eyes, and Aelin wipes at them with the hem of her shirt, refusing to break step again as she thinks about all that she’s missed this summer. She hasn’t spent nearly enough time with her best friend. Yet another thing to add to her ever growing list of things to feel bad about.

“You’ve been busy.” Dorian shrugs and blots off his own sweat. “But you’re… not… anymore?”

Aelin shakes her head. “It was just for the summer. You knew that. It’s fine,” she says for the millionth time that day. “I’m fine.”

She watches as Dorian slows down his pace, so he can turn to her fully, his blue eyes piercing through her. “No, you’re not,” he says, and Aelin’s entire body stiffens under his intense scrutiny.

“Yes,” she insists, not letting his slowed pace affect her. She needs to keep moving and moving fast. “I am.”

“Aelin, come on. You can’t bullshit a bullshitter,” he says, becoming more agitated. He grabs at his curly bangs and tugs them off his forehead, a sure sign of his annoyance with his friend. “I know you. I’ve never seen you like this before. You were so wrapped up in him, I’m surprised anyone could pull you two apart. You can’t just end something like that and be fine.”

“Well I did, and I am, okay?” Aelin can feel her pulse racing as she stares at her best friend. She’s always run a little hot, but she never snaps at him.

“I just don’t understand why it ended at all. You’re obsessed with each other and—”

“Dorian, stop!” she hisses as her feet stutter to a complete stop. His lips part in surprise as he stops just in front of her, but he gives into her demands, hands up in defeat as he quits talking.

Her shoulders heave with her heavy breath as she struggles to tamp down her sudden burst of anger.

“Can we please just finish our run and not talk about my no-longer existent love life? Please?”

Aelin knows she can’t handle this conversation. There’s a reason she needs to keep moving, and it is so she doesn’t have to think about this. About being obsessed with Rowan, about being so wrapped up in him that she almost convinced herself she could have him forever. She can’t think about all that she’s lost. Not yet. So, she’ll keep moving instead.

“Can I give you a hug?” Dorian asks, and Aelin shakes her head immediately.

“I appreciate that so much, but… I just can’t, okay?”

Dorian nods, though she’s not sure he really understands what she’s saying. She doesn’t really understand what she’s saying either, honestly.

They pick their feet back up and start their run again, although it doesn’t distract Aelin as much as she wishes it would. Now that Dorian’s poked that tiny hole in her wall, she can feel the sadness start to mix with her anxiety, creating a cacophony of heartbreak seeping into her body. It threatens to drown her in a deadly tidal wave of her own creation.

By the time the pair finishes their run, Aelin is desperate to keep the emotions at bay. She will literally do anything to erase them.

“Dinner?” Dorian pants as he wipes sweat from his brow.

“Yeah,” Aelin breathes heavily. “Where do you want to go?”

Dorian shakes his head. “Lady’s choice.”

Aelin sighs. She doesn’t want to have to make any more decisions right now. So instead, she chooses Dorian’s favorite restaurant. A small Mexican restaurant with cheese coated everything and killer spicy margaritas. If Dorian is surprised, he doesn’t say anything – though he knows Aelin isn’t the biggest fan of the place because cilantro is in literally every dish, and she can’t stand the herb. But Aelin can’t help but think that a margarita sounds pretty damn good right now.

They agree to shower and meet up in an hour, and Aelin takes the time to put on a full face of makeup and do her hair. She needs protection from the real world. If she’s going out and seeing people, she’s not going to be Aelin tonight. She’s going to bury herself beneath layers of hairspray and makeup and too tight clothing. She takes the time to blow out her hair straight, something she hasn’t done since the very first week of summer, and cakes on foundation, dark eye shadow and liner and finishes with a thick coat of mascara. She stands in front of her closet, needing the proper clothes to accompany her non-Aelin look, something to act as armor. She finds a pair of old ripped jeans, which are far too tight, but she manages to shimmy into them, and finishes with a strappy black crop top from her college partying days.

She stares at herself in the mirror, armed with cleavage and sultry eyes, she doesn’t look like herself. And she feels a modicum of relief. She can be someone else and forget her problems. Just for the night.

Dorian whistles when she enters the restaurant, spicy margarita already waiting on the table for her. She brings it to her lips and takes a long sip as Dorian peruses her look.

“All this for me?” he asks, raising an eyebrow, and Aelin can’t help but roll her eyes at him.

“I thought we could go out dancing after dinner,” she says, quickly swallowing a large gulp of her margarita. It’s spicy and sweet and salty and tingles all the way down as it settles in her stomach. She knows dancing is a long shot – Dorian hates dancing. In public, at least. He can’t stand the bad club music and overheated floors and gaudy lights and overpriced drinks. It’s not his environment; he’d rather do karaoke at a dive bar any day of the week, but Aelin is desperate to keep her endorphins up. Karaoke just won’t cut it.

“Dancing?” He looks put out, and Aelin crinkles her nose at his frown.

“Yeah, you know. Loud music, sweaty bodies, dimmed lights, more drinks...” “I hate dancing,” Dorian scoffs. Aelin is undeterred by his less than enthusiastic attitude, already prepared for his pushback, as she grabs a chip and dunks it into the bowl of salsa between them. “You do not,” she says, exasperated with her best friend already. “You’re just a music snob. But once we get enough liquor in you...”

She lifts up her margarita, already half empty, and Dorian finally cracks a smile. She’s breaking through to him. She knew she’d be able to. Knew the restaurant would help bribe him. “Elide texted me about drinks?” he says, and Aelin sighs. She knew she should have just told Elide they couldn’t come. “Why don’t we just get drunk at The Mason Jar with everyone else.” “Because there’s no dance floor at MJ’s. Pleasseee?” Aelin begs. “Are you going to yell at me again if I tell you you’re acting a little manic?”

Aelin pinches the bridge of her nose and sighs. She knows she is. She’s been chasing an adrenaline high all damn day – running and twirling and skipping from activity to activity, unable to stop moving. She can’t think about what happens when the endorphins fade. “I just. Want to dance. Please, Dor. Please.” She pauses and waits for him to answer, hoping against all hopes she can get him to agree to dancing. She knows it’s a long shot, but she’s willing to do anything at this moment to get him to agree .

“If we go dancing, then will you actually talk to me about you?”

Ugh. Anything but that.

“Tomorrow?” Aelin asks, hope blooming in her chest that she can push those feelings off for another day – or ideally until she’s back home in Adarlan and completely alone, and Dorian frowns again.

“Let’s eat first and then decide how we’re feeling,” he says.

Aelin isn’t completely happy with his answer but agrees. She’ll never get him to agree if she pushes too hard.

Instead, she asks him about the last few weeks. She wants to be informed about everything. What has he been up to? How did his friendship with Manon form? What have they done together?

Aelin listens closely as Dorian launches into his stories of what he’s been doing with Manon, following every word as he describes their adventures around Terrasen. He tells her about their time at the brewery and getting free drinks all night because Manon and Nimi convinced the bartender they were newlyweds. And how Manon let him bleach her hair, and he ended up bleaching his arm hair by accident. He pulls up his sleeve to show the evidence, and Aelin cackles wildly at the orange tinted hair on his arm. Dark hair doesn’t bleach well without toner, he explains, causing Aelin to laugh hysterically again.

It feels so good to laugh. Dorian can tell and continually tells her stories, one progressively more absurd than the other. By the time he’s explaining the first time Manon wing-manned for him, and picked up a dude, because she “just assumed,” Aelin is having a hard time breathing through her giggles.  

“But you do like dudes,” Aelin says through her laughter.

“Yeah, but only on occasion! And I can’t believe she even didn’t ask.”

Aelin laughs at her best friend, who is clearly acting put out to get her to laugh more. She appreciates his efforts.

“You still hooked up with him, though, didn’t you?”

“Oh, yeah,” Dorian says with a fiendish grin. “He was hot.”

Aelin smiles so widely she feel like her face might crack. “I missed you, Dor.”

He runs his hand through his dark curls and bats his dark lashes at her overzealously. “Yeah, yeah. Me too.”

Aelin bites her lip as she begins to launch into her one last plea for dancing, but it turns out to be unnecessary.

“Alright, to Red Square?” he asks, and Aelin squeals with glee.

“Are you sure?” she asks, wanting Dorian to have a good night, too. “You could invite Manon if you want.” Dorian raises an eyebrow at the suggestion. “Won’t that be a little weird?” “No, I already told you, it’s fine. I’m—“ “You’re fine, yeah. I heard you.” She knows he doesn’t believe her, but as long as he’s willing to go dance with her, she doesn’t particularly care. He bites his lip and Aelin smiles, knowing he’s convinced.

Dorian shoots off a quick text to Manon, who replies quickly that she’s at drinks with Elide – of course, Aelin should have known – but that if they get drunk enough, she’ll be happy to watch Dorian make a fool of himself on a dance floor.

“I like her,” Aelin snorts as she links her arm with Dorian, who pulls her close and kisses the top of her head. Her heart stutters as she thinks of all the times Rowan ghosted his lips across her hair and forehead; his favorite spot to kiss. But she shakes it off quickly, thinking about all the liquor she’s about to consume. She’s ready to have her mind erased. There’s exactly one dance club in all of Terrasen — a Russian vodka bar with a cramped dance floor in the back, where barely twenty people can smush their bodies against each other like sardines, swaying to the bad DJ playing hits from five years ago. Just ever so out of touch. They’re famous for their signature cocktail. The nanotchka. A sugary combination of strawberries, champagne and vanilla flavored vodka. They taste like candy but are seriously lethal.

Aelin immediately orders three.

Dorian lifts an eyebrow. “Manon isn’t coming for a little while yet…”

Aelin smirks and picks up the drinks off the bar. “I know. These are both for me.”

She wiggles her hips as she slurps down half of the strawberry concoction, feeling it warm her immediately. Dorian laughs and grabs the third one for himself, watching Aelin throw back the first drink in record time.

“Dance time?” she asks, feeling looser and lighter already.

Dorian holds out his hand for Aelin to lead the way, and she makes her way from the empty front bar to the back room, which is already pulsing with heavy bass and flashing colored lights.

“I love this song,” she says, traipsing onto the dance floor. Bodies part for her and Dorian, making room for them as she slides into the middle, hips swaying with the steady thrum of the bass. She closes her eyes and lets the music flow through her. With Dorian next to her, she feels safe enough to let loose. She sways happily to the music, sipping at her second drink just enough to keep it from spilling. He matches her pace, grinning at her as she sings along to the song blaring overhead.

We're all here -- the lights and boys are blinding We hang back, it's all in the timing It's poker, he can't see it in my face But I'm about to play my Ace

Dorian spins her around, and she whirls in a circle, her hair spinning around her shoulders as she continues to sing too loudly for the small dance floor.

Baby, we're the new romantics Come on, come along with me Heart break is the national anthem We sing it proudly We are too busy dancing To get knocked off our feet Baby, we're the new romantics The best people in life are free

Her heart swells with the lyrics, singing her affirmations. Before she knows it, her second drink is empty, but Dorian replaces it with a third quickly.

Some time between her second and third drink, Aelin’s head starts to swim, and her body floats away. She’s no longer in control of her limbs – she’s just moving. A body unto someone else. Three quarters vodka, one quarter sweat. And one hundred percent unencumbered by feelings. This is exactly what she wanted. She’s almost forgotten about the persistent painful tug against her chest. Almost.

Aelin is completely wasted by the time Manon arrives with Nimi. She knows they’re not exactly friends, but she can’t help running off the dance floor to greet them with big smiles and hugs. She throws her arms around Manon’s shoulders, stumbling slightly into the tall blonde. They both sway momentarily while Manon regains her balance, but Aelin barely notices, as she moves onto greeting Nimi.

“Whoa,” Manon mutters under her breath at Aelin’s forceful hello.

“You both need drinks!” Aelin chirps, and insists that she get their first round, despite their insistence that they can’t stay for that long. Aelin shushes them and promises the nanotchka will change their lives.

At the bar, Aelin orders another round, and feels someone pressing into her, trying to get to the front. She attempts to move to the side, but the hand on the small of her back just shifts to her hip as she moves. She looks up into the eyes of a tall man with shaggy brown hair and blue eyes. He’s looking at her like he knows her, but she can’t place him.

“Well, well, well, never thought I’d see heiress Aelin Ashryver at Red Square,” he chuckles darkly, and Aelin sways on her feet and narrows her eyes, trying to remember the man in front of her.

“Do I know you?” she finally asks, trying to gather her drinks quickly, but she’s much drunker than she initially thought, because she knocks one over immediately, spilling it all over the bar.

She apologizes to the bartender, but the man in front of her smirks and offers to get her another.

“No, it’s fine,” she says quickly. “I probably don’t need another one anyway…”

And it’s true. As Aelin looks up, she realizes the floor is tilting slightly. She forgot how strong these drinks were. She definitely should have paced herself more.

“Cairn,” the man finally says, and Aelin struggles to remember why that name sounds familiar. “I’m a friend of Sam Cortland’s,” he clarifies. “We met briefly at his party.”

The main thing Aelin remembers of that night is kissing Rowan under a streetlight and how handsome he looked. Everything else was a blur. She shivers and grabs the remaining two drinks, trying to steady herself enough to walk back to the dance floor.

“Right. Well, my friends are waiting,” she says, motioning back to the dance floor, and he finally releases his grasp on her hip.

“See you out there,” he says with a wink, and Aelin can’t walk away fast enough. Even wasted, she knows that guy gives off bad vibes. She finds Manon, Nimi, and Dorian, who have taken their spot in one of the booths, which surround the dance floor.

Dorian pouts upon seeing her two drinks. “None for me?”

“I could only carry two!” she says with a laugh. “Now, who’s coming to dance with me?”

She braces herself on the side of the table and pointedly looks at her friends, but they all avoid her.

“We really are leaving soon… our ride is on the way,” Manon explains, and Dorian grimaces as he pleads a break. His feet are tired. He’s sweaty, and he’s almost ready to leave, too.

Aelin looks at her phone. It’s already after midnight, somehow. She asks Dorian to give her twenty more minutes of dancing, and then they can head out. He nods and says he’ll be waiting at the table for her whenever she’s ready to go.

Aelin slides between the mess of sweaty bodies, finding her place on the floor again. She doesn’t go all the way to the center, wanting to be able to flag down Dorian, should she need him. But, she gives into the music again and starts moving.

Her drunk feet barely leave the ground as she flails her arms and hips. She thinks that’s safest. But she lets herself ascend again. After a few minutes of moving, she feels someone’s hands on her hips as a warm body presses against her back.

She stiffens as she looks over her shoulder and sees a leering Cairn, trying to look down her shirt. She expertly spins out of his arms, and takes a step away to keep dancing alone, but he follows her, undeterred.

“What are you doing?” she shouts over the music.

“Dancing with you,” he says, his hands reaching out to grab at her waist and pull her into himself again. She can feel him hard against her, and Aelin is completely disgusted. Her head swims as she tries to regain her senses, but she’s too drunk, too out of control, and she’s not strong enough to pull out of his grasp as he moves their hips together, his erection poking into her stomach uncomfortably.

“I want to dance alone,” she says, trying to extract herself again, but his fingers are hooked into her belt loops, and Aelin is stuck. She looks over to Dorian’s table, trying to get his attention, but the table is empty. Her heart pounds, suddenly feeling very alone and unsafe and abandoned.

“No one who’s dressed like you are right now wants to dance alone,” Cairn says and dips his head to her bare shoulder. He skims his nose against her skin, and Aelin focuses and pushes against his chest as hard as she can. He barely moves. “Sam told me you were a little tease,” he sneers, and Aelin starts to feel sick.

“Just, leave me alone, please,” she begs, her eyes darting around the room for Dorian or Manon or Nimi. Where did they go? She’s way too drunk for this. Her heart pounds wildly, and not just from the hours of dancing she’s done.

“I don’t think I will,” he says, letting his hands slide down her thighs and grope her ass.

She’s about to shove him again when she’s pulled back aggressively, whipped out of Cairn’s grasp by two strong arms. She stumbles back into her savior and immediately feels warmth creep up her back and neck. She knows his grasp before she even spots his face or hears his voice over her shoulder.

“She said to leave her alone,” he says lowly, and Aelin can’t help but look over her shoulder at her silver haired protector. Part of her thinks she’s dreaming, until she sees the coldness in his green eyes waver when he looks down at her. His anger hardens again as he looks back at Cairn, and she trips over her feet again. The floor is definitely not even, Aelin decides as she stumbles back into Rowan’s chest. His grasp steadies her, and she can’t help but relax into it slightly.

“Who are you?” Cairn sneers. “Her boyfriend?”

“No,” Rowan sighs. “Not her boyfriend.” Aelin can hear the pain behind his exasperation. It’s enough to shatter the walls she’s attempted to keep in place all day, and she can feel tears start to prick at her eyes. God, she’s so, so stupid. Here he is, still saving her. Always saving her.

“Well, then, fuck off and mind your own business,” Cairn says, reaching for Aelin again. Aelin pushes backwards, away from Cairn, and Rowan pulls her with him as he takes a giant step back.

“There you are!” Dorian calls, jogging up beside her. Rowan immediately releases Aelin, and she feels the loss of his warmth acutely, despite Dorian wrapping his arm over her shoulders. “Hey Cairn,” Dorian coos at the sleazy man in front of them. “Should have known you’re the type to prey on drunk girls.” He stares at him, waiting for a comeback, but Cairn stays, staring. “I think you’re done here,” Dorian says again, firmly, and Cairn finally rolls his eyes and stalks back onto the dance floor.

“Are you okay?” Doran asks, looking her over, and Aelin nods, but she can’t help but be distracted by Rowan’s hovering presence.

“I thought you were sick,” Aelin says, and Rowan’s shoulders stiffen as he looks down at her, his face unreadable.

“I figured I was allowed to play one day of hooky.” He pauses. “Is that a problem? You’re not going to tell your parents and get me in trouble, are you?”

Aelin’s brow furrows. “No, of course not,” she mumbles, suddenly feeling nauseous on top of everything else. The wall crumbles in front of her, and pain rushes in, knocking her senseless. “I’m sorry…” She tries to look at Rowan, really look at him, but her head is swimming, and she can’t stand up straight. She slumps against Dorian, who holds her up.

“Let’s get you home,” Dorian says, leading her out of the bar, but Aelin can’t focus on anything except for the slight warmth coming from Rowan’s body, just inches away.

She ignores Manon and Nimi’s concerned looks as Rowan piles them into the cab of his truck. Rowan pauses, staring at them. Aelin wonders what he’s thinking.

Dorian speaks up. “We’ll be fine. Our Uber is already on its way.”

Aelin wants to apologize again, but she can’t say anything. All she can do is watch as Rowan slams his truck door shut and drives off, leaving Aelin slumped against Dorian, her head pounding and her stomach clenched.

The Uber arrives quickly, just as Dorian said, and he pulls her in after him. The Uber driver chats aimlessly with Dorian as Aelin leans against his shoulder. She tries to breathe steadily, but all she can see is Rowan’s angry face, and all she can feel is her broken heart.

At first, just a small tear falls down Aelin’s cheek, but she wonders what she’s fighting it for. Her shaky breath gives way to a loud cry, and she shocks the entire car when a sob rips out of her chest, and her shoulders heave as she lets out her tears. What is her problem? Why did she do this to herself?

She needs to apologize to Rowan, needs to tell him how much she cares about him, how much she wants to be with him. But, she has no idea how to make that future work. She thinks about giving up her life in Adarlan and staying in Terrasen with him for the first time ever. What would that even look like? She has no idea what she wants to do with her life, still. And even if she decided to do that, would Rowan even have her anymore? Her heart splits painfully as she tears herself apart. Sobs wrack through her body as her shoulders heave with the weight of her sadness.

She briefly hears the Uber driver ask Dorian if she’s okay, and she holds up her hand, repeating her mantra over and over – “I’m fine. I’m fine.”

But she and Dorian both know it’s a lie. She’s not fine. She hasn’t been fine since she pushed Rowan away. And for what? To make them both miserable?

She wants him. No, she needs him. So fucking badly. She can’t imagine feeling this empty hole in her chest for the rest of her life. She needs to figure out how to fix it. She just doesn’t know how. She ruined everything.

Aelin’s tears don’t stop, even as Dorian leads her up the stairs of her house and sits her down in her bathroom to wipe away the caked streaks of mascara from her cheeks. He pours her a large glass of water and helps her change into her favorite shirt of Rowan’s to sleep in. Aelin is infinitely grateful when he curls beside her in her bed, without her having to ask him to stay, as her tears continue to pour down her face.

“I’ll take that hug now,” she whispers, and Dorian doesn’t wait a second before wrapping her up into his tight embrace. He rubs at her back and lets her cry it out.

“I don’t know what to do, Dor,” she says, her voice cracking. “Every second I’m not with him I feel like I can’t breathe.”

Her tears fall in earnest again, dampening her pillow.

“You’re so dramatic,” he chuckles, pushing her tear dampened hair off her cheeks.

“I leave in five days,” she cries, and Dorian hugs her tighter.

“You’ll figure it out,” he says. She nods, not sure that’s true, but she’s grateful for her best friend. He stays with her, smoothing out her hair and whispering hushed affirmations until Aelin finally falls into a fitful sleep.

~*~*~*~

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