#i don’t mean this to be self deprecating but i am NOT intelligent enough to be handling extremely dangerous chemicals

[eddiethehunted]

any tips on how to not want to fucking kill your self in your organic chemistry lab appreciated

[terra-feminarum]

Hi. Sorry for the random message. But you seem really knowledgeable and I wanted to ask you a question. Or many questions as it seems from my paragraphs below lol.

I know you’ve stated transitioning is a capitalistic desire to become something you aren't in order to experience femininity, or whatever you desire to become, without the strings of being who you are, and that we are estranged individuals who run to fantasy when we can’t cope our reality.

I am an ace trans woman. I know it seems as if I'm a man, a man who wants to use femininity as a product to cure myself or to heal myself, just like everything else men use it for. Only I took it a step further because I wanted cheap approval.

Maybe I am those things, maybe I’m selfish, maybe I’m delusional. Maybe I’m no better than a drag queen who calls women “fish” or whatever.

But a part of me believes that it isn't that, that it runs deeper than that, and I would be lying if I said I didn't want this to be true. I've never wanted approval from anyone, and if I became invisible one day with no one to see me transition or change except myself, I believe I would be very happy. I remember reading a study that trans brains are more inherent to their gender than they are the predisposed gender attached to their sex. If I have the brain of a woman and the body of a man, where does that put me? Am I just a joke that God played?

I don’t know.

I know you mentioned that transitioning has always been purely physical. But for me it isn’t like that. I was already born with a body that overall, was feminine enough for me. Is it based off of stereotypes? Maybe. And maybe that makes me inherently selfish. But I’m ok with my body, at least for today.

I've always believed that I embodied feminine traits. I've always tried to be caring, I've always tried to give and receive. I've always tried to be emotionally strong, and I've always tried to be empathetic. Not tried in an imitation sense, but just really wanted to give it my all. Do what my mother and grandmother did in a sense, to follow in their footsteps. Maybe I have a flawed idea of what feminist is, but honestly who doesn’t? It’s been so skewed by societies expectations of women, that it’s like keeping track of an electric atom. But I have a deep feeling, that may or may not be flawed in of itself, but if anyone had a perfect idea on what things were we would already be on Mars in a utopian matriarchal society.

It's always been taken advantage of. A lot of men have called me gay, and when I tried makeup I was a drag queen. That always humiliated me, as if I wasn't really a woman, just a pale mocking imitation of one that men created. But maybe they’re right. I've always felt I had feminine energy. Is that too abstract? I really hope I'm right in a sense, but if I should give up now and go back. I don't know what to do.

Have I based myself on a lie?

Maybe this is the gender equivalent of chasing ghosts or taking pictures of UFOS. Striving for something that is ultimately pointless and fantasy. (Would you be surprised if I told you I believed in ghosts)

Are all trans women just strange offshoots of body modifiers who took advantage of femininity as a cure for their own self deprecation? I would be lying if I said I knew the answer.

All I know is that I’m not crazy. And I’ve never wanted to hurt anyone, or myself. All I’ve wanted is to become a vet, take care of my 4 dogs and 2 cat and make some difference in the world, and maybe pick up some gender along the way.

Sorry for the long read, thank you for your time. It means a lot. I think you have some of the most intelligent and nuanced tales I’ve heard in a while. Even if I don’t personally agree. Let me know if i misinterpreted what you’ve said. I hope this adds at least some sort of value to the conversation.

Hi, and thank you for your message. I like random messages.

I'm glad to hear you try to follow in the footsteps of your mother and grandmother when it comes to empathy and being caring. That's what all people should do, regardless of sex. Being like a good mother isn't a female virtue but something we all should strive towards. There have been times and places where striving to be like a good mother wasn't humiliating for men.

This is a bit of a tangent but I do have to disagree that in a perfect world we would have a matriarchal society on Mars. We would be here and our planet would be livable for all the future generations to come. Using valuable resources for pointless endeavors is a male fantasy. And by that I don't mean you believe that because you are a male but it's a fantasy of a male-dominated culture. I very much believe a good society wouldn't use natural resources and workforce like that. For most of our history humans were clever enough to live without leaving a trace. I think that is something we should also strive towards.

But this is off-topic. You seem like you're in distress. To me it sounds like you've had a lot of hardship with not fitting in and you're trying to find a way to make sense of that and find a way to feel like you belong. The way you've made sense of who you are is by claiming, or hoping, you're a woman.

You said you've always had feminine energy. You asked if that's too abstract. I have to admit I don't understand what is feminine energy. You wrote to a woman who is most of the time more or less dirty, has short hair, doesn't shave. I wear "men's" clothes and swear non-stop. Where is my feminine energy? Do you have it and I don't? Am I a woman? Or is my capability of empathy the feminine energy I have? Are men inherently devoid of it? How much empathy a man has to have before he stops being a man? These non-physical ideas of womanhood and manhood make me ask questions I've never found good answers to.

You also said you believe you might have the brain of a woman. This too, is a male fantasy, this artificial division between mind and the body. There can't be a female brain inside a male body. There can be an atypical male brain, sure, but it doesn't make it a female brain. I'm under the impression that those kind of brain sex differences have been debunked, anyway. But even if they weren't, our whole bodies are sexed. There isn't a separate soul that could be of different sex than your body. Women aren't oppressed for our souls but our bodies which are capable of creating life. A woman with a "male brain" would have been still forced to birth 12 children in the past. Our bodies are what the patriarchy controls.

Associating womanhood with certain personality traits or certain looks is harmful for women. We aren't a costume. The things trans women describe when they argue why they are women are stereotypes. If these stereotypes are a proof of womanhood, it hinders us from freeing ourselves of those stereotypes. To be free, women need to be able to be any kind of people. But now there's so many young women who believe they're not women at all because they don't recognize themselves in the stereotypes.

All this said, I don't think you've based your identity on a lie. Lying implies knowingly deceiving someone. I'd rather think you've based your identity on certain cultural concepts that help you make sense of what kind of person you are. I believe you find those beliefs comforting and have no bad intentions.

How I understand a lot of trans women are is that they are males who don't fit the social role that is expected of men. They feel more comfortable in the social role associated with womanhood. It's by no means easy to be a trans woman but it's easier to assimilate and think women as your peers, when compared to being a man who is everything a man isn't supposed to be and who is often very alone in his experience. As a trans woman you have a community, you have words with which to make sense of yourself, you have a feeling of sisterhood, maybe with other trans women, maybe with all women.

I'm all for gender non-conformity. Having a certain kind of body doesn't mean you need to act certain way, have a certain type of personality or prefer a certain kind of style.

So: What is a woman? A woman is an adult human female. It excludes males, like you. It doesn't mean I want you to change yourself. You have your personality, your values, your sense of style that fits you. Does it make you a woman? I don't think so, no.

We could, of course, broaden the definition of womanhood to include males. A lot of people like you find comfort in the idea. But we can't. We live in a patriarchy. It means male dominance over women. And we need words to talk about that.

Adopting an oppressed identity to fulfill your personal needs so you'd feel you belong hurts the oppressed people. Just a comparison: my values align a lot with what I've read about many indigenous peoples values. But I see those values through my western lens and can't even see the huge distortions I most likely have. My knowledge is second hand knowledge based on books and I have no idea what it's like to be indigenous. I have my own feelings of alienation as I struggle within my own culture and so I become attached to things I think I recognize myself in. But it doesn't mean I am indigenous nor does it even mean I understand those other cultures at all. I could be very mislead in my western fantasy. So what I need to do is to be in touch with who I really am and where I really am and create something genuine from that starting point. Something that aligns with my values and who I am. I don't need to appropriate an identity to carve a place for myself in the world, and to change the world.

You see where I'm going? People like you could do this. You could destroy all the rules imposed on you and become the kind of man you need to be, and maybe the kind of man the world needs, too. I know it's not easy. People like you are being mocked, even hated. It's not easy, of course it's not. But I believe a good feminist ally would rather use his energy to build new kind of manhood, rather than come to our spaces, claiming to be just like us, when you aren't.

I don't think trans women are inherently selfish or evil. I know many kind and nice trans women personally. I think a lot of you are going through the same process that caused me to believe I was a man. But to change the world and to be genuinely comfortable with oneself, the reality needs to be accepted.

I'd happily share spaces with kind and nurturing men, and might feel we are similar as people. I believe that is what many trans identified males wish, to be one of the women, so to speak. But being comfortable around women doesn't mean you have a right to forcibly claim our spaces and our attention and our resources. I believe many women would gladly share their time with people like you and would think of you as sisters. But I wished it wouldn't have to involve pretending to be us.

This is what I think about this right now. I don't know if this is my final opinion on the matter. I have no ill will for male people who feel kinship with women. But my priority is women's right to our own words which we need so we can tell the story of our oppression.

[xfortunearcana-archive]

ICE CREAM SANDWICH STARTER SENTENCES (PART 1)

“I have hurt myself. Not on purpose, but because I’m being an idiot. Or because I’m near an idiot! That idiot is usually me.”

“I’ve stubbed toes, I got hit in the face with a shoe, fallen off of a skateboard, fallen down stairs…”

“I’ve fallen down the stairs more than I’d like to admit; one time with an entire plate of spaghetti. But that was more of an emotional pain than a physical one.”

“… When I hear fun coming from outside my window.”

“I don’t know how to explain it, it’s not important.”

“Clearly they were having a blast, and I wanted to have some blast.”

“I had an advantage. While most people are fast or strong, my body is wiggly.”

“You good?!”

“… And because I’m an idiot, and embarrassed, I was like… yeah!, and he was like ‘cool’, and then left.”

“… So to pass the time my good, loving friends made jokes at my expense.”

“What is wrong with me? This was a deep seated problem from childhood.”

“I am not a smart person, and I never have been and I never will be.”

“Get out of here! Get away from my house!”

“I know what I’m talking about when I call myself stupid, or dumb. This isn’t a self deprecating thing, or a self hate thing. It’s just like one of those facts of life.”

“Earth is round, sun is bright, and I got square brain.”

“How did I get through school? Barely.”

“Every time I’ve had a misunderstanding where there really shouldn’t be any misunderstanding, I’ve been writing down and putting it in this list. And now I have a list of all the times I was being dumb.”

“So now, my stupidity is quantifiable.”

“Pay per view is not… paper view.”

“Paper view implies there’s paper involved instead of a TV. Like you would just get some papers with pictures of the show you wanna watch? Turns out it’s something you pay every time you view it.”

“Calling someone a sweetpea is not calling them a pea of which is sweet.”

“When information enters my mind… it just… I don’t know what happens to it.”

“What would a sweet pea taste like? What is that flavor?”

“If I had a nickel every time I was dumb, I would not have to be smart to make a lot of money.”

“I thought for a very long time that peer pressure was ‘pure pressure’.

There’s water pressure, air pressure, and then there’s your friends.

“Mushrooms are called toadstools because it’s like a stool… for a toad.”

“Amazing! I’m accepting that as fact.”

“In conclusion, I’m not… got the smarts.”

“But I’m good at other things! Like this little dance.”

“Silver lining, I now know all these things! And my intelligence has been improving, if only a little, over time.”

“Look at me! Look at my eyes!”

“Do I look like somebody who likes to work, or do I look like somebody who likes to eat pizza like a cookie?”

“Did anybody else think that’s crazy?! Or am I crazy? I AM crazy!”

“I don’t like to work. I just like… the money.”

“I don’t want people yelling at me about… onions! I don’t care about onions.”

“It was not really that great!”

“Excuse me! Why would you say that? You could say a million things to me! You could compliment me!”

“Why not say, ‘wow (name), your eyes look beautiful today’?”

“The worst part about rude customers is that you can’t say anything despite if they’re wrong or not.”

“YOU’RE MEAN!”

“More than anything the situation was just awkward.”

“Here’s some advice: if you wanna ship drugs, DON’T!”

“So uh, that’s another red flag. Two for two, baby?”

“Is any retail job good enough? I don’t know.”

“Another dude wanted me to help him with his email because the government was hacking his email.”

[hansolmates]

one more time (m)

pairing; (former) popular!jk x (former) normie!reader summary; it’s been two years since you’ve seen your former tryst jeon jungkook. you didn’t expect him to be applying for the internship you’re currently running, along with the rate your heart is running at the sight of him in a black suit. genre/warnings; self-deprecating language, your typical (future) co-workers!au, jungkook is a piner and so is oc, a lil bit of sneaking around, adulting, a mutual understanding of feelings (finally!!) smut in the form of—soft n’ dirty baybee, unprotected, cockwarming, overstimulation, minor praise and possession kink, cumplay, &you know that they gon have heart eyes the entire time w.c; 7.3k a/n; darn why am i so... emotional over this??? it started out as a meaningless drabble series but with all my lovely readers and moots it’s grown into such a fun, introspective series. thank u for loving this and joining me on this journey. for those of u who are new to this series feel free to read popular-ish first or as a standalone! [popular-ish masterlist]

if you’ve enjoyed this (whether as a standalone or as a series) please consider giving it a like and a share✨✨✨✨✨

“A mess, I’m a mess,” you sing-song to yourself, organizing the manuals on the clear glass by subject and size. The applications of all your new interns are alphabetized, not a form out of place. Everything’s perfect. “Alright Jessica, all twenty of the interns are accounted for.” 

“Actually, there’s twenty-three,” Jessica quips, and you let your shoulders slump. Being part of the recruiting team of your company has been simultaneously exciting and stressful. Stressful because of the constant travel, but otherwise exciting because you loved your internship at your current company. You remember how nervous you were two years ago, and how much support and help you got from your recruiters. Applying to this team was a natural turn of events. 

“A-are you sure, Jess?” you look through all the applications, count the amount of nametags, triple check the chairs. You’re sweating through your blazer, wondering where you went wrong. 

The head of your recruiting team glues one hand to her hip, while the other hand is holding her iPad, scrolling with her thumb. You swallow, intimidated by Jessica’s golden wavy locks and her black-trimmed white Chanel pantsuit. 

“Yep, but don’t be too hard on yourself. I just added three more recruits last night. I’ll get the chairs and the apps are being printed. No worries,” Jessica assures, gesturing for you to hurry up and get outside, “Call the babies in!” your team leader waves her finger around like a magic wand, commanding you to the front lines. 

Krystal puts a hand on her shoulder, as always looking impeccable. She has virtually nothing to worry about. She’s a woman who has connections, courtesy of her team leader. “Let’s go, newbie,” she teases, pulling you through the door. 

The recruits in the lobby are wide-eyed and vibrant, and you feel a little nostalgic as you watch them line up in front of you and Krystal as you sign them in. You would dwell on the feeling more if it wasn’t for your exhaustion, so you decide you’ll get a chance to take a road down memory lane when you get to the hotel. 

“Name?” 

“Xu Minghao.” 

“Congrats Minghao, here’s your nametag and I’ll see you inside,” with a firm handshake, one recruiter is free to go. 

“Name?” 

“Chou Tzuyu.” 

“Congrats Tzuyu, here’s your name tag and I’ll see you inside,” she doesn’t go in straight away, and moves to the side of the door. “Actually,” you pause mid-handshake with another recruit, staring at the woman in curiosity, “my boyfriend just got a call last night that he was accepted in this year’s batch. Do you have his name?” 

“Yes, three more recruits were added,” you chirp, as if you totally did not hear that bit of information five minutes ago, “What’s his name—Jungkook?” 

The both of you blink at each other. One hand on Tzuyu’s shoulder, eyes wide and mirroring yours. Your heart falls straight to your stomach, wanting to be eaten by acids and bacteria so you can stop any possibility of feeling any lingering affection for the boy you fooled around with in undergrad. Everything about him screams professional. He’s clean cut, a pinstripe black suit you never thought he’d own, and his hair is neatly trimmed and pulled behind his ears. His shoulders look tall and broad under the slight padding, his biceps comfortably stretching against the dark fabric. The golden complexion remains the same however, from the honest brown eyes to the coral pink lips that would always smile at you. 

“Oh, so you do have his name!” Tzuyu clasps her hands together, delighted. He has a girlfriend, too. It’s then you realize you’ll be stuck with not just him, but her for the week. “You guys are so efficient. C’mon Kookie, let’s find some seats!” 

“I still gotta get my nametag,” he replies goodnaturedly, gesturing to you, “save us some seats in the front?” 

Tzuyu thinks nothing of it, squeezing his bicep before skipping off to the front row. Your eyes linger on her form, and it’s only then you realize how tall and intimidatingly pretty she looks in that plaid teddy bear brown skirt suit. You did not look that good when you were a budding undergrad. 

By this time, Krystal has taken all your other recruits from your line, regarding you with a raised brow. She’s fast with her attendance, so you know you don’t have much time. 

“I applied last minute,” Jungkook says, scratching his head, “was running out of options before graduation. I didn’t know you’d be one of my recruiters, though. Lucky me.” 

Jungkook and you never ended up keeping in contact, at least as of recent. A check-in message a few months in, a happy birthday or holiday greeting late at night. But two years later and those messages are automatic, with no feeling or personality. You never thought you’d see him again, no less in the city. 

“You just graduated with your masters, congrats,” you smile at Jungkook, although you’re sure the feigned emotion fails to reach your eyes, “IT Management, right?” 

“You remembered,” Jungkook brightens, reaching over to squeeze your shoulder, “you look good.” 

“Oh please—”  you laugh to yourself, shaking your head, “I just got off a flight and I ran over in a two-day old suit, I don’t even have makeup on,” you didn’t feel this way in the morning, you just rushed to do the bare minimum to be enough and ran over to the convention hall. But now in the presence of Jungkook who looks so handsome and clean-cut, you can’t help but feel a little slighted at the sudden reunion. 

“You’re always beautiful,” Jungkook exhales, and you clutch your clipboard closer to your chest. 

You cough, an excuse for him to stop touching your shoulder, “You should go inside, it’s gonna start soon. We can catch up later.”

“Wait—” you make a scrunched up face that Jungkook can’t catch, but right in Krystal’s view. You can tell she’s laughing at you internally with her devious grin. “I just wanted to say, Tzuyu isn’t my girlfriend. We’re just…” 

“Fooling around?” you didn’t mean for it to sound so sharp, but you wanted this conversation over. You have a job to do and Jungkook is your emotional barrier. 

You and Jungkook used to fool around. 

Jungkook winces, looking younger in his monkey suit. “I mean if you give me a chance to explain later—”  

“Nametag, let’s go newbie.” Krystal slaps on the sticker herself, a little too hard if she asked. She doesn’t even bother to write his full name, just a bright green Jeon JK, IT Management tacked on his breast pocket, clashing with the gold pocket square. 

“Sorry,” Jungkook tucks his tail in for now, bowing at you and Krystal as he scurries inside. 

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding in. Krystal doesn’t bother to comfort you or ask what’s up—not that you want her to, even though you do want a breather before you have to go up on that stage and explain the itinerary for a week. The only thing you can do is smooth out your skirt, brush away the flyaways on your hairstyle and plaster a company-paid smile on your face.

The autopilot switch is on throughout the rest of the morning. Not just because Jungkook’s around, but the new position has got you on livewire. You’re glad that you’re not wearing base makeup because you are absolutely melting with all the high beam lights all up in your face as you talk through the week’s activities. 

You could swear Jungkook clapped a little harder than most once you stopped talking, but maybe it’s because you’re not used to seeing Jungkook in the very front of a lecture. In fact, he was a very hard middle person, preferring not to show off his intelligence and let other people lead the discussion. Then again, it’s been two years, you don’t know how much he’s changed. 

Jessica caps off the seminar with a great kick-off, the happy hour. The recruitment team picks a four star restaurant under their hotel so the recruits can enjoy themselves before going off to the training facility for a week. 

And by training facility, you also mean yet another four-star hotel. You knew you made the right decision by joining this company because the benefits are impeccable, and value personal enjoyment just as much as they value work ethic. In the morning you and the recruits will be driving uptown to a private resort where there would be classes in the morning, and recoup in the evening. You’re very much looking forward to the infinity pool on the roof. 

The recruits are ushered out as soon as you’re done, and that’s when you step out of the shadows to clean up the chairs and the brochures left behind. Thankfully Jungkook is probably following the norm and going back to the hotel to freshen up before dinner. Once the room is completely empty, you rip off your blazer and let yourself relax. 

It’s going to be a long week. 

Jeon: where u @?

You: hotel room

Jeon: why? Thought we were all gonna have dinner together

You: nahhh, this night is for the recruits! You’ll be tired of our faces by the end of the week, enjoy it while you can 😉  have a good night

You sigh in contentment, relaxing further into the silk sheets. You just finished your skincare routine, letting some mindless drama play as the essences and serums sink into your skin. All you want is one Jungkook-free night. Tomorrow you’ll be stuck training him and Tzuyu for the week and you want to take tonight to emotionally prepare yourself. 

Your phone rings once more. 

Big Baddie Jessica Jung: krystal and i ordered takeout in the restaurant downstairs. Can u bring it to our  room? Plsssssss 

Little Baddie Krystal Jung: it’ll be faster if you do it, we even got u a lil somethin🍰🍰🍰

Taking in your outfit, you grimace. You’re dressed for bed, a large nightie with your hair pulled back and a little pink bunny tie headband on top. Can’t they get room service to send it up? You admire your boss but you don’t understand why she needs to display her power over and over, she already knows you’ll follow her to the ends of the earth. 

Quickly slipping into a pair of sneakers you run down the expanse of the hotel. It’s easy to spot where the recruits are, livin’ it up in the large restaurant that takes up half the space of the ground floor. Most of them are pretty drunk, hoping to sleep off the hangover on the four-hour bus ride. You have absolutely no judgement, two years ago you were in the same position. 

Thankfully you don’t have to go far into the restaurant, as the hostess immediately knows Jessica’s order. While you wait for her to go into the kitchen and get it you drum your fingers against the counter, hoping no one notices you. It’s akin to when you’re a teacher in a mall, hoping none of your students gawk at you in the middle of Victoria’s Secret. 

“Ah, well Jungkook and I aren’t official yet—but very soon.” 

Your ears perk up at the sweet voice. Tzuyu is leaning across the open bar next to the counter, sipping on a mango mojito. She’s dumped the blazer for the night, showing off her soft skin and slender arms with a sleeveless cream blouse. 

“Then where is he?” another recruiter asks, gesturing to the expanse of the lobby. 

“He’s not much of a party person,” Tzuyu shrugs, tipping back her drink. 

You scoff, plastering on a smile to the hostess as you grab your bags and walk as fast as you can out of the lobby. You’ve never felt more like an old hag until now. Sure, most of the recruits are younger than you, but seeing Tzuyu talk so freely about her relationship with Jungkook has you in a bit of a spiral. The day of graduation, you told Jungkook not to wait for you. Heck, you’re only interested in the idea of what you could’ve had with Jungkook. 

These thoughts only cloud you further as you jab the elevator buttons all the way up to the suites where you and the Jungs reside. You relax a little when you see a strawberry cheesecake sitting prettily on the top of their order, your name written on the label with a little heart. Hanging their bag on the door handle of their room, you make your way back to your suite. 

You freeze when you see a floppy-haired Jungkook roaming the hallway, looking like a clueless child hobbling around in slippers and wide eyes at any sparkly item that decorates the area. It doesn’t even look like he tried attending the happy hour tonight, dressed in an impossibly big heather grey sweatsuit that swallows his form. 

“Are you lost?” you ask tentatively, as if you’re talking to a toddler lost at the mall. 

Jungkook relaxes considerably at the sound of your voice, and he replies, “Was tryna find your room since you didn’t reply to my texts.”

“So… you decided to check all the rooms?” 

“Yep,” he pops the p with a smack of his lips, “I figured the recruiters would be far away from the party so I started at the top. Thankfully I got to Jessica’s room first. Didn’t have to knock on too many doors. Only one old man got annoyed at me.” 

“You’re crazy,” you chuckle, slipping in your keycard to let Jungkook in. 

“Fuck, this room all to yourself?” 

Jungkook doesn’t hesitate to kick his slides to a corner of the wall, flopping atop your bed and clutching your baby blue koala plush in his arms. The king sized bed is enough for his legs to stretch comfortably without falling off the edge, and he eagerly pads his feet against the soft fabric. 

It warms you to think that Jungkook is comfy enough to lay on your bed and hug your stuffed animals, a semblance of friends that you’ve missed for such a long time. Last year the team you worked for was great, you loved the people and even now you consider some of them friends. This year the team is a little smaller, and since your two other co-workers are sisters, it’s a little harder to nudge yourself in the direction of friendship. 

As soon as you sit down against the headboard, Jungkook’s eyes soften. Everything feels so different and the same. The threadbare pajamas that either of you haven’t had the heart to throw away since they’re so damn comfy, yet  your bodies are a little more worn and your eyes a little more droopier than usual. 

“So,” Jungkook bites his lip, not in the sexy way, but the nervous way, “about Tzuyu—”

“Jungkook, you don’t have to explain yourself,” you slump on your corner of the bed, regarding Jungkook with guilty eyes. “I really shouldn’t be feeling the way I’m feeling. It isn’t fair and I don’t want to jeopardize your internship.”

“And… what are you feeling?” 

“Dumb things.” 

“Your feelings aren’t dumb.”

“This time they are.”

“I’ve always shared my feelings, it’s unfair that you never want to share yours,” Jungkook sits up, criss-cross applesauce, pensive. “Maybe it’s my fault for not making you feel comfortable enough to share, but I feel like the reason why we never worked out was because we never tried hard enough to have a proper conversation.” 

How could you have missed all the indicators, all the good words, all the kindness Jungkook has given you that last semester? “You’re absolutely right,” you let your insecurities, your apprehensiveness, get in the way. You think in two years you’d do better to eradicate this kind of behavior, but lately you haven’t had many friends to express your feelings to. “Tell you what, I’ll work harder to express how I feel. No exchanges, no nothings. I owe you this.” 

“You owe me nothing,” Jungkook smiles, “I just think it would be nice to y’know, talk. As friends.” 

“Right, friends.”

“So, will you hear me out about Tzuyu?” 

“Let me open my cake,” you pull out your bag with the cheesecake, which thankfully has two spoons, “it seems like we’ll be having that kind of conversation.” 

Everyone is more amicable because of food. According to Jungkook, Tzuyu has a hardcore, ten-year plan for her twenties. After a couple of dates with Jungkook, Tzuyu whips him into the plan. Mentions that she’s well-bred and has a family reputation to uphold. Says IT Management is something completely desirable in a partner, that he’s sensible and wonderful and would like to be committed full-time. 

“And she talked to her parents about me and said that I’m a good prospect for marriage. Like I’m another pillar in her plan!” Jungkook cries, taking a monstrously sized bite of your cheesecake, wallowing away.

This is akin to sleepovers you’ve always wanted to have in high school, down to the food gorging. You can’t help but be fascinated, “So are you wrapped up in an engagement? Is this a scary rendition of Crazy Rich Asians?” 

“You just can’t turn a one-eighty like that on a fifth date,” Jungkook shakes his head, reeling at the emotional whiplash, “she’s really nice. Really organized, really perfect. It really intimidates me.”

“Is she what you reaaaally want?” you can’t help but ask, rolling your eyes at the excessive use of the word, and tamp down the pain in your stomach by eating a forkful of creamy cheesecake. 

“I don’t know!” Jungkook replies exasperatedly, “Obviously I’m worried since she wants to put a ring on it. I told her she needs to back off. Right after the seminar I said she had no right telling other people we’re boyfriend and girlfriend. She didn’t say much, just frowned and walked away.” 

You roll your eyes, scraping the leftover graham cracker crust from the edge of the plastic plate. “According to her, I heard you two are planning to make it official very soon.” 

His eyes widen, “I really bring girl trouble wherever I go, don’t I?” 

“Since I’ve known you,” you half-joke, putting away the plastic cutlery on the nightstand. 

You two sit in silence for a few moments, letting the television fill the room with mindless static about some sappy Hallmark movie. Tentatively, you land a hand on Jungkook’s knee. He looks down at your tiny fingers, giving his skin an experimental squeeze of comfort. 

“I don’t want her,” he finally says. 

“Okay,” you reply, “you won’t even have to talk to her if you don’t want to. I can arrange the groups this week so you don’t have to be around—”

“Give me one week,” his eyes flash to yours, dark and sharp.

“Jungkook. You have your determined face on,” it makes you sweat.  

“Because I’m determined to win you over, once and for all,” you eyes widen, and Jungkook visibly freezes, “was that too much? I’m kind of on an emotional high today. I didn’t expect to see you today and it kind of threw me into a loop. I thought I might be running into you once I started my internship but I didn’t think you’d be my recruiter. And then you went on that stage all bad-ass talking about work and you looked so gorgeous in your suit and I was so proud knowing you made it and IrealizedhowmuchImissedyou—” 

“Jungkook, slower,” you’re feeling a little woozy as well, equally overwhelmed. “You’re just saying this because you didn’t expect to see me—” 

“You’re deflecting, again.” 

“I’m scared, okay?” you blurt, throwing your hands in the air. “You’re right, this is all so sudden. So can’t we just start being friends and see if it takes us somewhere? You don’t have to win me over, just support me like I’ll support you.” 

“I’m sorry,” Jungkook moves up the bed, so he’s leaning against the headboard as well. His long legs stretch farther than yours, and it feels oddly domestic as you talk it out and stare at the television screen. “I’m just, worried I’m running out of time.” 

“I'm not going anywhere this time.” 

“I know,” Jungkook shakes his head, ridding himself of his torrid thoughts. Conceding, he gestures to the television, pulling out the remote under your pillow, “wanna watch television, or catch up?” 

You last about an hour until you knock out. However, Jungkook keeps you entertained up until that moment, as you exchange your lives and stresses. Everything meshes together, you’re not sure if it’s the charm that comes with late night talks, but you feel like you can talk to Jungkook about anything if given the time. You melt when he strokes your hair till the last minute, wishing you a goodnight and a promise of more. 

“Okay, I’ve gone over most of the work ethics in the manual,” you smile nervously when you see your glazed over recruits, nearly falling off their chairs. Even Krystal is bored out of her mind, discreetly playing with her phone in the back under her manual. Of course you’d get stuck with teaching the boring classes. “Any last minute questions before we head off for dinner?” 

Tzuyu shoots her hand up, “Are romantic relationships allowed in the workplace?” 

Jungkook promptly chokes on his water bottle. He looks up at you, panicked. Ignoring his terror, you paint on a thin smile towards the young woman, “Like I mentioned earlier, romantic relationships between employees are not frowned upon, so long as you’re not working under or over someone in the same department.” 

“Right, just wanted to make sure,” Tzuyu is all chipper smiles as she thanks you.  

If you were still twenty-one, you’d gag at the pointed look she sends Jungkook. They’re sitting diagonal from each other, and Jungkook makes a point to pretend to be interested in your lecture until the very end. 

You’re halfway done with recruitment week, and while you’re not shocked at how fast the week has gone by, you’re fairly disappointed that Jungkook and you haven’t had time to meet up in private. So far it’s been easy enough to keep your friendship (and past sexual relationship) a secret, but something dark and eager tells you how much you want more. The recruiters are eager to leave, all twenty-three of them grouping off and talking about what they want to eat for dinner. Everyone except a certain dark-haired fellow, who’s hair is currently bouncing off it’s styled coiff, wanting to return to it’s normal non-gelled self. 

“Kookie,” you raise a brow at the interaction, Tzuyu leaning over her chair to Jungkook’s, “wanna get dinner tonight?” 

Jungkook’s taking an excruciatingly long time to pack his things, raising a brow at her, “I’ve told you already, I don’t want to be involved in whatever plans you have.” 

“Oh-kay,” Tzuyu rocks back and forth on her oxford heels, pursing her magenta pink lips, “then why don’t we at least walk back to the hotel together? I really want to talk about some things that might change your mind.”

“Nothing will change my mind,” Jungkook’s determined face has been staying strong for the week, from the way he makes sure he’s first in your class to the simple “good morning” and “good night” texts you exchange. “Besides, I have a date tonight. And I really want to talk to the recruiters about a personal work matter, so can you please leave?”  

You try not to snort at how blatant Jungkook was being. You pretend to organize your folders, throwing whatever random notes you have in your bag for later. 

“A date,” she twitches,  “with who?” 

“Someone that doesn’t treat me like a stepping stone in her career path,” Jungkook deadpans, and that’s all it takes for Tzuyu to huff and walk away from the hall. 

You think Tzuyu is like a bug, relatively harmless, but someone who gets on your nerves. 

“A date, huh?” Krystal quotes, finally looking up from her phone. Her sharp, cat-eyes linger at the door, wondering if Tzuyu is going to pop out and try to drag Jungkook by the reins. Finally, she plants her stare between you and Jungkook. “So, you two fucking?” 

“Former fucking,” Jungkook supplies helpfully, and you jump off your podium to elbow him in the ribs, “ow—what?” 

“You just don’t tell Krystal we’re fucking!” 

“Former fucking,” he chastises, but the eyes he sends you are a little sultry, and you wonder if he’s thinking of fucking in the future. You reel yourself back, focusing on the third party.

But you anticipate that Krystal couldn’t care less, and you’re grateful for that. While a smaller work team means a smaller possibility of close work relationships, you do like the drama-free environment. “Like you said,” Krystal shrugs, slinging her briefcase over her shoulder, “romantic relationships in the workplace are not frowned upon.” 

You wring your hands between your bag when Krystal finally makes her getaway, and you look up at Jungkook. “So,” you smile wryly, “you have a date tonight, huh?” 

“With a pretty working woman,” he sighs dramatically, putting a hand over his chest, “that is, if she’ll have me.” 

“Consider yourself taken.”  

Jungkook and you sneak away to your suite once again. To your surprise, the suite is decorated in rose petals and a bottle of champagne sits in an ice bath on your bedside. A large pizza pie sits beautifully on your coffee table, and the television is playing lo-fi hip-hop. 

You feed Jungkook champagne-dipped strawberries as you gorge on the joy that is baked bread and cheese. 

And when he kisses you, it’s slow and sweet, like you have all the time in the world. 

It’s the last day of recruitment week, and all classes ended at noon so the interns can use all the resort’s amenities to the fullest. Many of the interns, including yourself, Jessica and Krystal, are on the rooftop celebrating a successful workweek. Staff and interns alike are buzzing around, eager to top off their weekend with some relaxation and sun. 

Jungkook is with his new team, conversing with other IT employees. You try not to stare too hard at your reignited flame, tipping back a cutely decorated glass of fruit. His arms ripple as he tips back the liquid. He’s wearing a tank top and you could swear his biceps have gotten meatier. Unfortunately you hold yourself back, after all the internship isn’t quite over and you still are a professional. 

At the end of the weekend you really have nothing to worry about, you know that. 

But Tzuyu? She irritating. 

“I just don’t understand,” Tzuyu suspects nothing of your budding relationship with Jungkook. You’re thankful for that because towards the end of the week, it was getting harder and harder to be subtle when you two send each other heart eyes from three meters away. 

Tzuyu sounds like she’s talking to herself, the way she stares into the infinity pool, despite the fact that her friends are surrounding her with rapt attention. You’re a cabana away from her, sipping languidly at your drink while Jessica and Krystal nap next to you. Even though you can’t see Tzuyu, you can practically feel her pout emanating through the fabric that separates you two. Despite the fact that she’s been offered a great intern position given her degree and experience, she’s still upset. For her, is that not the most important part of this whole week? 

“Jungkook’s really not that great if he’s going to turn me down like that,” Tzuyu seethes. You should write up her nonsense in a book and publish it, really. “Why waste time when he has the whole package right in front of him?” 

It’s then you realize why you’ve been so torn, so strung up and wound tight all these years. Just like college, all shy and hesitant to take a step forward while Jungkook was ten steps ahead, you were worried. You let other people’s thoughts stop you from making the leap, girls like Tzuyu that never meant to intimidate you, but you let their presence get up in your head and control the nonexistent hierarchy. 

But two years later, and that doesn’t matter. It never mattered. Jungkook is no longer the all-star lacrosse player, but what remains is his heart, full and willing. 

Everything Tzuyu just said was… wrong. Irrevocably, inexplicably messed up. But the idea of “wasting time” does strike a chord within you. Are you wasting time? At this point, your feelings of each other are pretty clear. What are you two waiting for, again? 

You thought Krystal was sleeping, considering her sunhat sitting atop her face, but once she hears you packing away your bag she whistles, “Go get ‘em, tiger.” 

Sending a quick text to Jungkook, you make a beeline for your destination. You don’t even bother looking for him in the crowd. 

You: meet me by the elevator at the very end of the lobby. 

Not a minute passes by when Jungkook joins you at said elevator. He has two glasses of champagne in his hands, and offers one to you, “tired of the party?” he asks.  

You clink drinks, easily tipping yours back. “It’s not our thing,” you declare with a small smile. Jungkook's eyes soften, glancing back and forth between your face and the soft pleats of your marigold sundress. His hair is pushed back, sticky from sweat and chlorine, dark bangs hanging over the shaved sides of his head. You turn your head slightly as you wait for the elevator, biting your lip as you're sorely reminded of how sexy Jungkook looked at the dive pool half an hour ago. 

The elevator dings, and it’s wide enough for you to slip in at the same time. You put your champagne glass in the corner of the elevator for now, hoping you don’t accidentally step on it. In closed quarters, you can smell the slight tang of chlorine coming from Jungkook, combined with his own brand of musk. 

Jungkook looks younger tonight, happier. Having just finished graduate school and working towards a full-time gig, another chapter in his life has started. His hair is no longer in that tight-whipped coiff he struggled all week to maintain, loosened in its natural wave due to the pool water and heat. His cheeks are a little ruddied and plump, a sign he’s been enjoying the food this week. 

The door barely closes when you get it out, pulling at his hand to face you.

“Jungkook, I like you,” you blurt, and his eyes bug out considerably. Out of reflex, his hand sharply squeezes yours. “You don’t have to say anything, because you’ve been saying everything for the majority of our relationship. I really like you, I really liked you back then too. You’re still so sweet, and loving, and smart and I’ve just been too dumb and insecure to—” 

Jungkook seals your confession away with a desperate kiss, and you turn into a pile of mush at the contact. Relief seeps into your bones, sings into your system. When he pulls away, he looks serious. He doesn’t let you get far, and clutches your face between his two hands so you can’t turn your head. Your soft cheeks fill between his fingers, warm and cradled. 

“Never call yourself that,” Jungkook exhales, regarding you with firm eyes, “you’re beautiful, and intelligent, and the person I want.” 

“I don’t wanna take it slow anymore,” you mumble against his lips, leaning in so that you can barely nip at the pink skin. “Want you now, need you now.” 

“You have me now,” Jungkook agrees, and as soon as the elevator dings open to your floor, he scoops you up into his arms. 

By all means it’s not graceful, he’s clutching you like a baby with his hands over your butt as he jiggles you all the way to your front door. Clinging onto him like a koala, you press kisses to his cheeks as he leads you to your room. You laugh and giggle like teenagers, as he fumbles between your breast to grab the card key that’s nestled between your bra. It’s warm in his hand as he swipes it through the reader, pushing you inside. 

“Is it bad that I’m kinda turned on by the fact you got my key out of my boob?” you joke, although the contact of his rough fingers against your breast is a feeling well missed. 

“Is it bad that I’m always turned on when you lecture in seminars?” Jungkook retorts, kicking the door closed with his slipper-clad foot as he walks you to the bed. “Fuck, I can hear you talk about insurance benefits all day.” 

“Didn’t know my sex appeal extended that way—oh fuck—” 

Your vibrant marigold sundresses provides easy access to Jungkook as he throws you onto the mattress, your skirt billowing over your waist as he makes quick work to expose more of your skin. 

“No more talking, more loving,” he’s crazed, doesn’t hesitate to move your bikini bottoms to the side as he rubs lovingly at your long-lost bud, “need to fuck you, now. It’s been so fucking long.” 

“Kook,” his breath is warm against your already sopping cunt, and you lift your hand to run through the strands of his messy hair. It only takes one firm tug and you’re able to pull him up by the root of his hair, cranberry juice tinted lips with a faint sheen because he couldn’t help himself to have a little taste of you. “Baby, let me touch you. Let me show you how much I want you," you coo with a pout, hands trailing over the drawstrings of his trunks.

You can see how much Jungkook wants to say yes. His eyes glow with the possibility, bright and wanting in the afternoon sunlight. The image of him shoving his cock deep into your throat, so far that you can taste it in every crevice of your mouth. Your nails gripping into his ass as you go deeper, tears pricking your eyes as cum seeps out of your pretty lips. 

But he firmly shakes his head, fingers doing the devil’s work as he eases a digit in you. A little noise of protest bubbles in your throat, but it soon dies out as soon as he finds the right spot to reduce you to mush. 

“Next time,” he exhales against the juncture between your thigh and pelvis, picking up the pace and adding another finger, “if you touch me, I’ll cum right then n’there. This is enough for me, you’re enough.” 

So you let him have what he wants. You’ll make it up to him in the morning, and the day after, and the day after. You shed your clothes, the sundress extra forgiving as it slides off your body, revealing a swimsuit that hasn’t even touched the pool. You feel a little self-conscious as he drinks you in after so long, but he quickly shucks off his clothes to match your state of nakedness. 

You remember how you tiptoed around your first night with Jungkook, taking great care to make sure it was fleeting, how dark the room was as you let your pleasure take over your senses. Two years later and the sun is setting, gold bleeding through your sheets and illuminating the room. There's no need to hide.

“I must say, we’ve both kept it tight,” Jungkook teases with a wink, squeezing your hips so he can change positions. 

You silently agree, your fingers slipping across the washboard of his waist. 

“Mm, and still so fuckin’ cute,” Jungkook marvels as he pulls you up on his lap. Your whole body is flushed with want, one hand squeezing your breasts while the other plays with the curls of hair that lead to your sopping wetness. You glide your core over Jungkook’s stomach, sighing as you take note of the abs that clench under your heat and his hot member that rubs between your ass. 

It’s a tight fit when you finally sink down on him, but the burn only fuels your desire as he stretches you wide. His grip is helpful as he guides you through the motions. It’s been awhile since you’ve been this physical with someone, and it’s almost comical when you both sigh in contentment at the contact. 

“I’ve missed this,” you mumble, biting into his shoulder as he thrusts up. 

“Mm, it feels different, right?” Jungkook hums, keeping a slow pace. The drag is wonderful, and you know that he’s trying to prolong the moment. He reaches for your head, presses his forehead to yours as he speaks, “you’re mine now, right? For real.” 

“I’m all yours, Jungkook,” you press kisses everywhere. No need to hide anymore. You bleed love into every kiss, to his jawline, the little freckles across his chin, his lips. “This is romantic and all, but I really want you to dick me down. Which is why you need to go a little faster, you sap.” 

Jungkook scoffs, “A pillow princess is what you are.” 

He stops moving, and you two sink further into the mattress without its springs bringing you back up. The both of you are acutely aware of how wet you both are, your combined arousals seeping between your seams and dripping onto Jungkook’s thighs. But the young man simply relaxes against the headboard, baiting you. 

“Kook,” you whine, clenching against his member. Your hot walls have a mind of their own, unable to stifle their desire. Sweat lines Jungkook’s brow as he tries his hardest not to move, just simply be. 

“Tell me how much you want me, princess,” the pet name has you clenching harder, and you pout. 

“Baby,” you whine, leaning forward to whisper in his ear. There’s no one in the room, and you’re sure no one is on this floor because everyone’s on the rooftop, but the words you’re about to say are for Jungkook and Jungkook only, “please, I want you to pound me into this mattress until I can’t walk anymore. I want to cry out your name so everyone can hear I’m yours. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” you nip at his lobe, and let your thumb nick at the simple silver rings that adorn his ear. You hear a click of his teeth, indicating the clench of his jaw as his muscles flex around your body, "I want you to fill me with your cum until I’m eating it, and—and—oh Kook!” 

Your words aren’t enough to distract you from his large dick sitting prettily between your folds, and you’re suddenly cumming, all by the mere thought of what’s to happen. You’re shuddering in his arms, and Jungkook soothes you by running his fingers over the spine of your back, distracting you from the utter mess you’re making on the sheets. 

“Such a good girl,” Jungkook coddles you, stroking your hair, “can my good girl take it?” 

“Y-yes, Kook,” you nod eagerly, fighting the overstimulation as he nudges you off his lap. You’re pliable, as Jungkook sets up the pillows for you to rest comfortably as you get on your elbows and knees, “your good girl.” 

You shudder as your bare pussy starts to feel cold, immediately missing the warmth Jungkook can provide. You can practically feel his hot gaze burning in your back, his large palm squeezing your ass as he marvels at how ready and eager you are for him. 

“It’s so easy to slip inside,” Jungkook rubs your nectar across the head of his cock, swirling around your engorged skin as he slips right inside. You both moan at the stretch, “Finally, my adorable baby, you like this? You like getting pounded like the dirty girl you really are?” 

“Mm, yes!” you squeal, clutching onto the feather down pillows for dear life as Jungkook displays his strength, one hand gripping your hips as the other weaves itself into your hair. It’s a delicious mix of pleasure and pain, and the lewd sounds of each other’s juices and his balls against your ass echoing in the room. 

“Y-yeah,” despite his power, his thrusts are sloppy, and you know he’s almost at the edge, “and I like you, so so much. I want to make you cum everyday, make you happy and—mph—” he gives up on talking, focusing entirely on his destination. 

“Cum, baby,” you urge, melting when his one hand comes to thread with your own, “fill me up with you.” 

He flips you on your back, and you finally see how desperate Jungkook is to cum. His eyes are glassy, filled with emotion as he strokes himself to completion. Your hand reaches up to cup his damp face, and that’s when you feel him loosen. Hot, pearly strings cling to your pussy, decorating your skin in his essence. Your fingers immediately reach down to swirl the cum between your folds, and Jungkook groans at the picture, immediately throwing your hands to the side to kiss you senseless. 

There’s so much pouring between the two of you, affection, the feeling of being cherished, so much that you can feel the whole world reducing to the two of you. 

“All mine,” he whispers to himself, as if he still can’t believe it. And then, he puts up a poker face as he leans into you, resting his head gently on your breasts, “I knew I only needed a week.”

You narrow your eyes, flicking lightly at his forehead. You’re sticky, sweaty, and covered in cum and while you’re exhausted, the built in jacuzzi in your washroom looks very enticing right now. “Jungkook, this happened naturally. I said we would try as friends first and we did. We just so happened to escalate pretty fast.” 

“I don’t think it was that fast,” Jungkook nuzzles his face into your skin, “it’s been two years since college. Being popular did do a number on our relationship, but we caught up." 

“You were popular-ish,” you roll your eyes, teasing him. His face falls, and you can’t help yourself. Your hands reach over to cup his cheeks, and you happily squish the supple, pouty flesh. He’s adorable. “Kim Taehyung though? Park Jimin? Absolute heartthrobs I couldn’t stand to be near them—ah!” 

Jungkook seems to read your mind, lifting you bridal style to drag you over to the bathroom where the marble jacuzzi sits tauntingly. The stone is ice cold as he brings you both inside, immediately turning on the nozzles to fill it with steaming hot water. You find the tiny bottle of lavender suds, spilling the soap in an arc. His legs slip over yours, cradling you so that your back is pressed against Jungkook’s chest. 

“Being popular never mattered,” Jungkook shakes his head, pressing a kiss to your jaw, “I realized the only person who I really needed to notice me was you.” 

bonus. 

You wake Jungkook up the next morning with your lips wrapped around his cock, fresh cherry balm rubbing down the thick veins until he's cumming down your throat. 

"Wow," Jungkook whistles, licking his lips at the sight of you sucking the arousal from your thumb. He huffs against the pillow, eyes darting to the open organza window, letting in the early morning light. The rooftop of a multi-star hotel, white Egyptian cotton seats, a full time job on the way and waking up in the most blissful way possible. 

"I have a proposal," you crawl on top of him like a koala, hooking your thighs between his blanket clad body. 

"I do," he replies instantly, looking straight at you with droopy puppy eyes.

"Not that kind," you slap his chest, "where are you living once orientation is over?" 

"Mm, there's a boarding house near a local translation. It's probably an hour commute? Not too bad." 

"So, I just leased a townhouse last month," you bite your lip, tucking your head between his neck to hide your embarrassment, "I was gonna rent out the spare room and put an advert in the paper but…"

"I do."

"I said it isn't a marriage proposal."

"Asking you to live with me is basically a marriage proposal."

"There will be no benefits," you sit up, wagging a finger in his face, "you'll be paying rent and half the utilities. And you will be doing all the laundry." 

"Sure," Jungkook replies loftily, squeezing your ass, "you're benefit enough." 

[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

The Sommelier (Hannigram x Female!Reader) pt. 15

Hannibal gives y/n an idea and y/n negotiates.

@viviace @deadman-inc-bikeshop @dovahdokren

Trigger warnings: graphic descriptions of violence

Aftercare was Hannibal's favorite part of the evening. He loved to spend long, indulgent hours pampering his darlings. But usually, there was only one. And that was Will. And Hannibal's clawfoot bathtub, although beautiful, was not big enough for both of you at the same time. Meaning, you had to take turns.

You and Will argued back and forth about who was in more desperate need of aftercare; each advocating for the other, of course. That was Hannibal's fault, really. He should have known better than to ask you to make a decision.

Hannibal emerged from the bathroom, sleeves rolled up and arms soaked to the elbow. "Who is first?"

Before you could speak, Will shoved you forward. "She is."

Hannibal knew better than to let the argument go on, and so did you. You followed him into the bathroom, the smell of lavender bath salts filling the air.

He removed your fluffy robe and watched you step into the warm bath. The water was just hot enough to soothe the aches in your muscles. Hannibal took his seat at the end of the tub where you rested your head. You leaned back and submerged your whole body. 

“You have such soft hair.” Hannibal said, pouring a bit of expensive-smelling shampoo in his palm. 

“Thanks, I use fabric softener and tumble dry it on low heat.” You answered. 

“You have a hard time accepting compliments, don’t you?” He probed, beginning to lather the shampoo into your hair. “Between that and the self-deprecation, I’d say you suffer from low self-esteem.” 

You felt yourself melting into him. The hypnotic motions of his hands chipped away at your defenses. “Is that really that surprising?” 

“For such an intelligent, sophisticated young beauty?” Hannibal chuckled. “I am surprised you don’t understand your worth.” 

“If it makes you feel any better,” You offered. “The fact that a psychotic cokehead fundamentalist Christian cult leader wants me dead tells me I’m doing something right.” 

“You are a force of nature, my indulgence.” Hannibal assured you, still massaging your head. “But you don’t need me to tell you that. You already know your power.” 

That got you thinking. Would it be so bad to just find a hunting rifle and blow Chase Mulvaney’s head off? What was stopping you? It certainly wasn’t your conscious. All your remaining moral fiber had been ripped to shreds over the course of the last month. 

“Tell me something about yourself, Hannibal.” You said, leaning back.

“What would you like to know?” He asked, retracting his hands. He cupped his hands in the water and poured some over your hair. 

“Do you ever think about morality?” You said, bluntly. 

The question pleasantly surprised him. “Quite a bit, actually. I like to think of myself as a student of philosophy, which deals heavily with the subject of ethics, human behavior, and yes, morality.” 

“Do you believe morality is subjective?” you tilted your head. 

“There’s not a doubt in my mind about it.” Hannibal smiled. “Those who think otherwise usually exemplify some of the best arguments for subjective morality.” 

“Religious nuts like Chase Mulvaney.” You said. “He and millions of others believe in objective morality, but can’t even keep it consistent among themselves.” 

“Darling,” Hannibal whispered. “You don’t have to wait for aftercare to talk philosophy with me. I would be happy to do so anytime.” 

You spent a half hour in the bath, Hannibal stroking, kissing and cuddling you. As much as you wanted to enjoy the affection, your mind was elsewhere. Perhaps it was just a hyperfixation, or post-multiple-orgasm clarity, but the only thought in your head was that Chase Mulvaney had to die. 

Your train of thought was chugging along smoothly until it was derailed by the violent buzzing of your phone against the tile floor. You leaned over the side of the tub, trying to make out the contact name from across the room. 

Hannibal dried his hands on a nearby towel and picked the phone up from the ground. 

“Who is it?” You asked. 

“This number is logged into your phone as just a picture of a...red demon?” Hannibal answered. 

“Oh, yeah.” You dropped your head. “I’ll call her back, just let it ring out.” 

“Who’s the demon?” Hannibal chuckled. 

You stepped out of the bathtub and reached for a towel. “Just somebody I know from work. Probably calling about covering a shift or something.” 

“Would that be the same person who believed I was the devil?” Hannibal raised an eyebrow, watching you wrap the towel around yourself.

You were about to say yes, but caught yourself. “No. Just some lady I work with who always refused to share her tips with the buses. Super entitled, total pain in the ass. I’ve been looking for an excuse to tell her off.” 

“Well, we can’t keep you from that, now can we.” Hannibal cupped your cheek in his hand and looked at your face admiringly. “There should be a clean nightgown for you on the bed. Please tell Will I’ll be ready for him in a couple minutes.” 

“Wow, you really did think of everything.” You rocked back on your heels and swung to your tip toes to give him a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll let him know.” 

He kissed you back. “Thank you, my indulgence.” 

“Just one more thing.” You stopped in the threshold. “Could I please use your computer?” 

“I don’t see why not.” Hannibal looked up from the quickly draining tub. “By all means, what’s mine is yours.” 

You smiled and blew him a kiss before absconding into the bedroom. 

The nightgown he’d laid out for you had far more ruffles and lace than you’d consider appropriate for sleepwear, but it was comfortable and fit you well. 

You passed the message along to Will, but hurriedly. You were in a rush to be alone. You had some business to attend to.

You sat at Hannibal's desk, turned on his lamp and logged into your google drive on his computer. While you waited for the content to fully load, you scrolled through your contacts. When you found the demon, you pressed the green dial button.

It didn't take her long to pick up. "[F/N]! Finally, I've been trying to call you all night."

"Yeah, I know." You rolled your eyes. "Some of us have lives to live. Not that you'd know anything about that."

"No need to be snippy." She scolded. "I have an offer for you."

"If it doesn't involve a portion of ad revenue, I'm not interested." You shook your head. "I'm not settling for a flat fee while you make the real money off my experience. My goddamn trauma."

"Sounds like we woke up and chose bitchy today." She teased. "You're not even going to hear me out?"

"Freddie," you began, pulling up a document on the computer. "I happen to have a four-page, comprehensive statement of what happened that night right here. Half of it was cut out for the FBI report."

You could practically hear Freddie drooling already. "And?"

"I won't accept anything under $1200 for it." You finished. "Or 30% of all ad revenue on this article."

"That's not fair." She protested. "Best I can do is $750."

"You made ten times that off my first article." You leaned back in the chair. "Don't try to lowball me, Lounds, I can do this all night."

"Since when were you the assertive type?" She asked, deflecting the conversation.

"Remember when you told me my fifteen minutes of fame was running out and you were my only option to get my story out there?" You recalled.

"At the time, I was right." Freddie contested.

"That was before Chase went from a cokehead to a domestic terrorist." You said. "Now I actually can take it to a more reputable outlet."

"But here you are anyway." She said. "Extorting a small, woman-owned independent news site just for the hell of it. I've got bills to pay, y'know."

"With gaslighting like that, I'm sure they're astronomical." You rolled your eyes. Sighing, you propped your knees against the desk. "Look, I don't hate you, Freddie."

"I don't hate you either." She agreed. "I thought trashing each other was just our mutual love language."

"The only reason I'm considering TattleCrime at all is you." You admitted. "You're loud and unapologetic and it makes people listen to you. I need someone who can take the heat."

"Because you know that mainstream news outlets are going to cut your writing down to maintain the status quo." Freddie finished your thought.

You pursed your lips. "Exactly. You're the only one who's got the cajones to run the whole story."

"I'm flattered." She said, then paused. "If I move some things around, I can probably get you $1000."

You opened a new tab and typed some words into the search bar. You scrolled through the results, leaving Freddie without an answer.

"Hello?" She said. "[F/N]? Did I lose you?"

"How soon can you pay?" You asked.

Your phone buzzed. You had a notification from paypal. A thousand dollars from Fredrica Lounds.

"Right fucking now." She answered.

"You've got yourself a deal." You said, firmly. You typed out Freddie's email address and pushed send. "It's all yours."

[mazuwii]

Zeke SFW Alphabet

Flying monke

Hey bestie, I see you like Mr Monke😏

No shame! No shame!😤 I am writing the chapters everyone has requested but I got asked to do a Zeke alphabet first so here it is

—A (Affection. How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

•Not very physically affectionate in public, he tends to give you stares that gives you the same warm feeling you get from being hugged tightly.

•When you crash into him for a hug, he's so shocked and confused, his heart is dancing at the feeling of your warm little body right against his, affectionately rubbing his back. Before he knows it, he's silently crying, holding your face to his chest so that you don't see.

•Zeke never knew hugs felt so nice and now whenever he's feeling down or whenever you both have nothing to do, he randomly opens his arms up and waits for you to run into them. If you take too long all he does is twitch his hands slightly, which is funny and cute.

•I can see him being way more affectionate in the nighttime, where you're sleeping on him and you mumble under your breath, he kisses your head and strokes your cheek, lovingly gazing at you.

—B (Bestfriend, how would he be like as a best friend, how would the friendship start?)

•Zeke would be the bestest friend ever, sure he isn't the most affectionate or upfront friend but he is incredibly reliable!

•Always defending you behind your back. He insults you but then compliments and uplifts you behind your back to other people. Basically your lawyer.

•I will never stop saying this, Zeke Jaegar is intelligent as fuck and hates small talk so his conversations are so delicious, so full of flavour. His intelligence turns you on so hard, he is so fun to talk to because A, he makes fair points and teaches you things, B, he has a good sense of humour, C, he genuinely listens. He wants your opinion and understands your point of view on the subject.

—C (Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

•Before getting into a relationship, he always thought hugs would be stiff and horrible, especially in bed but he discovered that he was wrong.

•When you were spooning him, he couldn't nearly think straight from the appreciation he felt. Your arm was so secure around his waist and your body was warm against him, it was a feeling that made him wish he was immortal and experience this FOREVER!

•He likes it when you bring yourself to him, automatically. He finds it cute and always compliments you when you do. It isn't a full-of-shit-flattery compliment, he means it.

•"Why- on this gruesome green earth, are you so cute?" He kisses your head as you nestle yourself on his chest. "Mind telling me? Hm?" He pecks your head again and tightens his arm around you.

•One thing he will die to protect is you, he wants to hide you away from all the horrors of the world and treasures you so much and one way to do it is to tightly hold you right against him, melting at the sound of your giggle.

—D (Domestic. Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

•Zeke wants to live in a cottage with you, secluded from other humans. All the serenity of it relaxes him, it's one thing he'd never stop thinking about.

•Sure he wants to settle down but he'd never want to have kids. He sees himself as a failure to all and can see his little ones hating his guts, having to hear them exclaim how much they hate their papa (even if it's just his imagination) terrifies him.

•He felt like everyone hated him, but you and his grandparents and Mr Ksaver. Children would be too much stress

•As for cooking and cleaning, I don't think he's good with cooking or cleaning. He doesn't really make a mess so it's okay that he isn't good at cleaning

•However he isn't bothered with cooking actual food, he'd always just have fruit or instant noodles when he's hungry. So you'd have to be a good cook because my mans has no motivation for that stuff

—F (Fiance(e) How would they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

•Like I said before, Zeke isn't good on relationships so if you both last more than a year and he realises you've helped him as a person and he has helped you, he secures it.

•But proposing would be difficult, he's shy, scared, worried you may laugh and blow him off.

•Eventually he gives in and asks, a heavyweight washing off his shoulders when you said yes, even getting butterflies when he realised you were crying.

—G (Gentle. How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

•His inner child is bruised, you can see a little boy in him anytime he smiles properly, it makes your heart shatter to know that he never experienced his childhood properly and is currently a little boy in an old man's body

•He is gentle, he tries so hard to be soft with you and touches you like you're made of glass. H o w e v e r, my man does not hold back when it comes to baseball.

•Zeke is so happy when he's playing baseball with you that he doesn't realise he may have thrown too hard and only realises it when you grunt at the impact it made with your collarbone, dropping everything and running to check on you.

—H (Hugs. Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

•He hesitates at first when your smaller body collides with his, he had let out a small yelp but couldn't help smiling when your arms get tighter in desperation.

•Slowly and gently, he'd embrace you back and smell your hair.

•Zeke's hugs are warm, secure and surprisingly cuddly. He's too shy to hug you first, you'd have to hug him first and he'd not hesitate anymore. Sometimes, when he's missed you so much, he'd hug so tight that your legs float off the floor, completely powerless in his embrace.

—I (I love you. How fast do they say the L-word)

•Zeke thinks a lot so admitting that he loves you would be an epiphany, even years into the relationship. He genuinely can't believe someone loves him and stayed with him.

•He'd say it with a kiss to your forehead, small freckles of tears glistening in his eyes when he stares longingly at you.

—J (Jealousy. How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous)

•Very jealous but he keeps it to himself. Especially when it comes to the opposite sex. He realises anytime a man talks to you and you smile around them, he can feel himself shrink. He's all dramatic in his head, wondering if he'd ever been enough for you or if you finally realised you deserved a better guy than him.

•All of those thoughts would disappear when you take his hand or talk to him with the tone you always use with him, a cheerful and appreciative one.

—K (What are his kisses like? Where does he like to kiss you? Where does he like to be kissed?)

•Zeke's kisses are hesitant and full of pauses. Sometimes you do most of the work, bringing him closer and all that while he's questioning if he deserves you.

•When Zeke tries to be affectionate, he likes to kiss your forehead, crown of your head, cheek, lips in private. It's reassuring and he loves his little lady more than anything. This small kiss passes on so much serotonin through your skull.

•Zeke doesn't have a specific preference but when you pepper his face with kisses it makes him so happy and fireworks go off in his tummy. With your hands gently cupping his face and your lips pressing every area on his face he softly holds onto you with a flustered smile.

—L (Little ones. How are they around children)

•Lol, he's like their older bro but a lil more distant

Let's move on...

—M (Morning. How are mornings spent with them?)

•Zeke's life is full of duties and priorities but he wishes with his full heart that he could spend the rest of his life lazily holding you with you peacefully laying by his side

•To his dismay, he must leave you to sleep. He has to get up earlier and doesn't bother waking up his sleeping angel, getting ready for work and leaving- not without kissing your cheek. Even if you're fast asleep, Zeke tucks you in and pecks your cheek, admiring you for a few seconds before heading on with his day.

•I'd say on good days, you make an effort to wake up with him and make breakfast so that he doesn't go to work and smoke ciggerates on an empty stomach. Fucking idiot, sorry but don't do that 🙄 even to my readers, don't smoke bestie💜

—N (Night. How are nights spent with them?)

•He does sleep at a reasonable time, sometimes at ten PM, sometimes at eight PM..

•Before bed he'd watch a documentary with you while having dinner and probably tire himself out by sucking in all that knowledge (the TV voice makes him sleepy, so you can see his eyelids drooping when he lies about how he isn't tired... it's cute)

•When it's time for bed he does the usual routine and gets into bed after smoking... which is pretty painful for you to watch but you won't scold him, you'll bring him closer to you and kiss his nose, massaging his scalp and becoming limp when his hand is soft at your waist, caressing patterns with his slender fingers until you fall asleep.

—O (Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

•Zeke thinks he is the scum of the Earth and wouldn't be surprised if you thought so too. It'd be difficult for him to mention any of his trauma so it all comes out through his humour.

•Daddy issues jokes, mommy issues jokes, self-deprecating jokes and you go through so many until you realise the man is traumatised. I can say with full confidence that he once tried making a joke for the millionth time and ended up crying instead of laughing. Of course, you were reassuring and comforted him in every way he needed.

—P (Patience. How easily angered are they?)

•Very patient when it comes to his S/O, he doesn't force anything out of you and slowly, gently speaks.

•Zeke doesn't become angry easily, honestly, he's so smart and open-minded that it becomes a problem because he understands so many things, unable to use his emotions to his advantage.

•Again, emotions pass and are useless to him, they just come and go so he doesn't like feeling too vividly. Especially anger, he thinks there's no use in it.

—Q (Quizzes. How much would they remember about you?  Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing or do they kind of forget everything?)

•Like I keep saying, Zeke is a smart, attentive person even when he doesn't mean to be. He pays attention to small details by accident and remembers subconsciously. He memorises a lot of your habits, bad and good and makes notes of when and where they mostly happen, adapting to your lifestyle without realising.

•Someone is asking what to get for your birthday and tries to get a type of chocolate flavour he remembers you despise and he gives away your full interests and a list of what you like, dumping an essay of your public info to one of your best friends and they're just like °_°...?

•It's cute, he just doesn't know his brain sucks everything about you in

—R (Remember. What is their favourite moment in your relationship?)

•When you took him out to dance and the music suddenly switched from formal dancing to just 'go crazy' and he watched you GO OFF. You were shaking your hip and hopping around energetically, glaring at him for laughing his ass off over the loud music.

•You forced him to dance with you, both of you whipping your hair back and forth, your movements less stiff but nonetheless, in sync. He's never had so much fun. No one he knew was there, it was all strangers but he felt like only you and he were there, dancing freely to the music, he'd just follow your lead confidently

—S (Security. How protective are they? How would they like to be protected?)

•Zeke is so protective, paranoid but never expressing it, knowing he'd sound insane:

-"Angel, I have to go out with you because what'll happen if you suddenly get run over?!"

-"No you can't use the phone while it's in charge, what if it explodes in your face?!"

-"Cookie dough, don't try handstanding, you could snap your neck!"

-"No, I won't let you go up these faulty escalators, they could suddenly break open and swallow you, here let me hold your hand up the normal stairs."

-"Don't lean against the balcony, you could fall over!"

•So instead he does it sneakily. Like small solutions, in order, he'd: offering to help you shop when you go out, making you put your phone down to massage him, scaring you into stopping your handstands, holding your waist securely when you're both on the balcony.

•To feel protected, Zeke needs constant reassurance from you. Physically and emotionally. A small kiss on his cheek and a little "Don't overthink, I'm here, let it all out, I'll listen to your thoughts."

—T (Try. How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

•I think Zeke is more of a private person but his dates can be fun too. For anniversaries, you'd both have turns. For his half of the day, it would be spent playing baseball, going to the arcade, taking you out to dinner and then he'd warmly hold your hands in his, asking you what you want to do now.

•His gifts are so thoughtful but he tries to be cool when he gives it to you, lips straight and eyes avoiding you like a shy schoolboy. He can't keep his cool since you have to attack his face with kisses🙄 Jees Y/n stop it, he totally doesn't go insane when you do that to him, totally isn't in love

—U (Ugly. What are some bad habits of theirs?)

•I'd say the damn smoking. Zeke chose an unhealthy coping mechanism and needs guidance out of it, so you do just that.

•Taking his cigarettes and helping him get the nicotine out of his body through skipping rope, taking him to the sauna and even massaging his scalp when he has a headache.

•If course it'd be such a shock to him when he realises how nice he feels after his addiction is over, it's amazing what getting rid of one bad habit can do to your life.

—V (Vanity. How concerned are they with their looks?)

•Zeke trimmed his beard shorter and did his hair when he realised he had seemed to be ageing faster but... for the sake of my selfishness this is a modern au

•Surprisingly, he actually has good skin, a nice beard and a good haircut. Zeke is beautiful.

•Only once, has he ever shaved fully and my guy looked 10 years younger and was lowkey getting cocky but he rathered the beard and let it grow out... not too long though

—W (Whole. Would they feel incomplete without you?)

•Zeke is like the moon, it's a bit dark but it's still useful, however, it needs the sun to give it a boost? So what I'm trying to say is you're the sun to him, life wouldn't feel the same now that you've made your mark

—X (Xtra. A random headcanon for them.)

•I don't care what you say, he can do the entire dance for boy with luv by BTS. He doesn't know why he knows it so well, he's only seen the dance rehearsal once (yes he memorizes pretty fast)

•extra but, by the way, Monke man can figure out a Rubix cube faster than a War breaking out in AOT so... haha very fast👁👁

—Y (Yuck. What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

•He doesn't like a controlling partner, not everything has to go your way babe, life is always going to steer you in a different direction and it sometimes is in a better direction than the one you had first intended.

•So there's that

—Z (Zzz. What is a sleep habit of theirs?)

•This is funny to me for some reason? But once he lets go of your cuddle, he subconsciously sprawls his body out, and he does it for the entire night even when you're on top of him, his clothes are somehow half-off. The pillows are everywhere, the blanket is under his heavy thighs so you're freezing on him :")

[smuggsy]

Remember this post about how Riddler dug up Elijah's body and we just... collectively chose to ignore it along with Oswald? 😂

Well. I un-ignored it. With a sad angsty fic.

(You can read it down here as well.) Word count: 2040. Tags: #emotional comfort #established relationship #hence: canon divergence #nightmares

Oswald's used to having nightmares. He's no stranger to sleepless nights, 5-am coffees have become a bit of a recurrent habit to make up for the drowsiness clouding his mind after a particularly difficult dream chimes in without permission and throws his sleeping schedule off — so much that he often finds himself power-napping through the day when Ed isn't around to tell him off for it.

Yes, he's almost grown too accustomed to Hugo Strange's voice narrating all sorts of gruesome scenarios that he ends up carrying out of his own volition, propelled forward by an unknown and invisible force deep inside. He never really sees the Doctor, but he hears him all the time, he's just there all the time. He tells Oswald what to do and Oswald does it without a pinch of remorse. Shoot him. Stab her. Blow them all to pieces, they deserve it.

It's the kind of hell he's used to. He's almost learnt to accept it's never going away. That it's a part of his psyche now, a part of him that will never really go away — because how do you fix a tattered mind? He wouldn't let anyone try, anyway. Not after Arkham.

This night is different. This night he's assaulted by a new kind of terror, almost perfectly calibrated and specially curated for him. Blossoming from the deepest part of his mind where he'd stocked it, never to be revisited.

And it's most cruel for one reason: when he wakes up with a startle he can't bear the thought of those arms wrapping around him and providing comfort like they've done so many times before. In fact, the first thing he does when he opens his eyes is untangle himself from Ed's sleeping embrace like it burns him.

Which means he's got no-one but himself to count on, again. No-one to hush him through the aftermath and speak softly in his ear and hum a long-dead melody until he calms down or, if he's lucky, falls back asleep.

"Oswald?"

He sits on the edge of the bed, hunched over to catch his breath, and feels Ed shifting position behind him. His partner's voice is clouded with sleep and Oswald can't bring himself to even turn around and reassure him — lie to him. He fears if he turns around he won't see Ed but Riddler. Not Ed's gentle eyes but Riddler's mocking glare. Not a warm comforting smile but a disdainful sneer.

His father, standing on the other side of the bed with a disappointed frown. My boy, how could you steep so low? Do you know where I am? Do you know where he left me?

When Ed's warm fingers brush over his right shoulder Oswald bolts upright with a whine.

"Osw—?"

And he runs to the bathroom and slams the door close behind him, feeling his one-piece nightgown sticking to his chest with sweat.

"Oswald, what's wrong?" Edward's voice is immediately on the other side, he tries turning the doorknob but Oswald is pinning it closed with his own weight, still unable to brush away the gut-wrenching feeling of betrayal that's so suddenly taken hold of him, "Oswald, get off the door."

It's a gentle request.

Oswald might have done it, perhaps, might have considered it, if he hadn't looked right into the mirror hanging on the opposite wall and seen Elijah's pale and sickness-stricken face. A dead man's face that makes him shiver.

He shall never have peace, so long as you're with him, Oswald thinks. Some other Oswald. Some other voice that sounds like his but isn't. Can't be.

"Oswald," Ed tries again, and this time he pushes against the door with more conviction, Oswald leans off and turns around to face him when he comes in, to keep him away, Riddler, he's still in there, he's— "oh dear," Ed coos, having one look at him and taking pity instantly. He takes a step forward and Oswald takes a step back.

"No!" he blurts out with a raspy voice. Edward stops dead in his tracks, lost expression for a moment before his shoulders relax again.

"It's okay, Oswald. It was just a nightmare," he adds, softly like so many times before.

"No, it isn't! It wasn't!" Oswald lashes out, hating that he looks at Ed's dishevelled face and concerned caramel eyes and wants him to just get away, his voice comes out just barely, "you did that to him! You— How could you?!"

Ed opens his mouth and doesn't move, clearly taken aback by the accusation even if he fails to comprehend, thrown off by the way Oswald looks at him, stands like that, like a wounded animal, like he might flee if Edward takes another step forward.

He still takes a step forward, though, because he never was really good with physical cues.

"Os, I don't understand wha—"

"Don't touch me!"

Oswald jerks away and hits the wall behind, still shivering despite his burning skin. Edward shows him his palms, a gesture of surrender.

"Okay. Okay, I'm not," he takes a steadying breath in, "I'm staying right here."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry! It's not him, I swear! I didn't—"

"Oswald?"

"He's different now! He's not like that anymore!"

Oswald gestures towards Ed, clever, supportive, thoughtful, with his checked blue pyjamas and plaid shirt and lack of glasses and puffy eyes from sleep. Then he looks back at his father now standing by the door and projects the thought: Ed. Not Riddler!

But Elijah shakes his head and purses his lips, looking him up and down like he doesn't approve and Oswald just needs him to understand.

"It's not hiiiiim!"

"Oswald, this is starting to become very unsettling."

Edward looks around, to his right, there. To where Oswald's looking, to nothing. He knows that deranged gaze, he's seen it countless times before, he's stood in front of the mirror a lot of times and seen it on himself.

"Os, it's just those new painkillers making you groggy, okay? It's a much heavier dose than the one you're used to. Whatever you're seeing," Edward chances a slow step forward and Oswald finally turns his head back to him, with glassy eyes and tears on his eyelashes and still looking like he'll run away, "it's not there, Oswald. I am here."

Oswald stares at him for a few more silent moments with a lost expression, mouth open and still bracing himself with one hand on the cold tiles behind and the other on the sink.

"You're not... you're not him, I try to— I tell him you're not," he babbles, looking feverish and lost.

That's when the penny drops for Edward. It feels like a stab to the heart, that broken voice, the trembling hands, the quivering lips, the whole sight of an Oswald so distressed he won't even let him get close enough to soothe him.

"No," Ed says softly, his own voice failing him for a moment, shaking his head and taking yet another step closer, "no," he repeats breathless, "I'm not. Please. Come here."

He reaches an offering hand and Oswald slowly looks down as if weighing his options. As if making sure this isn't a trick — which, well. If he's thinking of Riddler, he can hardly be blamed for exercising caution, Ed admits. It hurts him to admit it. To know he's caused this, one way or another. Painkillers or not. This raw incoherent fear is coming from somewhere, however small the flame that ignited it might be, and he can't fix it because Oswald won't stop trembling like a leaf and recoiling.

"Oswald, please," he begs, voice finally breaking and eloquence escaping him, retrieving his outstretched hand and rubbing fingers over his burning eyelids because if he breaks down too... "please, it's me, Ed, just Ed."

He doesn't know what to do. He's on the verge of blurting out apologies when he opens his eyes to Oswald latching onto him with one of those desperate hugs. Ed wraps his arms around him instantly, a reflex, feeling like he's just come back to life.

"Go away," Oswald says, sobs with his face buried in the crook of his neck and starts crying. Edward tightens his hold and hides his own tears in the other man's raven locks, understands he's not the one being spoken to, "go, please. I won't leave him!"

Edward can barely understand the string of pleas when Oswald's clutching onto him so firmly his words come out muffled and nearly intelligible. Either way, he's not about to ask who's there — better not add salt to the wound. Not feed the horror, lest it become a recurrent thing. He needs him to understand this is a figment of his imagination if he's not aware already.

"Shhhh, it's all good," he keeps Oswald in place with an arm around his waist and brings the other one to gently pet his hair, "it's o-kay, Oswald. I'm here, it's just you and me."

Oswald nods against his chest but he can't seem to bring himself to stop crying. Edward rubs circles on his back.

"Just you and me," he repeats, striving for a soothing voice and feeling it waver ever so slightly.

They stay like that for a whole five minutes until Oswald finally leans back, sniffs and looks up with red eyes and a self-deprecating comment on his lips that Ed doesn't let him voice out.

"Come on, it's freezing out here."

Ed guides him back under the covers and tucks him in, Oswald watches his every move like an overcurious child. That cloudy expression is gone, though, and Ed can't help but let out a sigh of relief at having him back. He looks drained but sober.

Mostly sober.

His eyes still dart around with a nervous air but he doesn't seem to find his demon anywhere. When Ed climbs back up on the bed Oswald immediately shifts closer and hides his face in his shirt again.

"I'm sorry, that—"

"No-uh-uh," Ed cuts in, brushing a strand of hair off his green doe eyes and feeling an almost compulsive need to plant a kiss on the now-red tip of his nose, "say no more."

Oswald purses his lips and shuffles even closer, pressing his flush body so firmly against Ed's that they can't exactly see each other's faces anymore.

"Can you...?"

"Yes I can."

And that's that. He settles his chin on top of Oswald's head and starts humming; content to sidestep the issue just for now but unable to brush aside the sour taste of guilt filling almost every corner of his mind.

He starts rubbing circles on Oswald's back and doesn't stop the melody until he feels the other man's hold loosen up and his breath change into a normal and peaceful pace. Only then does Edward slowly extract himself from the embrace, far enough that he can look at Oswald's face.

Red and wet and troubled, still. He reaches over and soothes the lines on his forehead.

"I'm sorry, Os," he breathes out.

He's used to Oswald having nightmares. He wakes up all heaving breaths and uncertain hands latching onto anything that's near for comfort, for safety or reassurance. Ed is always there to provide either one, wrap his arms around his shaking form and listen to him if he wants to talk. Make him a cup of tea or play soft tunes on the piano if sleep doesn't return.

Oswald's always been needy like that.

Having him wake up and frantically keep himself away, recoil from his touch and excuse himself to a third party only he can see... that's a first.

And it's terrifying.

Because He made that happen. Because Oswald's grown to be too dependant and Ed's grown to be his anchor in moments like these and if he can't even be that... then what can he be? What's left for him to be, besides the clear instigator?

Ed closes his eyes and lets out a sigh, focusing on the sound of Oswald's breathing and on the touch of his cold feet and the smell of cherry-scented hair conditioner. He relishes in the familiarity of the hold and shakes the darker thoughts away.

Perhaps he's become a bit dependant himself.

[gamequeenanya]

Prinxiety - Purple is More Regal

Rating: T

Summary: When Roman tries to give up his crown, Virgil has to convince him that he's enough. (Human AU)

Warning: Inspired by ANGST fics! Roman angst w/ a happy ending. / trans!Virgil / self harm implications / depressed Roman / implied U!Remus / somewhat intimate prinxiety? but it's playful

Two men were sitting on a bed in Roman's room. It was grand, with fancy red curtains adorning it. The pillows were feather soft, with a hand stitched R pattern. Silence permeated through the air.

"Purple is a royal colour, you know."

Roman's voice had startled Virgil, and he looked up. The man smiled sadly.

"Huh?" Virgil said. Roman seemed broken, his eyes trying desperately to show some happiness. He inched towards Virgil on the bed. When he was close enough, he took off his crown and dropped it in front of him.

Virgil looked up in shock.

"This is for you," Roman shook his head. "I don't deserve it anymore."

"What do you mean?"

Roman turned around, fighting back tears. Virgil came closer, tentatively offering his hand if Roman wanted it. The man held it.

Virgil could tell he was stressed. He massaged Roman's newly bandaged wrist lightly, and brought it up to his lips. The gentle affection made Roman smile.

His wrist had been bandaged just hours before. He'd told Virgil he'd accidentally cut himself on glass. But Virgil knew the truth. The man had run for the bathroom and had a breakdown. He'd heard his heart wrenching sobs. The only thing stopping him from offering comfort was the fact that it would hurt Roman's pride more. So he'd waited until the man recovered.

Now seeing how broken the man was, Virgil wondered if he'd made the right choice.

Virgil moved to hug Roman, his thin, small frame supporting Roman's larger, muscular one. The man hummed gratefully, wrapping his arms around Virgil too. It was wonderful, until Virgil felt a pinching pain in his chest. He winced.

"What is it?" Roman said. Virgil groaned.

"Ugh, I wore my binder too long."

"Alright, I won't look!" Roman said, turning away so as to give him privacy. Virgil took his shirt off and then his binder, tossing it to the side. He slipped his shirt back on.

"'Kay, you can look now."

Turning around, Roman saw Virgil smile up at him. His heart beat faster in his chest and filled him with bliss. Roman wrapped his arms around him and stroked his back. Virgil purred like a cat. He smoothed his fingers through his hair.

Lifting the back of his shirt up, Virgil traced his lower back. Roman stiffened for a second. He stopped.

"A little higher," Roman muttered. He didn't like how that spot still gave him pain flare ups. Virgil did so, moving up, past the "I love you, Virgil" tattoo with the heart and bat wings above it and a rose bush of thorns below it. He traced his mid back now, tickling the red dragon tattoo he'd gotten there. Roman giggled.

Virgil could feel his heart melt. How could anyone abuse this man? He felt rage build up inside him as well, thinking of how Remus had treated him; cutting his skin and calling him worthless.

He continued tracing his upper back, hoping to distract Roman from his sadness. There was a fire and sword tattoo, and next to it a smiling Sheltie, one of Roman's favourite dogs.

The man hummed in satisfaction.

That was good. Virgil thought. He'd waited for this moment for so long. Remus had convinced Roman that he was unlovable, and it took a lot of therapy to undo the damage. Virgil had confessed to him that he liked him as soon as Roman was in a proper mental state to give an honest answer. He'd cried tears of joy and embraced him.

"I love you," Virgil muttered into his neck.

Roman couldn't help giggle and turtle. He lightly pushed him away. Smiling, he said, "I love you too!"  

With his hands still lazily clawing at his back, Roman decided to return the favour. Lightly massaging Virgil's lower back, he hummed.

A tattoo was there that said "I love you Roman," with a similar design to his boyfriend's, except his heart and rosebush roses were purple. Scritching up to his middle back he jokingly petted Virgil's cat tattoo. Unlike Roman's tattoos, these didn't cover abuse scars. But they were gotten out of solidarity. He moved ever upward, stroking the bat, pumpkin, ghost, and even the scary spider tattoo.

Virgil leaned in to kiss him. Roman accepted, stroking his hair and kissing back.

Opening his eyes slightly, Virgil spotted the crown still on the bed. It was looking a little lonely, he thought. So, picking the crown up, Virgil placed it onto Roman's head. They parted their kiss, and Roman reached up to feel the crown, confused.

"You really think I am worthy...?"

Virgil nodded.

"But I'm so stupid..." he muttered. Virgil clenched his fists in rage.

"Screw the school system! And screw Remus!" Virgil said, growling. At seeing Roman’s startled expression, he looked guilty. He spoke softer. "You're so intelligent, Ro. Do you think I could ever write a screenplay? I'd have a panic attack just trying to get the formatting right! And your acting? Some people sound like cardboard cutouts, but you make it real." He looked at him with mixed emotions in his eyes.

"That's the trick," Roman muttered. "You have to become the character, and genuinely feel what they're feeling."

Virgil's eyes brightened. "And that's what I mean! Don't ever let anyone tell you you're unworthy because their analysis of you is flawed!"

Roman looked back at him and nodded slowly. Virgil stroked his hair.

"I love you, and you are good enough, understand?"

Roman chuckled lightly. He felt the crown on his head, still unsure. But Virgil's words did make him feel better.

Virgil picked up a notebook from the desk.

"Here, you can write something if you want. If it's important, I can proofread it for you."

"Alright." Roman said, picking up the notebook and a pen. He thought a while, glancing to the side, and at Virgil.

It was tough knowing he'd be scrutinized. But also he knew Virgil would never criticize his vision, just circle errors he wouldn't have noticed himself. They'd agreed upon the sorts of things Roman wanted criticized when Virgil become his beta reader. As silly as some of the ideas were, Virgil trusted that Roman knew what he was doing. Sometimes one's vision doesn't become clear until the end of the story, after all.

He wrote until his idea faded, and he put his pen down.

"Want me to see?" Virgil said. Roman shook his head.

"It's not ready yet."

Virgil nodded, understanding. He simply let Roman sit there and decide what to do next.

Roman looked down at him curiously. "Would you like to switch clothing?"

"Huh?" Virgil looked confused. "Uhh, sure."

He didn't know what his idea was, but let Roman borrow his jacket. The other man turned around, dug through his drawer, and gave him a spare Prince outfit. Virgil smiled, putting it on. He had to admit, he felt good like this.

Roman, on the other hand, looked in a mirror and sighed.

"You know, you're right-" Virgil said, cutting in before he could say something self deprecating. "Purple is a royal colour. You look good in it."

Roman smiled. "And you look amazing as a prince."

"Hey," Virgil said playfully, standing next to him. "I never said I wouldn't wear a crown."

Taking the crown off his head, Roman placed it on Virgil's. Immediately, Virgil took it off and gave it back.

"No, not your crown. A crown. So we can be husbands."

"Alright, my prince," Roman chuckled.

((3 days later))

Virgil would have been pleased with a printed paper crown. But Roman had to go all out, commissioning an actual blacksmith. After it was made, he paid the man and accepted the crown. He'd placed the crown in a box, wrapped it with Disney’s Frozen wrapping paper, and tied it with a bow on top.

When Virgil had opened the box, he gasped.

"Roman, you shouldn't have!"

He placed it on his head, finding it the perfect size. Smiling at Roman in awe, he asked him how he could ever think he'd be worthy of such a gift.

"You're my prince, and you are worthy. You are kind, supportive, and you make me happy."

Virgil blushed for the first time in a long time. "Wha...? No, you!"

Roman laughed, enjoying the cute expression on his face. He pulled out an Uno Reverse card.

"This isn't fair, Roman. I'm supposed to be the one cheering you up!"

"Life isn't fair, dear." He leaned in to gently kiss his forehead.

"Whatever."

Roman gently tickled his sides, making him giggle.

Instead of pushing him away though, Virgil pulled his hands away, but leaned closer to his torso.

"How did I ever end up with someone like you?" Roman said with a smile.

"Hey," Virgil said with a leftover giggle. "I've got five more reverse cards, and I'm not afraid to use them!"

Roman accepted his fate, putting his hands up in mock surrender.

It was so funny, he was always striving so hard for perfection that he didn't stop to think that he might be enough for someone... until now.

[moon-light-jukebox]

“All you have to do is ask.” Epilogue - [Reid x Reader]

previous chapter // series index

Summary: Oh, just a cheesy happy ending for our favorite couple.

Pairing: Spencer Reid / (Female) Reader

Word Count: 1.4k

Category: FLUFF. So much FLUFF.

Content Warning: Literally none, unless you’re allergy to sappy fluff.

A/N: I rewrote this chapter after I got a comment from someone on Ao3 that demanded the story not end this way. Sadly, not only am I the author, I’m also the petty weight world champion.

In all seriousness, I have never even attempted to write something this big before. AYHTDIA is almost 60k words and I’m incredibly proud of it. This has meant more to me than anything.

-- Epilogue - The End --

Time passed differently after I started loving Spencer Reid. Before him time always seemed to move in lurches, some moments taking a lifetime to pass and others speeding by too quickly. Now the moments without him seemed to drag on for an eternity, but the time I was with him never seemed like enough.

Not every moment of loving him was easy because it wasn't. We argued like any other couple...even if how we made up was a bit different. Sometimes I loved how he rambled about everything and nothing for hours on end, other times it drove me insane. Sometimes little remnants of the walls I'd had up for most of my adult life reared their ugly heads.

It had been six months since I jumped in front of a bullet to save the love of my life, and five months since I’d allowed him to love me.

What was miraculous was that I never doubted that he loved me. Sure, he said it every day, but his actions are what truly made me feel it. Spencer’s love was like a tangible thing to me; it was warm, safe, and something I don’t know how I survived so long without.

My boy still brought me iced coffees after a fight, or whenever I needed a pick me up. He’d watch cheesy rom coms with me after we had a hard case. And in the mornings right when he was waking up, he’d always reach for me, pulling me closer into his arms.

Part of loving Dr. Spencer Reid was accepting what a strange individual he was He never wore matching socks, he was obsessed with Halloween, he was always ready to perform some sort of magic trick, and he was also the smartest person in almost any room he was in.

One night I was lying beside my boy in his bed when he asked me an odd question. “Do you want kids?”

I turned my head towards him, blinking up at his face. “Right this second or in general?”

He poked me in my side, scowling at me. “Both.”

I chuckled. “I don’t think I want them right this exact second. But yeah, I’d like to have kids, I think. I guess it would depend on who the father of said kids would be,” I teased.

My boy didn’t respond in the way I thought he would. He flopped onto his back; his eyes fixed on the ceiling.

“What is it, bug?” I moved closer to him. Propping my body up on my elbow, my head resting on my hand.

“Schizophrenia is genetic,” he said softly.

Ahh. I grabbed his hand in my own, bringing it up to my lips. “And you don’t want to pass the risk on?”

“I don’t know. I’m not sure if that’s responsible.”

I brushed a kiss over his knuckles. “Mental illness isn’t a death sentence, Spencer. Your mother could not have schizophrenia and your child still end up with it anyway. Life is a fucked-up game of chance, Doc.” I leaned closer, pressing a kiss against his cheek. “Any rugrat would be lucky to have you for a dad. And if you don’t want to have a biological child, we can adopt.”

That caused my boy to smile. “We?”

I wrinkled my nose at him. “Brat.”

--

I realized something was coming a few days after our conversation. It might have been how squirrely Spencer was every time I was near him. It might have been the smiles Derek Morgan kept shooting at me.

But, truthfully, it was the squealing Penelope Garcia did when she saw me on Thursday morning that gave it away.

Like I’ve always said, just because you know something is coming doesn’t mean you’re ready for it.

I knew what was going to happen the next day when Spencer suggested we cook dinner together at his apartment.

Doesn’t mean I was ready for it.

“You know, I think I knew you loved me the first night we made dinner together,” he said, his eyes lifting from the stove to meet mine.

I smirked. “Was it the spilling my darkest secrets to you or the fucking you that gave it away, Doc?”

He bumped my hip with his own. “Are you sure I’m the brat?”

“Absolutely.” I smiled up at him. “The chicken is about to burn, my love.”

--

We were sitting at the kitchen table after dinner when I just couldn’t stand it anymore.

“Doc, you have got to relax,” I whined, letting out a big puff of air. “You’re gonna give yourself a stroke.”

“I’m relaxed!” He insisted despite his shoulders tensing even further. “And that’s not how strokes work.”

I shot him a withering look. Sure, Doc.

“Why wouldn’t I be relaxed?”

The look on my face didn’t change.

My boy heaved out a sigh. “You know, don’t you?”

I smiled, reaching out to tap the tip of his nose with the end of my finger. “I have a strong suspicion.”

“I could just be nervous to ask you to move in with me.”

I pretended to consider this, tapping my chin. “You could be. But, that’s very fixable.” I smiled at him, resting my chin in my palm. “Spence, I think we should move in together. We’re at each other’s apartments all the time anyway. Now, I prefer the coffee shop near my house, but I like your apartment better, it has more character.” I wrinkled my nose. “We will need a new headboard, though. Or different restraints.”

The love of my life just laughed softly. “Well,” he said softly. “I guess that clears that up.”

Had I ever really loved anything before this moment? Before I sat here at this table with this man? How had I ever thought I was in love with a person before I met this curly-haired force of nature? My beautiful, nervous, darling boy.

“Just ask me, Doc.” My voice was a whisper, tears pricking in the corners of my eyes.

Spencer let out a shaky breath and gave me a very self-deprecating smile. “You’re not supposed to know I have something to ask.”

I just laughed. “Hurry up or I’ll say no.”

His shoulders relaxed at my joke and it hit me then that he was actually nervous because he thought that I might say no. It’s not even possible, baby. Not even for a second.

“Y/n,” he began, both of his hands gripping my left. “I had this whole long rambling speech planned out. I wanted to describe the moment I knew I loved you, and the moment I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you.” Tears were starting to escape my eyes and run down my cheeks. “I had statistics on the current divorce rates, and I had arguments about how we were the exception,” he laughed, glancing down at my hand in his own. “But none of that matters now,” he whispered.

Spencer moved out of the chair he sat in to drop to one knee in front of me. I knew it was coming, but I still felt my heart stutter at the sight.

"Y/n y/l/n, you're the most amazing thing in the entire universe. I don't need data to confirm that. You make me feel warm and safe…you make me feel happier than I ever knew was possible. I…sometimes I've felt like I was trapped in darkness, but you shine so bright I'm not afraid anymore. The only thing I'm afraid of is losing you." He took a deep breath before reaching into his right pocket, pulling out a small black box. When he opened it, I saw an antique-looking ring nestled inside. "It was my mom's," he said. "I hope that's okay. But…y/n, will you marry me? Please?"

I felt something inside of my chest inflate. Like my heart was a balloon and his words had filled me with so much love that I was about to burst. I dropped out of my chair to join him on the floor, bringing my hands up to the sides of his face, my thumb brushing away a tear that was rolling down his cheek. I tried to open my mouth and respond. I wanted to tell him how much I loved him, and how I wanted nothing more than to spend every moment of the rest of my life with him.

All I managed to get out was a choked sob while I frantically nodded my head.

Spencer’s smile only made me cry harder; and when he kissed me after he slid the ring on my finger, I couldn’t remember what it was like to feel broken anymore.

--

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[lavellane]

space in a room.

mind blind – ambrose kim x f!button (gracie wiseman). | rated general. 1462 words. pre relationship. denial. fluff.

He can’t recall the last time he’s been so relieved to say the words, “Class dismissed.”

Ambrose watches the group visibly brighten at the announcement of their freedom, and fights a roll of his eyes as a few of them all but spring up from their seats from sheer, unfiltered enthusiasm. It hasn’t been a bad day, nor has it been an exceptionally good day; all he knows is that watching Gracie Wiseman zoning in and out of reality has inspired in him nothing but the greatest mental fatigue in recent memory.

Just as he’s come to expect of her at the end of each day since her first, Wiseman turns to risk a cursory glance in his direction. She stiffens in surprise when she meets his eye, but flickers away a moment later to blink at a classmate who abruptly cut in front of her, making a near comical beeline for the exit.

Despite the rudeness, he’s glad to halt her quick retreat from the room. “Wiseman,” he snaps, and then nods for her to stay behind. “A moment.”

He waits wordlessly for the last few sluggish students to amble from the room, all the while gauging the brunette girl’s response to the resulting silence. Silence, he’s found, is a deceptively good (if not volatile) tool to use in conversation. Most people can’t stand it – which in turn makes them all the more eager to fill it.

Gracie Wiseman does not seem to fall into this majority, and rides out the quiet between them like it were no more unpleasant than an empty elevator.

When the room at last is privy only to them, Ambrose takes a seat at his desk and regards her candidly.

“You knew the answer to every question I raised today, and yet you said nothing. Why?”

Wiseman blinks at him, dark brows pulling together in confusion. “Well, that’s not true.”

“Do explain, then. Were you tapping out your answers in Morse Code, or did you think it best to rely on old fashioned telepathy, instead?”

“No, I meant …” She hesitates, dark eyes darting between him and the empty chair in front of his desk. After a moment – and with only the most well concealed hint of reluctance – she takes a seat. “I didn’t know the answer to every question, sir.”

If this were anybody else, he might have assumed she was fucking with him. And yet this isn’t anybody else. Wiseman remains polite and serious as ever, not one sardonic bone present in her well-shaped face; perhaps it’s that honest, earnest demeanor which causes him to glare even harder.

Neither his silence nor his intimidation seems to have much visible effect on her. After meeting his stare head on for a long, thoughtful moment, she shrugs with the same put together air of someone a little too well versed in conflict resolution. “I don’t like to take up space in a room, if I can help it. That’s all.”

“I see. So you – what? – intended to breeze through the next four years, safe and secure in your comfort zone? Is that it?”

She at least has the decency to purse her lips at that. In the weeks he’s known her, he’s seen little of anything in her expression besides of a sort of passive friendliness; absently approachable like a high-end real estate agent or a helpful-but-otherwise-vacant receptionist. Disapproval looks decidedly more fitting on her features than vacancy, he thinks.

Objectively speaking, of course.

“Not at all.” Wiseman’s words are a little rushed, giving her annoyance away. She bites down a self-deprecating tut as she reigns her emotions back in and continues. “I just … I had an unpleasant experience, a long time ago. In school. I’m a little less quick to give my opinion when it’s not needed, now.”

Ambrose bites his tongue to hold back a sigh. He’s tired. It’s been a long day. The last thing he could possibly want right now is another childhood sob story from another chronically maladjusted student. For reasons he can’t quite name but which make him decidedly uncomfortable nonetheless, he doesn’t cut her off with an eye roll as he would to any other pupil game enough to seek out his sympathy. Instead, he merely tents his fingers and leans back in his chair, preparing himself for the microcosmic melodrama she’s about to inflict upon him.

“Go on.”

She surprises him again by shaking her head. “I’ll spare you the details. It was a long time ago, like I said. My teacher asked a question, I answered, and he and the students got a decent laugh out of it at my expense. It happens. Most likely the response was a bit too … pretentious, probably.” Gracie – Wiseman – throws him a sheepishly self-aware smile. “I do think they were right to laugh, though. Embarrassment aside, it was a good lesson to learn in the long run; do I answer a question for the question’s sake, or do I answer a question to hear myself talk? I think sometimes it’s better to say … less.”

Ambrose dismisses an unexpected rush of true annoyance directed at Wiseman’s faceless former teacher, leaning forwards to frown at her once again. “I disagree completely,” he retorts. “I’m not interested in the philosophy of this, Cadet. Assessing your personal psychology for every question-answer scenario wastes mine and everybody else’s time. If a question is going unanswered, then answer the question.”

“And deny everyone else the choice to think it out for themselves?”

“Optimistic of you to assume your classmates are thinking much of anything during my lessons.”

Gracie – no, Wiseman – had smiled at his weak attempt at humour, once; he feels impressively foolish to have expected her to do so again. “That hardly seems fair,” she presses with a slight frown. “They’re all brilliant, from what I’ve seen.”

“Perhaps,” he concedes. He likes these first-years, for the most part. Some of them more than others. “But brilliant minds make for very lazy students, I’ve found. You aren’t exempt from that observation, either, Wiseman.”

This time, she does smile. Ambrose smiles too – briefly, but not quite brief enough – before adding, “Speak up in class more. A juvenile fear of taking up too much space in a room isn’t a good enough excuse, and it won’t work on me. Any room is better with you in it.”

The brunette’s brow creases, her lips parting for just a moment before she presses them into a tight line and glances away. An uncomfortable bout of silence – the same traitorous silence he’s usually so unaffected by – seeps between them until the echo of his words come back to laugh in his face and call him Idiot.

He can’t clear his throat fast enough. “Meaning,” he amends, “I will never discourage relevant and intelligent dialogue in my classes. Your contribution is as valuable as anybody else’s. So – contribute.”

She sighs – or, it’s almost a sigh; a deep inhale, with a short nod in the place of a weary breath out. “Yes, sir,” she murmurs. “I’ll work on it.”

“Good. That’s all, then.” As Gracie rises to her feet, smoothing out the non-existent creases of her uniform, Ambrose feels suddenly compelled to straighten up in his chair and look away entirely.

“Of course. Have a good afternoon, Instructor Kim.”

“Likewise, Cadet.”

He stares – unseeing, unblinking – into the blue ink mess of his paperwork, listening anxiously for her retreating footsteps. Just before she disappears back into nonthreatening hallway territory, Ambrose stifles a groan.

“Wiseman?”

Her footfalls halt near instantly. “Sir?”

“Just one more thing.”

“Oh – of course. What is it?”

“Your teacher shouldn’t have laughed at you. Not if your answer was correct. You were correct, weren’t you?”

He barely notices that he’s wound up looking at her again until he finds himself uneasy and self-conscious under the weight of her rueful smile. "Yes,” she replies honestly, all white teeth and dimples. “I usually am. More often than not, at least.”

He laughs, genuinely, although it’s lessened by a steadily growing sensation of inexplicable dread in the pit of his stomach. Anyone else might call it butterflies. “I don’t doubt that – but I do expect you to prove it. Take care, Wiseman.”

“Thank you, sir. You, too.”

Gracie offers a small, terribly affectionate smile in parting before closing the door behind her with a click that echoes ominously around the emptied room. Ambrose lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, and then begins to think very fondly and in great detail about the cold shower waiting for him at home.

[simonalkenmayer]

I'm drunk enough to say this finally. You are the kindest person I have ever cone across. There have been multiple studies that show that the more intelligence you have the more room you have to be cruel. Some of the smartest people are the cruelest. Yet you with all your knowledge and wisdom choose to be kind each and every day. Which is not easy, coming from someone who works in customer service. You choose to have patience and kindness in each interaction. You are amazing. And I get why you call yourself a monster with all your habits, aka eating what you must. But I want you to know that you should have a very high self esteem cause you are an amazing and beautiful person. The fact you have chosen to grace us with your presence online is very kind. So thank you for being here and sharing your thoughts and life with us.

I have a few points:

Thank you for the compliments. I understand the source, but I’d prefer not to be addressed in any way that insinuates I “grace anyone” with my presence. I am, in fact, inflicting myself upon you, and you are my test subject. If I am what I say I am, I’m taking you only half way into the fold and refusing you the fullness of friendship, which is not kind (nor unkind, as it is for a purpose we all acknowledge). If I am not what I say I am, I have misrepresented myself (again for a purpose we all acknowledge). Either way, there is no grace involved. I do what I can for you because it is what is right, and it is what I have promised to do.

It is untrue that the smarter a person is, the more capable they are of cruelty. I disagree with that on several points. Firstly, people who are cruel are by definition not intelligent. Oh, I’m certain they are smart, or perhaps have excellent processing power, or are clever, but in truth anyone who thinks so highly of themselves that they can believe themselves superior? Not intelligent. That’s a person who has no perspective, no self-analysis. That is a person with a misaligned psychology. The old adage, “wise is he who knows what he does not know” comes to mind. There is also a perspective of the connectedness of things that cannot be denied. A person of intelligence sees this and understands what is constructive and what isn’t. Yes, it is very possible that smart people are creative in how they do everything, including cruelty, but an intelligent person stops themselves from doing such things. There is no choice to be made. Cruelty simply isn’t acceptable. So it is that many smart people are not intelligent and many “stupid” people are quite intelligent. That is my opinion and why a person’s IQ or skill sets or grades are not a proper measure of their merits to the world.

As to my self-esteem...I have plenty of it. I know who I am, what skills and knowledge are mine. I know what I have been through and how I have succeeded and grown. I also know what I do not know and that I must still improve. I know who I have decided to be after much thought and mistakes. I like who I am and who I am becoming. Often, I know, many of you mistake my self-deprecation for self-loathing. Not so, I promise you. I am hard on myself because I know I must be to keep improving. I am a creature of harsh realities and much strength and viciousness, and so I must sometimes be hard and uncompromising to maintain my own discipline. It does not mean I hate myself. I do often feel that I don’t like who I was once, but I know I am not that anymore. I also know it would be easy for me to become it again, and so I work diligently on that. There is also a slight difference in my perspective, because while to you 200 years seems like a long time, a forever ago I should forget...I still live there. For me those days were very recent. I still regret those choices, and while those people are dead, I am not. I still regret things I did and must, so as never to do them again.

I hope this makes sense to you.

Again, thank you for the kind words.

[just-a-demi-bean]

Earlier today I was joking around with some friends, being self deprecating and shit. It gradually became more serious, and I ended up talking to her about things that I carry around a lot and she did the same and we were agreeing with each other and it was actually really nice. I told her about how sometimes my mindset makes myself think that even when people compliment me I think they’re lying to me and that they don’t really think that way. She agreed with me, mentioned some shit, and I agreed with her. We told each other that we appreciate each other even if we can’t appreciate ourself. It was really nice. I find it hard to open up, and it felt really

(Also my friend privately told me to love myself and to drink hot cocoa and steal my sister’s cheezits so that was nice)

Unfortunately for my stupid ass I was talking about this on a group chat. Another girl came on, agreed with us, we had about a minute and a half of pure agreement and appreciation, and it was great, and then another one of my friends goes online and starts texting us.

A bit about this friend of mine - he’s smart, but he’s smart in the way that he dresses up his words to make himself sound smarter. He doesn’t put his intelligence into words that normal people can comprehend. He likes to argue and pick fights and he never admits he’s wrong. Normally, I can push it aside and think it’s okay, because he can be really sweet and sometimes he has good intentions.

Back to the compliment thing–when people compliment me, I turn it against myself. I think they’re lying. I think they don’t really mean it. Or, I tell myself I don’t deserve it. Because I don’t think I do. It’s not a mindset I enjoy, and it’s not like I can change it. It’s just what I think. I’ve built up walls and although I know they’re not good ones I don’t want to tear them down. Because they’re there for a reason.

So this guy. He tells me, and I quote, “Wait - so if you don’t respect urself and we respect ur opinions - does that mean we shouldn’t respect ur opinions and thus respect u?”

wtf.

How thE FUCK DID YOU COME TO THAT CONCLUSION.

“But then that’s basically a lack of trust because to do so you would have to feel that the opinion has no validity”

Basically, if you don’t understand what he’s saying, he’s saying that because I DON’T BELIEVE WHAT HE’S SAYING, it means that I DON’T TRUST HIM.

He goes on to say that IF I RESPECT ANY OF HIS OPINIONS then I MUST BELIEVE THAT I AM A GOOD PERSON.

That’s not how it fucking works. Just because I don’t agree with you, you fucking pretentious little prick, doesn’t mean I don’t trust you or respect your opinions.

“I’m saying that if you hate yourself then you believe that our arguments are without any validity and thus our arguments (and character) are invalid” JUST BECAUSE I DON’T AGREE WITH YOU ABOUT ONE THING, ONE FUCKING THING, DOES NOT MEAN THAT I THINK ALL OF YOUR ARGUMENTS ARE INVALID.

He said that I DON’T TRUST HIM because I HATE MYSELF.

Buddy, that is the LAST THING I’M SAYING.

I was being fucking open. I was talking about my problems and the weights that I’ve carried around for literal years. I was being fucking vulnerable and it FELT FUCKING GOOD.

I was talking about a mentality that I’ve had for most of my life. How I DON’T BELIEVE I DESERVE LOVE OR AFFECTION OR PRAISE. Because I DON’T. And I KNOW IT’S PROBLEM AND I’M TALKING ABOUT IT AND THAT’S FUCKING DIFFICULT FOR ME.

AND HE JUST FUCKING TURNS IT INTO AN ARGUMENT???

He’s said that I don’t trust my friends? That I think his opinions are invalid? That I think his arguments are wrong? When I was open enough to tell him about how I felt?

Some more shit he said:

- “So our arguments have no basis except the ones you agree with?”

- called my mentality “problematic” yeah buddy I KNOW you don’t have to make it sound like like

- when I confirmed that what he said was that I think his arguments are invalid because I have a mental issue, he told me that I had the wrong takeaway.

I’m sorry. I’m fucking pissed off right now.

[maisstories]

I must say I love it when life just kicks you in the face.

I’ve felt I should give you guys an explanation about what has been going on in my life to justify my delays for a while and, after what happened today, I definitely want to say it. I won’t lie; part of it is me selfishly wanting to get it out of my system.

So, drama under the cut.

As I’ve mentioned before, I am a disabled person. This is not the most important factor in the story, but I feel it’s the linchpin that’s allowed things to reach the current situation.

I’ve always been an oddball. I’m not saying this as some form of self-deprecation, but a fact. I am disabled, but my eyes can’t remain properly focused for long, which I’ve been informed is creepy; I have trouble reading body language and understanding certain tones of voice (I had to figure out and teach myself sarcasm when I was 12 because I just didn’t get it); I am above average in intelligence, raised by parents who believe knowledge is important and somehow relevant in defining a person’s values; I am a nerd, was a nerd in a time before manga and other such things began to leak into mainstream; I am an introvert, and generally speak in a low voice unless I am very comfortable with the people I’m with; I am also exceedingly enthusiastic when dealing with a topic I am passionate about, to the point of being obnoxious and not knowing when to shut up.

All of the above, combined, meant it was very difficult for me to make friends, and when I did, it also meant I was easy to dislike by anyone new and would miss the signs that things were amiss until it was too late. Due to a series of circumstances that are irrelevant now, by the time I was 19, I had one single friend, no prospects of a future, and was struggling with university because putting that much effort into something you see no point in is frankly difficult. I veered into suicidal ideation a few times out of sheer apathy.

This situation, sans the depression, was something my mother latched onto. She’s a very controlling person, an alcoholic (which she refuses to admit to because she doesn’t do hard drinks, but what else do you call a person who downs three beers on a normal morning and has no trouble drinking an entire bottle of wine the same day while she’s in treatment for heart and blood pressure conditions?), and sadly we have enough in common (like a love of history and cynicism) that she could project onto me easily. She always accepted my brother would one day leave the nest, so to speak, but my lack of any significant relationships meant she could convince herself I would always stay home with her. For years, this belief increased while I sank into a deeper depression. She kept making plans and more plans about things we’d do together once she retired, and I didn’t bother to contradict her because there was nothing else for me. I got to the point of thinking I’d hold on while my parents lived and then just... Well, the idea was to spend whatever money they left me on as long a trip as possible, then down all the meds left in the house.

Then I met Kari, my girlfriend, and we became friends. And I know this will sound cliché as hell, but I slowly started wanting things. Wanting a life, making plans for the future, and generally started to look forward to things. My mother, who is a very observant person, figured out I must’ve met someone. At first she liked the idea, thinking she’d integrate Kari into the fold and I’d have someone to “take care of me” when she was gone. That’s something neither of us would stand for, and my mother started to figure it out. My stress levels skyrocketed shortly after my mother discovered I was in a relationship, because she kept going on and on about all the many ways she could help Kari come over to Spain (she’s from the U.S.) and make room for her at home, help her get started here... because she’s such a great and loving mother. But I couldn’t shut out the caveats I know come with such offers (staying at the family home, letting my mother make all the important decisions for us) and I decided evasion was the best tactic, because I knew no one at home would back me up if I confronted her (I learned this from experience: she rules, she controls everything, and we have to bow our heads and obey).

Things have been growing steadily worse since we were quarantined back in March, and this summer has been positively hellish.

Today she decided she wouldn’t settle for me trying to change the topic, and blew up at me, angry that I keep refusing to accept her offers when “all I ask in exchange is love”. She decided I must not love her, am selfish and my wanting to live up north means I want to flee from her (when I want to move because the climate here is too hot and kills me, and Kari isn’t fond of hot climates either so we’re in agreement), and clearly I intend to take advantage of her and then cut all ties with the family.

So she told me that if I won’t accept her “love” then she wants me out of the house by next August. She gave me August as the deadline because that’s when Kari’s rent contract expires, and also because, I’m pretty sure, she wants me to fret, panic, fail at finding an alternative, and then go back to her begging for her help.

I am looking into alternatives, but there is a problem. Well, several.

To start with, I have never worked before. Why? Because having a disabled daughter living with them gives my parents tax benefits and a bit of extra monthly income, which they’ll lose the moment I start working. So they’ve always discouraged me from finding a job “until I can get something definitive”.

I don’t have a bank account, which is necessary in Spain for pretty much anything, because in this house we’re not allowed to have a bank account that isn’t hers as well.

She has all my legal documents save for my ID. I’ve gotten my hands on a few copies over the years, but she keeps all the originals and everything from my passport to my health insurance card.

I was barely allowed to go out on my own before COVID, but now it’s much worse, because she’s gotten authorization to work from home.

I’m not even allowed into the doctor’s office without one of my parents there with me. That’s never been outright stated, but the few times I’ve tried to keep her out, I’ve been subjected to some extremely aggressive guilt-tripping.

So, all in all, life sucks right now. I’m not giving in to her demands, and am looking into everything I can to find a way out of this that doesn’t turn me into a virtual prisoner. This includes doing my best to write as much as I can, because the only thing my mother doesn’t have control over is my PayPal account and so Patreon is the only way I can make some money right now. Still, I don’t know how my mood and energy levels will be over the next few months, nor how often things will go wrong. So I can’t say how constant I will be. I’ll do my best, though.

That’s it. I’m done ranting. Thanks for reading, if you made it this far.

[faecaptainofdreams]

I do not own Marvel. Yes, Wade drew this with crayon. Marvel HC: www.deviantart.com/foxdragonlo… Peter HC: www.deviantart.com/foxdragonlo… Wade HC: www.deviantart.com/foxdragonlo… If you don't like this ship i don't care. Don't talk to me about it, find something you do enjoy. If you're into it, then thanks for stopping by! --------------------------------------------------------------------------- TW: strong language, mature themes ~~Humble Start~~ When Peter was 19, he met 25-year-old Wade in January when the merc was teaming up with the Avengers to help him find his target, who happened to be involved in something the Avengers were trying to undo. When the men first shook hands and Peter introduced himself, he removed his mask, to which Wade suddenly replied "Hot DAMN! What are you, a Disney prince?!" Peter, startled, backed away, and Tony urged Peter to put his mask back on. As it was, Spiderman and Deadpool got along. Before they all parted ways (with the problem resolved and Deadpool having gotten his man), the latter thought it might be fun to pop in once in a while and visit the Avengers. While the others drily insisted that he don't do that, Spidey thought Deadpool could be a potentially good friend. Despite Tony's aversion to it, Peter gave Wade his number and suggested they hang out sometime. Wade showed up a couple weeks later after having texted Peter off and on. Still shy about his appearance and preferring to not be seen at a lower profile, he came to the facility wearing fingerless gloves, concealing clothing, and his Deadpool mask. After he and Peter hung out the first couple of times, the younger of them asked if Wade would let him see his face. With lots of self-deprecating jokes, Wade said no. Sometimes Peter would go meet up with Wade and go mess around with him, and soon enough he introduced the assassin to his friends, Ned and MJ. They all talked to each other regularly, forming a tight little friend group. Wade sometimes felt like he didn't belong with them, like he was too old to be their friend, but they all had the same childish sense of humor. And given how intelligent the younger trio was, they felt mature to him. Many times, Wade forgot that he was older, even if it was only by a couple of years. As months passed, the Avengers got used to Wade's presence and didn't take much issue with Peter hanging out with him. It was innocent (although Tony loathed the sex jokes and vulgarity, especially when it was directed at his boy). It was clear that Peter had a vastly different moral compass and a much more sensible head on his shoulders, and was not going to be influenced by Wade's mercenary ways. He was trusted with the friendship. ~~The Crush~~ Wade fancied Peter from the start. The second the mask had come off, Wade was smitten, but he figured it would go away or just stay stagnant. He'd been attracted to and thirsted after people loads of times (hence all his sexual escapades), but he was never the settle-down type. He joked about Peter being attractive and sexy and made all kinds of quips, but given he was so crass by nature, Peter never took it too seriously. He did believe Wade thought he was attractive, but he knew he was like this with multiple people and figured it was harmless. Which it was, but he didn't understand that it was serious. The more Wade stuck around and the more he got to know the Spiderman, the more his feelings grew. He eventually had to face facts and accept that he didn't just like Peter for his body -- he liked his character. The boy was an absolute magnet; bright and sunny, happy, forgiving, generous, kind, merciful, hilarious, intelligent, and non-judgmental. He was the ultimate package. Wade also knew he was bisexual and knew that if he really worked up to it, asking Peter out wasn't out of the question or too far-fetched. What was far-fetched, to his mind, was the idea that Peter would ever say "yes." And even if he did say yes, was that fair to the Ironman's golden child? Wade was a self-sustaining disaster with baggage so heavy even Spiderman couldn't pick it up. As far as he was concerned, it was best to keep his feelings to himself and spare Peter the misery. What he didn't realize was Peter was starting to notice him, too. By Autumn, Wade sorely opened up to Weasel about his feelings. ---        "Ew, do you like...love him?" "Maybe."        "Gross. What are you gonna do?" Wade shrugged. "Nothing, same as usual. He doesn't need my insanity in his life, he's too kind and innocent."        "But you wanna fuck him, right? Maybe just try to do that." "No, Jesus! Are you even listening? Peter's not that kind of guy, and even if he was into it, I can't take advantage of him like that." Weasel's face scrunched in mild disgust.        "God, you have it bad for him..." "Yeah. It's like, he's a total bro, but fuckable. He's soft but strong, masculine but feminine, fierce but graceful."        "   " "He's the kind of guy you take on like fifteen dates, buy flowers and candy, get one of those stupid little Hallmark cards with some sappy bullshit saying how much the sender loves him. Then, you fuck him. Not at your place, but at his place, so he's more comfortable, and only after you've made him spaghetti and chocolate-covered strawberries, by candle light. You fuck gently. Passionately, but with strength, but you don't wanna hurt him. But he's secretly a sex tiger under the sheets, and it kinda scares you, but you love it, but you're still afraid to fuck him any other way than gently."        "I feel like this is a fantasy you've had for a while." "No, of course not."        "So...he's your friend, you want to fuck him, but you don't wanna just fuck him because that would be taking advantage of him. Because you'd rather have a relationship with him, but you don't wanna have a relationship with him because you think he deserves better, but you're gonna keep hanging out with him and torture yourself. Is that... I mean, am I close?" "Like a Hawkeye arrow through a nutsack with a target drawn on it."        "Ow. I think my left testicle just rose back inside of me in fear." "Balls are very perceptive."        "Okay, well here's my advice." Wade learned forward.        "... You're fucked." "Thanks, I totally needed help figuring that out."        "Who is the guy, anyway?" "...Peter Parker..."        "Pete-- like Spiderman Peter Parker?" "Yup."        "How the fuck...?" "I know."        "I feel like I saw his face on the news last year when he got all discovered, but I don't remember. You got a picture?" "Yeah," Wade grumbled while reaching in his pocket for his phone.       "Heh, 'course you do, you sick-o." After glaring at his friend, Wade pulled up a picture of Peter and zoomed in on his smiling face.       "WHOA, holy MOSES, that guy is good looking!" "I know."        "He looks like a stallion and a buck had sex with an Irish setter!" "Yeah, told ya. Fierce, but graceful."        "I've always been a pussy-man, but I gotta say... He's making me question my sexuality." "He has that affect on people."        "That is MAJORLY out of your league." "Thank you." Wade put his phone away.       "How old is he?" "Nineteen."        "Whoooa, a little on the young side, huh?" "Just a little, but he's mature for his age."        "..." "...That sounded a little creepy, I take that back." --- Wade began an off-and-on effort of keeping Peter at arm's length. He went through periods of texting and hanging out with him less, but whenever it was clear that Peter could tell something was up, he snapped back into the picture. He couldn't bear to make Peter worry or feel as though he'd done something wrong. This went on for a couple of months. Peter too, was beginning to feel a little bit of romantic sting. Wade hooked up with a couple of people over the months, including Vanessa. There was a brief period where the two of them copulated like rabbits, and that was with the ex-prostitute knowing that Wade had feelings for someone. In the merc's mind, maybe he could get his needs out of his system, but it didn't work. If anything, he felt emptier after each fling. Peter was attracted to Wade before he even realized he was. Always seeking him out, making sure their friendship was solid, feeling a constant need to have a hand on him in one way or another. He also played into some of Wade's lewd jokes and would tease him. Then there was the dancing and singing, of course, which only got more intense as time went on (a natural instinct of the jumping spider to try and woo a mate through display). Tony and Steve began to notice the men getting closer, and Tony was very unhappy. Steve convinced him to stay quiet and let Peter figure it out. In late Fall, Peter turned 20. Wade was there for his party, as were Ned and MJ. It was a lot of fun! Come December, Wade turned 26. He'd tried another couple of times to get away from Peter again, but the boy wouldn't let him go. They were like a binary system of stars, unable to pull away from each other, constantly drawn back into one another's path by an unseen force. For how long could this go on before they collided? And when they did, would they blow up and break apart, or make one bigger, more beautiful star? ~~Spoken Interest~~ By January, Peter came to terms with his own crush, and secretly told Ned about it. For the next month and a half, the boys gabbed about it, and Ned found it adorable and kind of funny. Peter said he wanted to ask Wade out, but was nervous that Wade wouldn't be interested. "Well you're not gonna know unless you ask," said Ned. Peter flirted a little more with Wade, but it mostly came across awkwardly. It basically felt like he was just humiliating himself over and over again, but Wade was noticing the difference in him. Regardless, he tried to respect the space, and refused to give himself up. In February, Peter asked Wade to hang out with him at a park somewhere and "people watch," since Wade enjoyed that activity. He felt it would be a nice, serene setting to keep Wade's attention and finally admit his feelings. He told Ned about his plan; the latter was exhilarated at the thought, and said he'd be standing by. Peter put on a warm but nice outfit and drove off to their spot to talk. Even though it was casual as always, they could both sense tension. They sat and chatted for a while, and with a racing heart, Peter finally found the right moment to confess. ---        "Hey, so... I've kinda been wanting to talk to you about something." "Hamburgers."        "I... What?" "Hamburgers! They're weird, right? I mean, ham comes from pigs, and beef comes from cows. Hamburgers are made with cow meat, but we call them ham-burgers." Wade threw his hands up, head rolling about. "The fuck is up with that??"        "O-oh, hah, I guess it sounds more appealing than...beef...burgers...?" Wade nodded thoughtfully. "Hm. Yeah, sounds kinda naughty." Peter could hear Wade's grin, and he stifled a laugh. His own smile was more earnest, but his desire flitted behind it. "Like beef curtain, or beef stick--"        "Wade." "Yeah?"        "Look, um..." He turned to face his company better, now getting nervous.       "You and I are...really good friends, right?" "Why yes, broski dear."        "Hah, well... It's just... Ahh, I don't wanna say anything and...mess that up." "...Well, what do you wanna say...?" There was a long silence.        "...Okay -- okay, total honesty... Wade, I..." He drew in a deep breath.       "I like you..." They stared at each other. After a long silence, the older male playfully slapped Peter's arm. "I like you too, beef buddy! ... Yikes, wow, see? Beef is just a naughty word." Peter blinked, thoughts spinning in his head a mile a minute. Wade knew what he really meant, but he couldn't begin to believe that in its suddenness. He was bracing for Peter to call him out on his own crush and possibly disown him, but this threw him for a loop.        "N... N-no, no Wade, I mean... I like you...as more than a buddy, or a bro..." He swallowed.       "Or a friend..." He rubbed his hands together, slowly and tensely, brown orbs wide while looking at Wade. The cold white eyes of Wade's mask pierced back at him. "...Oh..."        "A-and... I just thought, m-maybe, if...you don't think it's weird, or if -- I don't know, if maybe you liked me too, we could...date...?" There was another long pause. This time, Wade understood for certain. When he looked forward to contemplate, stunned expression hidden by the mask, Peter looked off and around, his heart sinking. There were times when Wade was genuinely difficult to read, and this was one of them. Wade was getting his wish, it was like the start of his fantasy had come true! All he had to do was agree to it. "Uh, I don't think we should do that." He regretted it the second he said it. Peter felt his heart drop, and his face begin to turn red with shock and embarrassment.        "Oh," he croaked while looking down at his lap. Wade's answer stunned him. When the merc spoke, he tried to bring it back to a place of casualty in the hopes of removing the heavy feeling from the air. "Look, don't get me wrong, you've heard me talk about ya. You're precious, and I'd be beside myself to fuck your brains out." Peter almost smiled, but the desperation for answers overpowered the natural response to do so. Wade continued. "But you're romantic, you need stability. I'm a one-night stand kind of guy, friends-with-benefits and all that. You're not really about that life, right? I mean, come on. You wouldn't sleep with me without getting to know me, right?" Peter swallowed something dry and thick. Looking away, the hope for this to go anywhere withdrew from his gaze, and he shook his head.        "No..." Even Wade was at a loss for words for a moment. He may have turned his head away, but out of the corner of his eye, he could see Peter's heart breaking. He saw his red cheeks, his pinkish eyes. He could feel the sadness, and a lot of it was coming from himself, too. But he pulled it together again and lightly slapped the back of his hand against Peter's shoulder. "Eyyy, come on, this doesn't change anything, right? We're still pals." Peter quickly nodded. He was polite as ever, but the sensation that he had just gotten hit by a train was easy to read.       "No -- yeah, yeah yeah yeah, it's -- it's just... It's a little embarrassing, aha, I mean... You know, I..." "Nah, it's not so bad. It's adorable! Like I said, doesn't change a thing. Now when we get past this, I can tease you about thinking I'm a hot piece of ass." Peter did finally crack a small, broken smile and shook his head. He was glad that Wade wanted to be friends, but the damage was done. "...I mean you still wanna be friends, right?"        "Absolutely! I just... It's kind of a hard pill to swallow..." "Yeah, I know. You put yourself out there, then get shot down..." With genuine remorse and a strong but hidden wave of self-loathing, Wade laid a hand on Peter's shoulder. "I'm sorry." Peter nodded again and closed his eyes. He felt emotional, but why? Did it really mean that much to him? Staying strong, he glanced at Wade, mustering a hurt smile.        "Don't be sorry, you know I prefer honesty. I mean it'd be really stupid to say 'yes' when you don't want that, right?" As if Wade's heart couldn't sink any further. "Yeah..."        "Look man, um... It's -- I'm not like mad or anything, you didn't do anything wrong, but... I think I should go home, and just, like...try to process it--" "Yeah! Nothing wrong with that. I'll give you a couple days to uh...reel."        "Yeah, I think that sounds good." When they rose to their feet, they both chuckled sadly. In their awkwardness, Peter offered his hand to shake, which Wade accepted uneasily, but eventually pulled Peter into a side hug. "It'll be fine, we'll get past it. You take your time."        "K-ay..." With one last hurt smile, Peter left Wade's company. On the way back to his car, he finally let the tears roll. Wade watched him go until his car was out of sight, stunned by his own foolishness. He wasn't stupid; he knew he had made Peter cry. He knew he'd broken his heart, and he hated himself for it. When Wade got to his apartment, he took out his anger on his environment, taking to breaking a lot of things in his living space. --- Peter did his best to get most of his emotions out before he got home, but the sadness and hurt would linger. When he got inside he pretended everything was okay, but it was obvious his mind was elsewhere. Not too long after getting in, he went to his room and called Ned. ---    "Hey, what's up? Did you talk to him?"        "Yeah."    "...Uh-oh. What did he say?"        "He said 'no.'..."    "Awww man, Peter, I'm sorry. Did he say why?" Peter tried to keep his sniffles quiet, but Ned could hear them anyway.       "Yeah, u-um... He said that...you know, he's a one-night-stand kind of guy, and that I'm -- we're -- ... He doesn't...think it would be a good idea, because he just...likes sex, and I'm romantic, so..."    "That really sucks, I'm sorry."        "Me too..."    "...Hey, I rigged my GTA 4 game to get Carmageddon on the 360." Peter continued to hold back his emotions, but only half-cared about Ned's random statement.       "Y-eah...?"    "Yeah, it's really funny! Can I come over and show you? It should work on your 360." Now understanding, Peter smiled a little.       "Yeah, that sounds cool. We could, um... I could make...popcorn, or something."    "Awesome! Is now good?"        "Sure, uh -- lemme ask Tony first, just to be sure."    "Okay. Text me." --- After they said goodbye and hung up, Peter got confirmation from Tony that having Ned over for a few hours would be fine. While on his way to go prepare everything, May found Peter and insisted he tell her what was wrong, as she could tell something was up. Although he'd wanted to keep it hidden from his elders, Peter (naturally) trusted May and knew it was confidential, so he came clean. Seeing her nephew's broken heart, May consoled him and offered a little advice about how to heal up from it, and insisted that they would, yes, go back to being friends in time. ~~SpideyPool~~ In the days passing, Peter and Wade refrained from messaging each other. Peter went about his usual life, including going on regular patrols. He took down a couple of small criminals, helped a few people in minor danger. This always felt good; even the littlest of ways he could help people made his day brighter and his heart fuller. Wade, meanwhile, had spent the days since the rejection in sorrow and self-hatred. He'd smashed a lot of the stuff in his apartment and all but shredded the couch, laying face-down on the tattered furniture in a mess of stuffing, old food scraps, alcohol and the same outfit he'd had on when he last talked to Peter (minus the coat, boots and mask). It had been five days. But on this fifth day, Colossus happened to pop in. He knocked. ---   "Wade? You are playing Elvis again. Are you all right?" "AwwwWWW!! I'm not in the mood, Sputnik! Fuck the shit off!" Colossus opened the door and hunched in, turning off Wade's music.    "You should really lock door. Wade, you are a mess; what is wrong?" The merc answered him with his face still down and pressed to the couch. "What's wrong is this big metal dildo man keeps showing up at my door even after I tell him to fuck. the. shit. OFF." Colossus looked around, ignoring him.   "How do you live like this..." "I'm not living, I'm existing."    "Clearly. Is this another episode? Perhaps I should take you back to the mansion again." Wade lifted his head, tired eyes closed. "GOD, no! No more bland-coated walls with old white men all over them and every other X-Man acting like the studio couldn't afford to pay them to even just walk around and pretend they live there." Colossus raised a brow, but ignored him, as he was so used to doing.   "Well, if this is not episode, then what is it?" Wade's face flopped back into the couch, pressing in harder than earlier. "Imn mm bmng m thnntl dmshm."    "What?" With a heavy groan of aggravation, he sat up entirely, allowing small bags of food trash to spill onto the floor from its position under his body. Colossus winced at the crinkling and crumbs. "It's me being a total dipshit..." "What did you do," he asked tiredly while folding his arms. "I told you I liked some guy, right? Well... Turns out, he liked me, too."    "That is good news." "Yeah, it was, until he told me he liked me and I shot him down like a retarded clay pigeon in a Guantanamo Bay shooting range."    "..." "I swear to god, it's like while I wasn't looking, the cancer snuck into my brain and made me even stupider."    "Why did you turn him down?" "Because -- he's nice, okay? I don't just wanna get in his pants, I want to date him. I want to have a relationship, but he's not the person I should be trying that out with on account of how fucked sideways with a cactus my head is."    "On inside, or outside?" When Wade glared up at him, Colossus chuckled. Squinting, Wade lowered his voice. "Are you The Moby? 'Cos I haven't even taken The Great American Challenge yet, and I feel like you're stretching my ass WIDE open."    "Eugh! Listen..." Colossus softened up and sat beside him carefully.   "You are...different, very rough around the edges. You are afraid that this guy is too good for you." "No, I KNOW he's too good for me. I can't risk screwing up his life."    "How do you know that would happen?" "Uh, do I not ruin everything everywhere I go?"    "Only when you really mean to. But he likes you too, yes?" "He says he does... I'm not sure why."    "Maybe because, in your own strange way, you are charming man. You have a big heart, you care about people -- most of all, him, it seems." "That's why I gotta stay away from him."    "No, that is why you must go to him." Wade glanced up at his company.    "You must go tell him the truth, give it a second chance. He deserves to know what you are thinking, does he not?" "... No, I don't want to make him more miserable."    "If he is miserable, it is only because you have not been honest with him." "...You really think I should do this? You really think I should go over there and just...tell him how I feel?"    "Absolutely." "...Just admit that you want me, Colossus." Colossus sighed. "I don't know,..."    "Trust me, if you don't do this, then you will never know what could be. You will spend the rest of your life wondering what could have been, your soul will forever be restless." "..."    "...Who is it that you are pining for so badly?" Wade's voice almost cracked. "P-eter Parker..."    "Peter Parker?? You mean Spiderman???" "Yeah."    "OH, he is a VERY good young man... Erh...over eighteen, yes?" "He's twenty."    "OH, good." "Like you said, he's very good. He's not...he doesn't deserve all my shit."    "You will never know, Wade. Not unless you take risk." "..."    "If you try your best, if you let love in, and it is real, then your messy life will work itself out." Wade looked up at Colossus, who then put a caring, large metal hand on his shoulder.   "Maximum effort." "...Okay... Maximum effort." --- When Colossus left, Wade showered and started cleaning up. On the sixth morning after their last conversation, Wade called Peter, but the latter was around other people while in the facility. Not wanting to talk to him in front of anyone, he declined the call, but texted Wade saying "Hang on i'll call in a sec." He went to his room and did as was promised, calling Wade back while sitting on his bed. --- "Hey, Spidey!"        "Hey, Wade." He sounded a little tired, but was kind and open-minded. "What's up?"        "Uhh not much, I was with Tony and Wanda and didn't want to talk in front of them. Just...sitting in my room, now." "Gotcha."        "So...did you want something?" "Aww, you're still upset about the other day," he said with an audible smile. Peter sat up, voice more peppy.       "No, no, I mean I'm not upset, I'm just... It... 'Upset' is just such a harsh word, um... I'm just kinda sad, you know? It's -- I'm still just trying to...make sense of it all, figure out what's...going on in my head." "I understand."        "I'm sorry..." "Why are you sorry?"        "I don't know, I just feel bad, I mean this can't be fun for you, either. I just feel really stuck. And -- I told May, but only because she could tell how down I was." "May is nice."        "She's the best..." "...I miss you, Pete."        "Me too... Ned...rigged his GTA 4 disk to run Carmageddon on the 360." "What?! That's sick as FUCK!"       "Yeah... Maybe sometime we could hang out and play it together. It's really funny..." "I'd like that. Or... I could just come hang out with ya right now!" Peter sat up a little more.       "Oh, Wade, I don't know, I... I think I still need a little more time to process everything. It's -- I'm still not mad or anything, you're still my friend, it's just kinda hard..." "Oh... Well that's too bad, 'cos I'm right outside your window."        "--What??" After Wade's shadow cast onto the wall and got Peter's attention, he quickly looked to the left and saw Wade in the window, waving happily at him before putting the phone back to his ear. Peter tossed his phone down in shock and ran to the window.       "Wade!" He opened the glass pane, shivering at the freezing air.       "What are you doing?!" "Just felt I needed to come by and clear things up with you." After realizing he was talking pointlessly into his phone, Wade shrugged and tossed it.       "Wha--" Peter quickly fired a web at the little computer, snatching it and yanking it into his hand. Wade crawled into Peter's room through the window, and then the latter closed it and handed Wade his phone.       "Why would you throw this??" Wade took his phone back and chuckled. "Ewww, now it has webs on it...!"        "That's better than being broken!" Wade shrugged the snow off his shoulders. He was in full suit with a beanie on his head over his mask, and a fur coat. "Plungers make really good building-climbing tools, did you know that?"        "Eugh, you -- you used plungers to get up here?" "They're all new, it's fine. Well -- except for the one for my right foot, I wouldn't touch that one." Wade slid off his coat and beanie.       "Wade, what are you doing here...?" "I wanted to talk to you about the other day." Peter motioned for him to be quiet, then stepped over and locked his door. Turning back to face him, he kept his voice low, and so his visitor did the same.        "Okay?" "Look... The thing is, I like you, too. A LOT. I've had it bad for you from the start, Petey, but... It's like I said the other day; you're a nice guy, and--"        "Wait, let me just stop you there." He waited.       "I know that you like to sleep around, and that's okay. Some people are romantic, and some people aren't, and there's nothing wrong with that. I'm not judging you, I think what you do is totally fine." Wade nodded.       "But... I'm still not that guy, you know? I still need those things, I'm -- I want a relationship. It's okay that you don't want that, you don't have to explain yourself. But if this is a request to just...fool around, um... I'm...not game for that, I'm sorry." "...Aww, you're so cute," he said happily before roughing Peter's hair lovingly. Peter stood in blank confusion, having no response to that. "I'm not here because I want to have sex with you. I mean, I'd like to, but not like...right now, I mean like in the future, when we've been seeing each other for a little while."        "..." "When you asked me out, I said no because I didn't think I was right for you. I still don't, honestly, I mean you should really, just...turn around and run while you have the chance. Because I'm about to ask you something, and I don't have a lot of patience, and I might just blurt it, cut and dry."        "Wade, what the hell are you trying to say?" "I'm saying... Will you go out with me...?" Peter stood in total shock, staring blankly at Wade. "......Is that a 'no'? That's probably a wise choice, but I'm gonna...need verbal confirmation. I mean if it's not 'yes,' it's 'no,' because basic principle, but ya know. ...?" He finally blinked and shook his head a little, making an effort to make sure he kept his voice low.        "Okay, wait... You do want to go out with me...?" "Yeah. I've wanted to since like, last June."        "FFFFFFFF-- Wade...?!?!?" "Yeah... Pathetic, I know."        "So why did you say 'no' the other day??" "I told you, because I don't think I'm right for you. I'm super fucked up and you're really nice! You're --"        "Shh...!" He lowered his voice to something of a shouting whisper. "You have your whole life ahead of you to meet fucked up people, you should at least have some normal, healthy relationships first...!"        "Wade, that's up to me to decide, and I know you think you're like the worst person ever, but you're actually really a good guy...!" "Why are we whispering...?!"        "Because if Tony finds out we're even discussing dating he'll throw you to the moon...!" "That would suck...!"        "I know...!" They both stood a little taller, each sighing some and looking off before focusing again. They stopped whispering, but remained quiet.        "So..." "I'm just saying... I've got a lot of baggage, and problems, and a whirlwind of mind shit that falls out of its little shit-filled cabinet whenever it feels like it. I have LOVED being your friend, but I'm..."        "...Yes...?" "...I'm scared of hurting you..." Peter relaxed and took a step towards him.        "You're not gonna hurt me." "You don't know that."        "And you don't know that you will. But if you think that, but you still had the nerve to come tell me how you feel and ask me out..." Wade looked up at him cautiously.       "...Then you must have some sort of faith in it being okay, right?" "..." Peter started to smile.        "What if we just tried it? Why don't we just...date...? And if it doesn't work out, then that's okay. We can just be friends. I mean that's what we were working up to being again anyway, right?" "That's how it would have to be. I can't lose you, Spidey, you mean a lot to me."        "..." "You're like ice on a burn. You have...the BEST heart. I don't wanna hurt it."        "Stuff's gonna hurt me, Wade. That's life, it's okay. If you hurt me, we can get past it." "...You promise?" Peter smiled bigger.        "I promise. Hey, who knows? Maybe I'll hurt you or something, pfft." Peter couldn't see it, but Wade was smiling, too.        "If you're serious, and this isn't you feeling guilty about saying 'no' or asking for a one night stand... I would love to go out with you. PLEASE, let me go out with you." --- And so it was, they secretly began dating. Wade made arrangements to take Peter out that very afternoon. After Wade left through the window, taking his plungers with him, Peter called Ned in a slight panic. He excitedly explained what happened and told him he needed to prepare himself for the date, and they hung up. When it came to Tony, Peter had to keep quiet. Like before, he didn't tell anyone, including May; he just didn't want anyone to know yet. The first date was just spent with the boys wandering around a nice part of the city, discussing how they liked each other and how long each of them have felt it. Wade explained that he was a mess for the days following his rejection of Peter, and that it took Colossus busting into his apartment and yanking him onto his feet to get him to go talk. He also confessed to having slept with a couple of people, including Vanessa, which Peter was more than fine with. But, he emphasized, Wade really needed to look into STI testing just to be safe. The first date didn't end with kissing or anything randy, and Wade still didn't show Peter his face. Instead, they hugged, and Peter drove back home. The dates following were very similar, with food as part of the equation. They even had a "parkour date," where both got in full suit and leaped around the city, showing their abilities to one another for the sheer sport of it. Peter even held Wade and swung around the city with him on his hip. According to Wade, this was terrifying but romantic. By this time, Peter told May and MJ. After a few weeks, Peter and Wade felt relatively steady. Tony and Steve could tell something was different with Peter when it came to Wade, and Tony had his suspicions from the start. Peter knew that Tony could sense something unusual, but he played around it and acted casually. Tony chose to stay quiet about it. During a date one late afternoon when Peter and Wade were on a harbor, in suit, the sun out after a light rain (yes, it must be that specific), Peter pressed a little harder to see Wade's face. He understood why Wade was shy about it, but kindly argued that it was difficult to date someone he'd known for over a year while still not having a clue what he looked like. Feeling that Peter's reaction could really make or break the potential of their relationship, Wade finally conceded and removed the mask. To his surprise, there was no horror or tension, or even the slightest bit of disgust. He looked a little surprised, briefly raising his eyebrows with a blink, and studied him. He said "Wow," and that was about it. Wade started to make jokes about himself, to which Peter put his arms around Wade and told him he wasn't allowed to insult himself whenever he was in the Spiderman's arms. This became a new theme with them. After a minute of talking, and with Wade allowing his new partner to lightly touch his scarred cheeks, he asked if Peter had anymore requests before the mask went back on. ---       "...You could kiss me..." Wade stared at him in light disbelief.        "...Or -- or not, it's totally optional. Just a suggest--" As the cliche stands, Wade kissed him, cutting off his sentence. When he pulled away, Peter was stunned and glowing.        "O-ohhoh... Okay, I-I don't have a lot of reference, but... That was really good..." "I agree." --- Wade put his mask back on, and the two were smitten. A few days after their first kiss, Peter finally sat down with Tony and Steve and came clean about his recent dating situation. Steve didn't love the idea, and Tony hated it, but the former offered support and simply asked that Peter be careful and trust his instincts. Tony was a tad more chilly with his honesty, but when Peter became insecure, he emphasized that he wasn't angry. He just didn't trust Wade on a romantic level, and feared Peter getting hurt. This gave Peter the opportunity to remind Tony that he was a big boy now, and he could handle making his own mistakes, and was willing to face the consequences of his decisions. It ended on a positive note, but Tony couldn't hide the lack of thrill he had over the new relationship. Weeks turned into months, and things when steady. In their time together, Peter got permission from Tony to make his very own original suit. Given how comfortable he was with Wade, and with the relationship also recently going public, Peter felt the desire to start fresh and switch up his look with a lot more blue. For one thing, the blue complimented Deadpool's vast red and helped him stand out.~ That May, when they'd been going out for about three months, Peter started becoming more bold in his physical interest in Wade. He'd been to the merc's apartment several times as well, and had actually managed to convince him to start cleaning the place up and get some new furniture. He wasn't judgmental; he merely worried for Wade's state of mind and the health hazards, insisting that he might feel better and more confident if he lived in better conditions. This conversation brought Wade to inadvertently mention how he was desensitized to the squalor due to being forced to sit in his own waste and vomit for a while when he had gotten ill at the Mutant Factory. This was one of the most serious things Wade brought up right off the bat, but upon seeing Peter's face stricken with shock and concern, he clammed up. Peter assured him that there was nothing to be ashamed of, and that he appreciated Wade talking to him. The conversation helped Wade feel better, much to his shock, and he agreed that it might be good for him to clean up the apartment. So he did just that. It wasn't spectacular, but the improvement was great, and Wade actually found himself wanting better for how he lived. In June, Peter's physical interests were more clear. They'd discussed sex, but Peter was shy, and Wade was never one to push. But finally, while making out one day, Peter came to the conclusion that he was ready to be intimate. They each went home and planned for Peter to go to Wade's. They each wanted to shower and prepare for it first. Peter brought a small bag with a movie and his suit in it (just in case). He told Tony that they were just going to have a movie date. Tony didn't like it, and insisted Peter also take his iron suit (which is tightly compact into a small shape when dormant like the Ironman suit). Peter obeyed, willing to do anything to help Tony feel more comfortable about him being out and about. At Wade's apartment, the pair chilled for a little while, but Wade was eager to show his company how he'd prepared the bedroom. He led Peter to his room, revealing soft pink and orange shaded string lights pinned up around the walls, nice bedding, and an overall sense of warmth. Needless to say, Peter was very impressed, letting Wade know he did not expect this, and didn't require it in the future. But yes, he absolutely loved it, and knew he would have a good time. When they were done, they both fell asleep in Wade's bed. Tony called around 1 in the morning, asking where Peter was. He was a little upset, but nothing Peter couldn't work around. He apologized and said they were both tired from watching the movie and then playing some video games, so Peter crashed on the couch and forgot to tell Tony he was staying the night. After a little back and forth, Peter reassured him that everything was all right and encouraged him to go back to sleep. He promised to come home early in the morning with a box of donuts as an apology. Tony hesitantly agreed, and left him alone. Once more, the next day, Peter made a point to tell Ned about his escapades. The next few times Peter went to Wade's house, he ended up spending the night. And again, he lied his ass off to Tony, saying they just had a new routine of playing video games until they crashed. Tony knew better, and Peter knew that, but neither were willing to give on the subject. By this time, Peter quietly told aunt May that his relationship with Wade was now very serious. She was excited for him, proud and happy and double checked that he was being safe. Embarrassed and a little exasperated, he confirmed this, and just like that May was back in fun mode. She was able to accept that Peter was grown now, and she was glad to try and guide him through this very impressionable period in his life. The morning after Peter's fifth time with Wade, Colossus visited unexpectedly while the boys were still sleeping. Wade got up and addressed him, completely naked, while Peter stayed back and hurriedly put his clothes on before meekly coming out to greet the metal man. He was shy but thrilled to meet the infamous X-Man. After Peter convinced Wade to at least put on some underwear, they all sat down together and had a chat. Colossus was happy to finally meet Spiderman, and when Peter got home, he told his family about how funny it was to wake up and meet Colossus. Later that day, Tony finally pulled Peter aside and broke down, having a serious discussion with him about the relationship. He asked for full honesty on whether they had become physical, and Peter answered honestly. The talk was civil, as Tony loved Peter too much to ever take out any frustration on him, but his concern was clear. He told Peter he respected that, that Peter didn't need to feel bad about it; he was just making sure everything was okay. Not that it was any of his business, but he considered his family to be his business. Peter didn't mind, so long as Tony stayed cool. The Ironman did confirm that Peter understood the fact that he wasn't going to invite Wade to live with them. Peter agreed. When Tony asked if Peter was thinking about living with Wade, the latter said "no." "So what are you gonna do?" Tony asked. Peter told him that he would just keep doing as they had been; dating, hanging out, and if they wanted to have personal time, Peter would go to Wade's. He told Tony he felt he really loved Wade, and was okay with the fact that he was, in Tony's words, "super fucked up." He understood that he wasn't responsible for Wade's mental health, but that he enjoyed helping him through some of his issues. He understood that trauma like this was a long-haul, and he was willing to at least try. After all, everyone he knew was traumatized, himself included. The conversation helped clear the air a lot for the father-and-son pair, and Tony grew a greater respect for the relationship. A week or so after that conversation, Tony ended up having a talk with Wade. The merc shocked him with his raw honesty about his feelings for Peter, revealing his only intention was to be happy with him without weighing him down. He loved him, and he would do anything for him, including whatever he could to please his family. He understood why everyone flocked to shield Peter; he was different, special. It was then that Tony finally saw an ounce of what Peter saw in Wade, and his respect grew. In August, Peter turned 21 and in December, Wade turned 27. In that time frame, Peter began sneaking Wade into his room sometimes to get physical.~ Not long after Wade's birthday, Tony finally came to grips with the reality that Wade wasn't going anywhere. His relationship with Peter was incredibly strong and steady, and despite Peter having his job, his family and friends and Wade, he'd managed to make it all work. They were mature, and mature together, and Tony wanted Peter to have every opportunity possible to make things a little easier. So as a surprise, he told Peter he was going to allow Wade to move into the facility, even though he wasn't being offered any Avenger titles. He even said he didn't mind if Wade and him shared his bedroom, so long as they weren't mindless sex idiots and kept everyone awake all the time. Stunned, Peter was beyond grateful. Together, everyone gathered up and invited Wade to the facility to make the offer. Wade was uncertain at first, asking if they wanted him to be an Avenger. "GOD no," said Sam. Peter informed him that this had no strings attached, and asked if he was ready to move in with him. Wade said yes, and accepted this very unexpected, beautiful birthday present. In being offered to move in, this was the Avengers fully embracing Wade and adopting him into their weird, messed up family. In time, they would learn to see that Wade was in fact, a good man with a big heart, and become used to his mouth. ~~Love Forever After~~ Living together, it was a dream come true. For the first time in Wade's life, things finally seemed to be on a steady path, and he would do anything to keep it that way. He was happy, he wanted to stay happy, and most of all, he wanted to do well for Peter. With them being together (even before Wade had moved in), Peter helped Wade open up about his past and his feelings. He wasn't judgmental, he wasn't off-put by Wade's mannerisms, weirdness, strange coping habits, random emotional moments, nightmares, or even the nastiest of content regarding his past. He just listened and consoled, and even shielded Wade from the harshness of others. With a guy as wonderful as the friendly neighborhood Spiderman, even though he wasn't perfect, Wade had a tough time feeling like he could give back enough. What he didn't tend to understand was Peter already felt Wade did give back. Wade was a passionate, attentive, caring, thorough lover, and exceedingly generous. He did anything and everything he could for Peter. Aside from just being the best mate he could be, he couldn't think of much else, but it was more than enough. Peter needed him, too. And when Peter had problems, his heart was heavy or he had his own traumatic episodes, Wade was there for him. He applied the very things he'd learned from his love and gave back. After some months living with Peter, Wade had his first serious emotional breakdown related to his trauma. Deadpool, Spiderman, Ironman, Scarlet Witch, and War Machine were out on a mission one night. On a rooftop, after the mission was finished and they had regrouped, Peter was wrapping some things up when a casual conversation started between Wade and the others. The Mutant Factory got brought up, which Wade appeared fine with. He joked casually about what he went through, and the others listened. But at a certain point, after making a comment about his torture that initially caused him to laugh, his laughter suddenly turned to tears. At first the others just went along with it, used to Wade's emotional switches at this point and figuring it would be fine. But when the merc's weeps became sobs and he could no longer stand up, everyone finally realized something was wrong. James stood by Wade and Wanda knelt beside him, clueless as to how to help or what exactly was happening. Tony called Peter to their gathering on the rooftop, and when the Spiderman saw his partner in a heavy heap of tears, he sprung into action. Wanda and James backed away to give Peter the space to console him. He was understandably confused and alarmed by the development, but stayed calm. Tony had an idea of what was happening, cluing Peter in with a reminder of how he had suddenly felt okay enough to grieve his uncle when the time came. It clicked; Wade finally felt safe and comfortable enough in his life that his mind was ready to start the healing process. Peter carried Wade away from the group, who let them have their space. He removed his mask, and convinced Wade to let him take his off, and he held him. Wade announced that he didn't understand what was going on and that he couldn't stop, so Peter told him not to stop. He told him that this was a good thing even though it didn't feel like it, and that it wouldn't last forever. After a while, when Wade was calm enough, Peter took him home. He explained to him what he thought was happening. From that point on, Wade was much more prone to having harder breakdowns, but at that point they seemed to happen at more appropriate times. He also had an easier time talking about it, even if it did hurt like all hell. Thankfully, for Wade's sake, his primary trauma response now is sobbing and nightmares. And when it happens, someone is always there to help him. Of course he still has his random weepy moments at weird things, but Peter has always been understanding of that and never judged him. If anything, he only ever helped Wade feel validated. When Peter was 22 and Wade was 28, the Trial of the Gods ensued. This was hard on Wade, and revealed he had a host of dependency issues with Peter. It led to them having a serious but gentle talk, where Peter offered to work with him on easing his mind about the fact that bad things happen, and if anything bad ever happened to Peter, he needed the peace of mind that Wade would take care of himself. Stay clean, healthy, surround himself with his friends, continue to do good things. If not for himself, then for Peter, because he would want that. Wade agreed, even though the conversation was hard. Ultimately, Wade's mind never reached any peace until he went on a mission and secretly killed himself in order to get to The Realm of Silence, Interitus's realm of the dead. After having a quick conversation wherein Wade asked the elk god if he would ever die for good, Interitus told him 'yes.' He said that Wade would not live forever, that his time would come when it was right, and in death he would be with his beloved. This gave Wade all the peace he needed. Someday, Wade and Peter will get married. How, when and under what circumstances remain a mystery. For now, they're just loving life together. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[angst-fairygodmother]

Light Fingers (The Umbrella Academy)

Diego’s vigilantism brings him repeatedly across the path of a young cat burglar. But as he finds himself developing feelings for the thief, he begins to wonder if there’s more to her than meets the eye, and whether they’re really on opposite sides. And as their relationship deepens, it brings with it a plot involving his estranged adopted father, and threatens to destroy all of them.

CHAPTER 3: TAKING YOUR HEART

Word Count: 1676 Pairing: Diego Hargreeves x Reader Rating: G Cross-posted to AO3: here

Previous Chapter: We Keep Meeting || Masterlist

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You and Diego settled into a routine.

You would break in somewhere, get what you came for. He would stop you on the way out, make some attempt to get information out of you, which you would always deflect. You’d slip away. He’d give chase but eventually give up.

The next morning, he’d be in the diner: two eggs sunny side up, bacon, whole wheat toast, orange juice. Stories about his childhood, or the odd characters at his boxing gym. Chatting about other customers in the diner, your rock-climbing club. Admitting that he’d flunked out of the police academy for a “problem with authority.” Admitting that you’d never had a chance to flunk out of anywhere because you’d been too scared to commit to something in the first place. Trading smiles and pick-up lines that never went anywhere, no matter how much your heart rushed and your face heated when your fingers would brush.

You never spoke of night activities. He never turned you over to the cops.

Round and round you danced.

One evening as you were leaving after a double shift, he was waiting for you outside.

You gasped, startled as he appeared from seemingly nowhere at your elbow, walking casually with his hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket.

“Jesus!” you cried, pressing a hand to your racing heart dramatically. “Where did you come from?”

“Can we talk?” he asked, not actually looking at you, matching step with you as you started walking toward your apartment.

“Sure, I guess. I mean we do all the time,” you shrugged, shoving your hands into your own pockets to chase off the slight evening chill.

“Not about this. About…your other job?”

“Oh.”

You felt your heart sink, sure that this was the moment where it all fell apart. You had come to look forward to the back and forth with him, almost as much as you did the thrill of taking or the fruits of your labors. You bit your lip.

“Yeah, okay,” you sighed. “Not out in the open though. I’m not stupid.”

He finally glanced over at you, scanning your face for any sign of a trick or trap. Finding none, he nodded. “I’ve got…a room…at an old boxing gym. If you’re okay with it, we could talk there. No one will bother us.”

“Okay. Yeah. Lead the way.” If he was willing to trust you, you decided, you would extend him the same courtesy, at least for now.

~

“I still don’t get it. How do you do it?” He was leaning against the stair railing casually.

You stood in the center of the barely converted boiler room, spinning in a slow circle to inspect the whole scene.

“You live here?” you asked incredulously, not even noticing his question in the wake of your shock.

“It’s enough for what I need,” he shrugged.

You raised an eyebrow at him as if to ask ‘is it though?’

“Gonna answer my question sweetheart?” The tone of his voice rankled you, a little too close to the condescending losers in your life who thought they were better than you because they were bigger or stronger or…maler.

“You really haven’t figured it out?” you placed your hands on your hips as you looked at him.

“No. And don’t give me that ‘smoke and mirrors’ shit again.” He had been putting away his various knives and waved one of them at you to punctuate his words.

“It was a hint,” you rolled your eyes. “But clearly, I’m not speaking to the brains of the family operation.”

“Y/N…” there was a tinge of anger, of warning in his voice.

You sighed, biting your lip, nervous to trust him enough to open up after so long bearing your burdens alone. “You at least worked out that I’m one of the other freak babies that your father couldn’t acquire, right?”

“Yeah. Well I mean, I figured as much, but I wasn’t sure. You not getting caught means I didn’t exactly have any records to check.”

“Silver linings keep coming.” You smiled wryly. “I escape because of—and actually owe quite a bit of my skillset to if I’m being honest—my power.”

“Which is…?”

You held up a hand, watching with a relaxed expression, calmer than he’d ever seen…anyone really, as the light began to coalesce around you. He knew he was meant to be watching your demonstration, but instead he found himself mesmerized by the way the gathering energy flickered across your face, bringing a warmth to you that he didn’t usually see in dim nights or under sputtering fluorescents. He moved closer to you, mouth slightly agape as he stared and you rolled the light over your palm coaxing it to play through your fingers.

“You can glow?” he asked softly, and you flushed, picking up the note of awe underneath his incredulity. “I don’t get how that helps. Shouldn’t that make it harder?”

“If glowing was all I could do, maybe. Although it would still mean I don’t have to worry about a flashlight or night vision goggles. Less gear to worry about lets me be lighter on my feet, sneakier.”

You smirked. He quirked an eyebrow at you.

“I can manipulate light. Glowing is the easy part because there’s always a little bit of light, even when it’s not visible, that I can pull in and then it’s easy to change the frequency. But a little change to how it reflects equals functional invisibility. To a camera anyway. Or anything without an intelligence. Hence smoke and mirrors.”

“So it could make you invisible to Luther?” he offered with a smirk.

You laughed, shoving his shoulder lightly and he chuckled in response, now the one glowing, with pride rather than light, at having been the one to draw out the sound, which was more genuine than he had heard from you in the past.

“A living being notices more…stuff, like shadows or flickers of movement or when something just doesn’t seem right. So I’d have to manipulate a lot more at once to be invisible to them. I’ve never actually tried it, but I don’t know if my powers are strong enough for that.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “So you have the power to control light. With that you could do anything, search and rescue or something. But you decided to use it to steal?”

“Hey Mister Judgy McTightpants, it’s…more complicated than that. And not all of us have an edgy hero complex that keeps us from seeing past our own tiny worldview.” You folded your arms over your chest, glaring defensively at him.

He watched the walls slam back up around you, your eyes glazing over into coldness. Guilt and regret gnawed at his gut.

“No, wait. I didn’t mean…”

“Yeah, I don’t really care what you meant. You had Daddy Warbucks funding you and training you. You got choose to live in a shitty one room ‘apartment’ and play superhero. Not all of us had that luxury.”

“Luxury? You think I grew up with luxury?” He scoffed.

“Yeah, I do. I’m not saying it was perfect, or that you’re father wasn’t shit, but I am saying…forget it.” You shook your head, annoyed with him, but even more with yourself. “Just forget it. Talking to you at all was a mistake.”

He grabbed your arm lightly as you turned to go, not enough to actually restrain you, just to make you pause.

“Wait, please?” he said, voice tinged in nervousness.

“Why, so you can criticize me some more?”

“No. I…you’re…there’s so much about you that I can’t figure out. I’m trying to understand.”

“Maybe I don’t want to be understood.”

“What?”

“Goodnight Diego,” you leaned in to kiss his cheek before thinking better of it, brushing past him, arms folded around yourself as if to fight off a chill. “I’ll…see you around.”

There was an ache in his chest as he watched you go, your hand lingering on the doorknob. He wanted to call out to you again, to ask you to stay, to beg you to tell him everything you kept locked inside yourself. But when he opened his mouth, it was like he was twelve years old again and he couldn’t find a way to make his mouth form the words, to push the sounds out as something distinguishable. He had just gotten his tongue around the shape of your name when the door clicked closed behind you.

He sighed, flopping onto his little bed in the corner, staring up at the ceiling with one hand tucked behind his head. There was something about you, something about the way you made him feel, that he couldn’t place, but it was unlike anything he was used to. It puzzled him and frustrated him. As he lay there, trying to go to sleep before his nightly patrol, he found the shape of your smile and the halo you had formed around yourself were burned into his brain.

~

Several weeks went by where you did not see Diego Hargreeves. At first it was a relief, not to have to worry about the vigilante interfering with your work. But then, even as your thefts got bolder and there was no question of what you were doing, he failed to make an appearance and you actually found yourself growing worried.

More than that, you missed him. His stupid smirk as he challenged and teased you, the little self-deprecating laugh when he told a truly terrible joke at the counter, the way his eyes seemed to see deeper than the surface, the fact that he made you feel seen and special for maybe the first time in your life.

Finally, you decided you had had enough (annoyed with yourself for moping. Over a boy of all things) and went out looking for him.

Maybe you would have to apologize for your harsh words. Maybe you wanted to. Swallowing your pride and letting the door creak open for him was better than the alternative, this strange void in your life.

[sign-from-god-complex]

Idealistic

Summary: Even after months of friendship, Logan didn’t know Remy’s major. There was, in fact, quite a lot he didn’t know about Remy, but Logan found he was more than willing to learn.

Pairing: Sleeplogical / Losleep

A/N: This fic is based on the lovely @sleepless-in-starbucks​' space!Remy idea!!! it’s probably also worth noting that Logan’s last name here is McKenzie, which is why that’s what Remy is calling him.

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

There are certain things certain groups of people will always find important.

For example, when you meet a child, they will often tell you their age down to the month—a fact not many adults will care all that much about sharing. Fisherman will talk about fish and authors will talk about books; each group has its own unique priorities.

One of the things that university students find to be particularly important is your major.

Your major can tell people a lot about you—give hints as to whether you're practical or creative, whether you dream big or are more realistic and, often, what you are truly passionate about.

Logan's own major—psychology—told others that he was fairly grounded, ambitious and that his misunderstanding of other human beings and how they work had culminated in a lifelong fascination in figuring it out. Had Logan been looking into practising psychology rather than simply researching it, that would have said other things, but Logan had made it very clear where his interests lay.

Logan's roommate, Roman's, major declared him an overdramatic idiot with his hopes set higher than it was usually possible to achieve; Patton's major declared him sweet, caring and hardworking; Virgil's major declared him subtly intelligent and willing to stay up to unreasonable hours to get things done. Truly, there was so much you could learn from knowing the majors of the people you socialise with.

Which is why it irritated Logan so much that he still didn't know Remy's.

Remy was an enigma. From the moment they sauntered their way into Logan's regular coffee shop, only displaying the bits of themself they wanted people to see, Logan had been enamoured by the idea of what lay underneath the surface.

Every so often he would get a glimpse of something more than the flirty persona Remy put on. They would laugh—genuinely laugh, ducking their head, their cheeks flushed—or they would sigh—soft and quiet and sadder than Logan ever wanted them to feel—and moment by moment Logan fell just a little bit further for them.

He didn't mean to, but he had been reliably informed that no one ever did.

Logan exhaled into the cold air, watching his breath mist in front of him. The sound of music from the house behind him was muffled as he leant against the balcony railing, trying to catch a moment alone.

Roman had dragged him to this party, citing that he needed to get out more and stop being such a buzzkill. Logan personally thought that there was a large difference between finding studying important and being a buzzkill but he wasn't going to waste his breath attempting to explain that to Roman, who rarely listened to him anyway.

"You doing alright out here, McKenzie?"

Logan caught the sound of Remy's voice and he spun around, watching them close the sliding glass door behind them. There was a grin at Logan's reaction but it wasn't unkind, just teasing and playful.

Logan, hoping the dim lighting outside would hide his blush, turned back to look over the railing. "I am fine, Remy, thank you."

Out of the corner of his eye, Logan saw Remy approach the edge of the balcony to stand beside him, lifting their sunglasses to perch on the top of their head. Something in Logan warmed at the fact that Remy felt comfortable enough around him to remove their armour—and he knew without a doubt that's what those sunglasses represented.

"They're beautiful, aren't they?" Logan whispered, gazing up at the sky and failing to notice the way Remy tensed beside him at the question.

"The stars? I mean, they're just balls of gas." Remy's voice was stiff and uncomfortable as they fiddled with the sleeve of their leather jacket. "What’s there to be so excited about?"

Logan startled, turning to look at Remy incredulously. "There is so much more to them than that, Remy. Barring the fact that the stars are one of the most visually pleasing things we, as human beings, will ever get a chance to see, they represent so much more than just balls of gas. They represent the idea of exploration, of infinity, of a sense of longing for that which is outside our reach.”

He gestured vaguely upwards, expecting to go on, but was interrupted by a single word from Remy.

“Astronomy.”

It was blurted, hurried and almost afraid, and Remy appeared as if they already regretted it.

Logan furrowed his brow. “What?”

“You… wanted to know my major, that day in the cafe when we met.” Remy spoke slowly, seemingly almost rolling their words around their mouth before releasing them.

Logan nodded. He hadn’t been sure at the time why Remy had so adamantly avoided the subject of their major but it was obvious they didn’t want to share and Logan was learning not to push. It bothered him immensely—because it was another missing piece of the puzzle when it came to figuring Remy out—but he didn’t want to risk their friendship over something so trivial.

Remy sighed, directing their gaze upward and away from Logan. “It’s astronomy.”

And suddenly, Logan felt he had a much clearer picture of who Remy was then he had ever been afforded before.

Because astronomy tells tales of someone always longing for something else. It tells the story of a young child sitting on the roof, wishing to be anywhere but here, wishing to be somewhere they felt they fit. Astronomy was patient, insatiable curiosity and childish excitement hidden behind the guise of serious scientific achievement; it was someone who looked up once and never saw the worth in looking back down.

Logan tilted his head, trying to figure out the reasoning behind Remy’s previous attitude. “But why would you…?”

He trailed off as Remy huffed, twisting up their mouth with a look Logan couldn’t quite identify—something between self-deprecation, anger and regret.

“I was just so sick of people’s reactions. Sick of being told I wasn’t smart enough, sick of being told that I needed to be more realistic, get my head out of the clouds. The stars are gorgeous—” and with that, Remy leaned out further over the railing, almost as if they were trying to throw themself right up there to join them—“and there’s almost nothing I wouldn’t give to know everything I could about them.”

“I feel the same way about humans.”

Remy laughed, pulling themself back from the railing, their face painted red in embarrassment. “See? Grounded.”

Logan shook his head. “Idealistic,” he corrected, “I think we both are.”

That seemed to calm Remy, prompting them to sigh—low but not too heavy. They both returned to look out at the sky, hands resting side by side on the balcony railing and eyes catching subtle glances at each other between breaths. The atmosphere felt as if it had been lifted, making Logan seem weightless, even hopeful.

“Can you… tell me about them?”

“About the stars?” Remy looked hesitant but Logan felt as if he knew what that stemmed from. It was from every dismissal, every pointed and over-dramatic sigh and every time they’d been disrupted. Logan wouldn’t even dream of letting that happen here.

“Please,” Logan insisted, “I’ve always been interested but I’ve never really had the time to look into it. You would be doing me a favour.”

They took a steadying breath, their eyes scanning the sky for a second, before settling on one spot in particular. They pointed upward, their hand wavering ever so slightly. “That’s Sirius, d’you see it?”

Logan hummed lightly. “I’m not sure.”

Huffing a breath, Remy moved to stand behind him, pressing up against his back and resting their head on his shoulder. The two of them were about the same height—Remy was slightly taller but it was by an almost negligible amount—and yet Logan had never felt quite as small. Or as warm.

They grabbed a hold of Logan’s hand on the railing and aimed a finger towards a particular star.

"How ‘bout now?”

“Yes, I see it.” Logan’s voice was hushed, almost reverent, as if he was concerned about disturbing the quiet that had settled over the two of them.

“Sirius is the brightest star in our sky, though it’s actually a binary star system made up of two stars, Sirius A and Sirius B. It’s also one of the closest stars to Earth, sitting at eight and a half-ish light-years away.

“And if you see the stars, here…” Remy elongated the word as they drew Logan’s hand around the sky, gesturing to a few other stars in the area. “They’re all a part of the constellation Canis Major, or the Greater Dog, which also contains VY Canis Majoris, one of the biggest stars we know about. At the moment, anyway.”

Logan made a hum of acknowledgement, watching Remy grin out of the corner of his eye.

They were excited—genuinely excited—their eyes glittering and bright, biting at their bottom lip as they thought of what to say next. Again, they moved Logan’s hand, gesturing to a particular star, then another, then a cluster, then a constellation, filling Logan’s head with passionate chatter and a landslide of interesting facts.

He's certain he's never felt so fond—potentially of anyone but certainly of Remy, and he's always fond of Remy. There was just something about seeing someone engage in their passions without remorse that lifted that feeling to a whole new level.

If only there was a way to remove that hesitance for good.

"What?"

Remy drew away, their tone defensive as they caught onto Logan's shifting mood.

"It's nothing." At their unamused glare, Logan sighed, correcting himself. "I just… I wish you were this excited all the time. I don't know what happened exactly to make you so apprehensive about your interests but watching you ramble like this is enchanting, Remy."

“Well, I got an image to maintain, gurl,” Remy snarked, “Can’t just be throwing this kind of vulnerability around wherever; gotta save it for the people who matter.”

Logan flushed, ducking his head slightly to avoid the adoring look Remy was giving him, making him feel warm even despite the bite of the wind. “I have to admit that I’m vaguely surprised to be included in that group of people.”

“Hun, you’re almost the whole group. Don’t really have people chomping at the bit to be my best friend.”

Their tone wasn’t disappointed or resigned, simply stating it like they would anything else in their life and it frustrated Logan that they thought they were worth so little in the eyes of other people when they were so valuable in his own.

“I truly can’t imagine why not,” Logan muttered under his breath.

They gave Logan something of a soft look, shaking their head in a way that made Logan wonder if they’d heard him. “Anyway, I think we have a party to be getting back to, doll.”

Flipping their sunglasses back onto the bridge of their nose, they gave Logan an impish grin, tossing in a wink before pushing them up for what Logan was sure was no other reason than to watch his cheeks stain red. They had a tendency to do things like that, to make Logan flustered or stumble with their words and small gestures.

Somehow, he felt as if this could be more than simple teasing, though he wasn’t quite sure why.

They threw their arm around Logan’s shoulders, steering him over towards the door and pulling it open with more flourish than was probably required for the action.

“Wait, Remy.” Logan flung his arm out, stopping Remy halfway to walking back into the house.

He paused for a moment, trying to gather both his thoughts and his courage. Remy only waited patiently, their focus entirely on him—not on the rest of the evening or what they might be doing tomorrow, not even on the stars or the sounds of the party inside, but solely on him and this moment. 

“I… enjoyed this…” Logan began, words hesitant and low, “And I would be amenable to doing something similar again in the future. Perhaps without the drunk college students in the background.”

A smile softened Remy’s face, their sunglasses gleaming in the dim lights of the street outside and Logan couldn’t tell exactly how they were looking at him but he thought he had a pretty good idea.

“I think I’d like that.”

Logan smiled back—more involuntarily than in mirror of Remy’s own expression. He felt no butterflies or fireworks inside him; instead, Logan felt warm and safe, like a sunrise cresting over the hill, shining a light on a day that he’d been anticipating for months now.

It would also be fair to say he felt… protected. He always did with Remy. Logan would never claim to want for or require protection by any means, however, it was comforting all the same.

“Good.”

It was barely more than a whisper, a suggestion of a word rather than practical implementation.

“Good,” Remy echoed. Then their brow furrowed the tiniest bit, their smile turning into a smirk, “It’s a date then.”

Logan nodded absentmindedly. “Yes, it’s a dat- wait, what?”

Remy laughed at his shocked expression—bright and sharp and their tongue poking out and gods, they were so pretty; Logan wasn’t sure he was capable of fitting all of these emotions inside his chest without simply exploding.

They painted on a Cheshire-cat grin, somehow looking amused and affectionate all at once. “See you ‘round, McKenzie!”

And with those parting words, Remy twirled on the spot and disappeared into the crowd of people, leaving Logan with nothing more than the sound of their laughter ringing in his ears and a night to look forward to. 

Taglist: @mutechild @super-magical-wizard @shadowsfromthesun @teadays @sandersships @mctaetae613 @autism-goblin @deadlyhuggles6 @romanthestarstruckqueer @whispers-stuff-in-your-ear @rainboots-are-for-snobs @sanders-and-sides @spirits-in-my-thoughts @kee-and-co @autistic-virgil @stop-it-anxiety @figurative-falsehood @jadedfantasies231 @idosanderssidespromptssometimes @poisonedapples @sanders-screams @another-sandersidesblog @do-not-just-see-observe @mychemicalpanicattheemo @thomassandersenthusiast